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I kept my gaze on her father, not out of any sense of guilt, but because I knew ignoring her would hurt more than telling her to fuck off.
“Stop begging, Daria. It’s beneath you,” Kazimir said, closing the distance on her quickly. “Our plane is waiting.” He snatched her by the arm and started dragging her toward the door.
Declan swaggered forward with an exaggerated wince, sucking his teeth. “About that…”
Kazimir and his men stopped abruptly, all turning to size up the Irishman.
“‘Fraid you’re going to miss that flight.” Declan spread his hands apologetically.
Before Kazimir could so much as blink, Declan’s men rushed forward, throwing themselves at the Russians across the way. Brass knuckles and short, glossy black sticks flew, raining down blow after blow on the unarmed men. The hired Russians fought back, but they were no match against double the numbers and a variety of bludgeoning weapons. One by one they fell, their skulls caved in or their faces pulverized beyond recognition. Sometimes both.
In the melee, Kazimir made a break for the backdoor, abandoning Daria in the middle of the bar.
Misha darted toward Daria. I sprang after Kazimir, giving chase down the back hallway.
When he slowed to take a corner, I crashed into him from behind, slamming him into the exposed brick wall. He threw his elbow backward, driving it into my right bicep above the sliver of gauze visible beneath the sleeve of my t-shirt.
Pain flashed through me, hot and sickly, but I was too fucking pissed to let it slow me down for long.
He got a few steps ahead before I caught up to him again.
Grabbing a handful of his grayish-blond hair, I bashed his head into the bricks until they shone with his blood. He crumpled, crashing into a crate of empty bottles, sending shattered glass everywhere.
I knelt on top of him and grabbed the closest bottle.
Smashing the end against the bricks, I didn’t waste any time aiming for his carotid.
Another shock of pain ripped through me, piercing my back on the left side and shooting up my spine. My lungs felt like they stopped working. I gasped and gritted my teeth, stabbing down with the jagged bottle as hard as I could. Blood gushed out of Kazimir’s throat, flooding around the green glass. He gurgled, pawing at the bottle feebly before fucking smiling at me.
I could have drawn out the pain, the punishment, for that look alone. But honestly, I didn’t care anymore. I wanted him fucking dead. The sooner the better.
Ripping the bottle neck out of his throat, I slid off of him and onto the floor. The blood spurting out of his artery slowed to a steady ooze as I collapsed against the wall behind me. The pain I felt earlier surged with each movement, no matter how small. Each breath was shallow, laced with agony. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness.
Clawing my way up the wall, I forced myself to stand even though it felt like the earth was swaying beneath my boots. My back was strangely hot, along with the throbbing pain in my bicep.
A single gunshot rang out.
My eyes flew open. I tried to sprint back to the front room but I ended up crashing into the next wall. Ping-ponging myself from one surface to the next, I finally stumbled out into the open again, trying to see what the fuck happened as my vision blurred in and out of focus.
The Irishmen were drinking at the bar, bloody and victorious, with half a dozen dead men scattered about the place.
Only Misha was still standing, a pistol hanging at his side. Daria lay at his feet, her eyes open wide. Blood ran from the bullet hole in her forehead, staining her blonde hair.
“What the fuck?” I stopped short, grabbing onto the bar top and glancing between the blurry figures that I knew were Misha and Daria.
“We could never trust her after the things she’s done. There was no way she was going to walk out of here alive,” Misha replied, holstering the gun inside his suit jacket. “Sasha!”
The bar tilted.
I heard my name at the same time my knees slammed into the floor, followed by my face.
My fingers dug into the scuffed wood, but no matter how hard I tried to push myself up, I couldn’t. It’s like my body had finally turned to stone — cold, hard, unmoving.
That was the last thing I saw — the old, scarred floorboards beneath my bloody hands. All I felt was overwhelming disappointment in myself.
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