Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“The fuck?” the one at my side asked.
And in his confusion, his grip loosened.
With my free hand, I reached under my shirt, finding the gun, the metal warm from my skin.
As slowly as I could not to draw attention, I pulled it out even as I heard footsteps pounding down the stairs to the basement.
It was now or never.
Once they were all in here, there was no taking them all out before someone tackled me.
I spun, using the momentum to break the man’s hold on me as I slid off the safety, lifted my arm, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Once, twice.
The sounds were like an explosion in the small space, drowning out the curses and screams as the man’s arms lifted to his chest. Like if pressed hard enough, he could stop himself from bleeding out.
It was no use.
He was dead.
He just didn’t know it yet.
I swiveled, aiming toward the door as another man ran inside.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I released as my finger pulled the trigger.
Once, twice. He didn’t slow, didn’t drop.
The third shot landed dead center in his skull, his face frozen in a death mask of surprise before his body slammed down to the floor.
I was aiming for the next guy who ran in, when arms grabbed me from behind.
It was almost over.
But the gun was still in my hand.
The man holding me, the one who’d brought me down here, was wrenching me around, making my aim shit, but I didn’t care, I squeezed the trigger anywhere.
The aim was wickedly low, not hitting the chest, or even the stomach that were bad, and often fatal shots thanks to the infection risk of the blasted open, and bacteria-laden intestines.
Nope.
I shot the man in his dick.
The blood bloomed across the front of his light wash bluejeans. A guttural howl escaped him as he fell to his knees, clutching his crotch.
The gun was finally yanked from my hand and pressed to my temple, making me stop struggling.
Because up this close, even an idiot could make a kill shot. And there were quite a few rounds left in the gun.
“You’re gonna pay for this,” the man hissed, his spittle wetting my ear.
I wasn’t paying much attention, though, because someone was walking through the door, cool and confident, despite the destruction all around him.
The family resemblance was uncanny.
Same jaws, eyes, body shapes.
This was Jan Dvorák, Matej’s little brother.
A man so evil he’d orchestrated a slaughter of his former friends and coworkers. And the torture of his brother.
His gaze moved around the room, showing no emotion as he looked at the damage I’d done, as he listened to the howls of his man.
When he looked to me again, his arms lifted, and he started to do a slow clap.
“Impressive,” he said.
A few feet away, his man started crying even more loudly, still clutching his crotch, his body rocking back and forth.
“Well,” Jan said, reaching into his waistband, “that’s enough of that,” he said.
I knew it. Even before I saw the flash of metal.
Then there was another pop of a bullet leaving the chamber.
Followed by silence.
As his man fell dead.
“Much better,” Jan said, lowering his arm to his side.
“Martin, can you help our guest to a seat?” he asked. “We seem to need to have a little chat,” he added, his gaze sliding past me to the floor.
I knew what he was looking at. The same thing I’d been staring at when I’d last been in this basement.
The molar on the floor.
The man behind me had to tuck my gun into his waistband to be able to wrangle me closer to the beam where Matej had been chained.
While I twisted and turned. Then, finally, I rammed my head back into him. The scent of blood met my own nose as I broke his.
But it was right then that Jan called for the rest of his reinforcements. And between the three of them, they managed to get me against the beam, my arms wrenched far enough back for my shoulders to scream as the man behind the beam wrapped up and chained my wrists, making any escape impossible.
“Now,” Jan said, stepping over the bodies of one of his men to stand in front of me. “I think we need to have a little chat.”
“Gee, I suddenly have nothing to say,” I said, getting a snarl from the man whose nose I’d broken, his blood staining his white shirt.
Without warning, he’d cocked back and swung.
If it weren’t for my reflexes honed from many hours in the boxing ring, I was pretty sure my own nose would be broken.
Instead, the idiot collided with the beam, and the crunch of his knuckles was drowned out by his own cries of pain.
“Enough,” Jan snapped. Then, “Leave. Our guest and I need to have a conversation.”
I glared at Jan, even if I was secretly glad that the others were gone.