Page 162 of Fallen Rook

No matter. I’d still make it fun.

The Toyota mowed down wild weeds. There was no clearing in sight on either side of the field. He was headed toward the heart of a forest, probably intending to ditch the car and escape on foot once he arrived at the first line of trees.

Can’t fix stupid. But sure can relieve him of his oxygen duty.

Smoke plumed from the exhaust as the car pushed through, with my motorcycle trailing closely behind. I no longer bothered concealing my presence. Let it be known he didn’t have long to live.

The night cloaked us with a sheet of star-spangled ink, and everything felt good and right. I was in my element.

The vehicle was beginning to slide from the knoll, a combination of its old age and the struggle of fighting the terrain working against it. He slammed the accelerator and killed all the lights in the vehicle in a desperate bid to lose me.

I shook my head. It was pitiful, really.

I was now twenty feet from him, closing in.

The Toyota was making distressed sounds, much like the person inside it. It was still dragging along, but at an embarrassing speed. I hopped from the motorcycle and let it fall sideways on an open field, producing my gun from my waistband without removing my helmet.

First I popped the right-hand rear wheel. Then the left one.

The vehicle sagged and let out one final groan, as though losing its heartbeat.

The driver’s door flew open. Slava burst out, gun cocked and aimed my way, fumbling as he tried running backward with his eyes on me.

He shot at me once, but his aim was shit due to terror, the darkness, and his jerky movements. The bullet hit a rock behind me, shattering it.

Cracking my neck, I ambled toward him leisurely, aiming my gun at the hand that held the weapon. “That was rude, and honestly uncalled for.”

Pop.

I blew away the gun and everything south of his elbow in the process.

“Aaaahh!”

“Thought you’d say that.” I continued my journey toward him. “On your knees, bastard.”

“Fuck you.” He stumbled backward, clutching his mutilated arm to stop the blood loss.

“Please don’t make me be mean.”

He swiveled, running with his back to me.

I sighed and shot his right knee from behind. He fell into the tall undergrowth, disappearing from view. It was dark, but I didn’t want to give him the advantage of vision by turning on my phone’s flashlight. I wanted him to be terrified. To be caged in the same darkness I’d been cloaked in when he sent Cash to blackmail me.

Trudging through the weeds, I followed the sound of his harsh, desperate breaths. Stopped when the tip of my boot touched his leg. I removed my helmet.

“You have to stop running away from me, Slava.” I pressed my boot against his junk, gradually applying more weight. “It’s like you don’t even like me. I’m starting to get a complex.”

“Get your filthy foot off my dick, you piece of shit,” he spat.

I waited for my father’s voice to penetrate my thoughts, for his derisive commentary, but it never came. He was gone. Or, at the very least, he didn’t have that kind of chokehold on me anymore.

“Why?” I asked conversationally. “You’re not going to use it ever again.”

“Huyesos,” he ground out, in pain. “Pidoras. I’m going to kill you.”

“Hmm. An optimist. What an admirable trait.” I kneeled, digging my knee into his gut as I loomed over him. I retrieved his phone from his jacket, pocketing it for later. “You really shouldn’t have sent Cash to blackmail me. And the drug shipment ploy? Bad idea.”

“How did you know?” he groaned.