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He’s enjoying this.
As he accelerates, I take a moment to wipe my hands against my pants. They’re covered with Igor’s blood.
Will he live or die? He was trying to tell me something. Or ask for help. I get a nasty feeling in my stomach that he was more or less conscious of what was happening around him.
“Here we go,” Ivan mutters, bringing our car’s front bumper straight up to the van’s back. Our other cars move to the sides, caging the van in.
We swerve left and right, pressing them to see who or what will break first—his concentration or the vehicle. The driver hits the gas even more, and Ivan’s brows furrow.
“Grab a hold, boys,” I warn our men in the back.
Suddenly, the van breaks to the side of the road, pushing against one of our cars. Ivan does his best to maintain control, swerving a little to the left. I brace myself for the crash. There isn’t time to turn. No time to change plans. All we can do is hope that whoever’s steering the van doesn’t get us all killed.
I need him alive.
I want answers.
The adrenaline pumps violently through my veins, heightening my senses. I clutch my hands into fists.
“Come on!” I yell, my rage taking over. “Let’s finish this!”
Fight or flight.
An animalistic roar rips from my throat.
Despite our best efforts to surround the van from all sides, the vehicle manages to speed up even more. With a jerk, the driver yanks it to the right, crashing against one of ours. The speed and impact cause a disaster.
My men’s screams can be heard above the clamor of everything crumbling down.
Metal crushing against metal.
Broken glass fills the air.
Tires screeching.
Men yelling.
And suddenly, we’re flying.
It’s not like the movies when everything slows down. But it does seem as if our movements are slowed.
The car rolls twice before crashing against an electrical post, sending sparks everywhere. We’re thrown around like ragdolls.
I knock my head against the dashboard. A gash opens on my forehead, and the taste of metal fills my mouth. My ears are filled with the sound of my men roaring.
The car stops so suddenly that it almost seems like it landed on a runway. Every muscle in my body is tied up in knots, tense, and screaming.
But this is my mess, and it’s up to me to fix it.
I shove the dizzy feeling away, grunting with effort. I push my shoulder against the door. Eventually, it opens, and I climb out of the wreckage. My legs wobble beneath me, but I manage to stay on my feet.
“Nik,” Ivan whispers behind me. “Are you alright?”
It takes me two tries to turn my head to the side to look at him. If he’s straining for words, then my tongue is on total strike. But I’m ready to get moving. The need to find whoever was in the van spurs me forward, despite my limbs wailing in protest.
“I’m coming,” Ivan says, and motions for me to wait for him. My steps falter, but when my eyes take in the dead bodies of my men, I gain a second wind. Anger pushes through the fog in my mind.
I press hard, and the guy in the windowless white van is standing in front of me. It takes me a moment, but recognition sets in.
