Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
All of a sudden, Nikita's ears go back. Her hair bristles, and she lets out a low, dangerous growl.
Lydia stands up straight. “What did I do? I thought she loved me.”
“Behind me,” I growl. “It’s not you.”
Lydia’s eyes widen, and for once, she does what I say, thank fuck. I scan our surroundings. At first, I don’t notice anything out of place. Just a normal night in the city. But Nikita growls deeper and lets out a loud, vicious bark.
Suddenly, a masked assailant leaps out from a doorway, followed by three more. They’re masked, hooded, and coming straight at us.
Lydia stiffens, a scream caught in her throat, and I bark over my shoulder, “Remember what I fucking taught you.”
One attacks us head-on, gun raised. I know in my gut these guys aren’t here to murder but to take her. A second reaches for me, a gun glinting in the overhead light. Before he shoots, Nikita is on him. She’s got him by the leg with a savage snarl.
I elbow the second attacker in one swift motion, putting all my strength behind it. I hear a satisfying crunch as bone breaks, and he cries out, falling to the ground and clutching his face. The third barely has time to reach before I land a punch squarely between his eyes, sending him backward.
The fourth is one lucky son of a bitch still standing, still defiant. I want to beat the fucking shit out of him with my bare hands, but I need someone to interrogate. There’s a dark, primal satisfaction in the idea of feeling his bones break under my fists, his blood staining my knuckles.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat and fear. One reaches for Lydia, and I can’t get to him in time, but her eyes blaze with a fury that matches my own. She knees him hard between the legs, and when he crumples to the ground with a pained groan, she stabs at his eyes.
Good girl.
The sharp crack of a gunshot rings in my ears. Nikita cries out. Rage surges through my veins, hot and unrelenting. My vision narrows, and all I see is red.
“Keep one alive,” I remind myself. I hang onto the one lifeline that keeps me from murdering them all. I’m battling the need to kill, to make them all pay.
I grab the nearest one by the throat, slamming him against the wall. He’s the only one conscious, his wide, terrified eyes staring into mine with a plea for mercy. The need to protect, to unleash my fury on him, wars with my need to get information.
“Why did you come after us?” I demand, my face inches from his. “Where the fuck are you coming from, and who do you report to?” He chokes out a weak, garbled response, and I loosen my grip just enough for him to speak.
Over my shoulder, I yell to Lydia, “Get my cell phone. Call Aleks and tell him to get a cleanup crew, now.”
I hold him by the neck, but before he can get another word out, his head flings back, hitting the concrete, and a circle of crimson blossoms on the center of his forehead.
Lydia screams. I drop his body to the ground, shove her down, and cover her under my body. Fucking sniper. But no more shots come.
He was the target because I would have made him talk.
Someone killed him. Someone’s watching. Someone doesn’t want me to know what they’re doing. Fuck.
A car pulls up, and I'm immediately alert, but Lydia breathes out, “It's Aleks.”
Aleks and a team of our men quickly exit the vehicle. Aleks has been training two of the old Ivanov men, and they’re here to help us, and they move in quick succession.
“They got away,” I say. “But there’s a sniper here, Aleks. He wants us scared but isn’t ready to make a move.”
“We’ll cover every possible area to see where they could be hiding. I want everything swept.”
It isn’t until the scuffle ends, with our attackers either incapacitated or fled, that I notice the blood on Nikita’s fur.
Lydia kneels beside Nikita, her hands trembling as she parts the dog’s thick, black fur. “She’s bleeding,” she says, her voice breaking. There is a small, trickling wound on Nikita’s side, but it isn’t immediately clear what caused it.
“Is Nikita okay?” Lydia asks, her eyes filling with tears and her face flushed. Is she crying? I can't tell if she's crying. “She’ll be okay, right? She’s bleeding, Viktor.”
“Are you alright?” I ask, even as a lump forms in my throat when I kneel beside them.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Lydia says, though her hand is shaking.
I turn back to Nikita.
Shit. Nikita was hit. Fuck. My hands tremble. If someone hurt my dog… If someone fucking hurt my dog…
“Where’s the entry point?” I mutter, frustration and fear clawing at me. I examine her closely, expecting to see a bullet wound. But there’s nothing obvious, just the slow, persistent oozing of blood from somewhere beneath her dense fur.