by Beth Abbott
He aimed his rifle at the man furthest from Niko and pulled the trigger.
The silencer on his weapon didn’t completely muffle the sound, but he was far enough away that the gentle pop gave no warning to the men around Niko.
He saw the bullet enter the man’s chest before he heard it. Before the velocity of the bullet could throw the man backwards, Evan adjusted his aim slightly and released a second bullet, followed very quickly by a third.
Evan blanked out the sound of gunfire coming from the other end of the warehouse as he watched the three men drop to the floor. He couldn’t risk taking another shot yet, as the other three had started to process what was happening.
One of the men who’d gone down had been holding onto Niko’s legs, so when he dropped them, it caused the two men holding her upper half to stagger forward.
Niko must have realised that there were now fewer hands holding onto her, and she chose that second to jerk herself out of their grip.
She dropped to the floor just as Evan let off another round, the fourth man taking the bullet straight in the throat, blood spurting from the gaping hole, saturating his clothing in seconds.
Evan scowled, as he hadn’t aimed that high, but then, he shrugged, he couldn’t be responsible if the asshole chose that moment to bend over.
With Niko on the floor out of harm’s way, and the other two assholes more concerned about the blood-shower they were getting, courtesy of their comrade, it was easy to fire off another two rounds to finish the job.
The bodies landed a few seconds later, and Evan mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done. Not one of the idiots had even let out a yell, so whatever was going on at the other end of the now cloud-filled warehouse, Ilya would have no idea that his men were dead, or that his sister was still alive.
“All yours, H.” He murmured into his microphone and watched as a split-second later Hollywood darted from the back of the truck to where Niko was now on her hands and knees, obviously disorientated and shocked at the amount of blood and gore in front of her.
“Niko, baby? It’s me, Hollywood.” Evan watched his team-mate wrap his arms around her. “Let’s get you out of here, hmm?”
“I’ve got to find Roman.” Evan heard Niko whisper. “It’s past his bedtime.”
“I know it is, sugar.” He could see Hollywood lifting her carefully. “Let’s get you to him so you can put him to bed, hmm?”
Evan rolled backwards and climbed from underneath the truck, intent on joining Kellen as he watched Hollywood crossing the pen with Niko.
“Hannah, I’m putting Niko down through the hole underneath the wall. Is there anyone there to collect her?” Hollywood’s voice in his ear was still full of concern. “She has a head-wound and is disorientated.”
“No problem.” Hannah replied instantly. “We still have the Hungarians there to assist, and Sophia is on standby. Put her through, she’ll be fine.”
Thirty seconds later and Hollywood joined them.
“What’s the plan?” Evan asked.
“Yuri, Kris? Can you see what’s going on?” Hollywood asked.
“I’m coming to you as I can’t see fuck all from where I am.” Kris grumbled. “The smoke is too thick.”
“I can see a group of Ilya’s men ducked behind the vehicles, exchanging gunfire with the Russians.” Yuri confirmed. “There’s a second group hidden behind some old equipment. Lots of bodies on the ground, but so far only Ilya’s men. I don’t think the Russians have taken any hits yet.”
“Any sign of Ilya or Drago?” Hollywood asked.
“They’re at the far end of the shed behind the last van.” A voice came through his earpiece that Evan didn’t recognise. “I don’t know what the situation is back there, but I saw Ilya grab Drago and drag him around the side.”
“Alex, is that you?” Hollywood grinned. “So sweet of you to come and visit us.”
“Hey, H. How’re you doing over there? Staying away from all the action as usual?” The guy called Alex snorted a laugh. “It won’t actually hurt if your hair gets mussed up, you know? You might actually have some fun if you join in with the action.”
Evan watched Kellen punch Hollywood on the arm, grinning his ass off.
“How do you know my hair isn’t mussed up already?” Hollywood asked, not in any way upset at being teased.
“Is it?” Alex asked.
“Possibly not.” Hollywood grinned. “But if that’s what it takes to get involved, count me in.”
A few more volleys of gunfire reminded them that this was an active situation.
“We’ll keep the focus on Ilya’s men at our end of the warehouse.” Alex suggested. “How about you guys try and sneak up on Ilya from your side?”
“Will do.” Hollywood nodded. “And can you remind your Russian friends that we’re the good guys? No shooting at us while we’re doing heroic deeds.”
“I’ll mention it.” Alex sounded amused.
Evan watched Hollywood as he checked the ammo in his weapon.
When he looked up at them he grinned.
“Ready to take down that human-trafficking, coke-snorting, parent-murdering, ugliest fucker on the planet, rat-bastard?” He asked.
Evan glanced at Kellen, who was grinning, and then nodded.
“Nothing better to do.” He confirmed with a snort of laughter. “Lead on, MacDuff!”
“Do you guys ever take anything seriously?” Evan heard Hannah ask through his earpiece.
Evan looked over at Kris, who looked at Kellen, who winked at Hollywood.
“Nope.”
Yeah, that was the collective response.
Chapter 63 – Drago
Drago sat on the ground, his hand pressed to his side, trying to stem the blood seeping from the gunshot wound just below his ribs.
He guessed the stray bullet had come from one of Ilya’s men, who were mostly fucking useless when it came to handling guns.
He looked down at the blood and noted it was a light red, and vaguely remembered hearing something about arterial blood being brighter red, but he had no idea whether that was a good sign or not. He guessed that as long as he was still bleeding it was a good sign. It meant his heart was still pumping the blood around his body, even if some of it was leaking onto the floor.
Ilya glanced over at him from behind the van where he was crouched, taking pot-shots at what Drago assumed must be the Russian special forces guys. Although, with all the smoke swirling around it was difficult to tell who the good guys were, and who were the bad, so it was entirely possible that Ilya was shooting at his own men. Not that Drago cared one way or another.
“Are you Ok, brother?” Ilya turned and grinned at him.
‘Brother?’ Drago almost yelled. ‘Since when have I been your brother?’
“I’m good.” He snarled, the pain every time he moved almost making him faint. “Do you have a spare gun? I dropped mine when I got shot.”
‘Or I’d have blown your fucking brains out.’ He thought, trying not to let the hatred show on his face.
“Sorry. I only have this one.” Ilya shrugged. “But there’s more in the vans. Can you get up?”
“Do I look like I can get up?” Drago hissed, wishing he had any sort of weapon to hand so he could kill this asshole.
Ilya shrugged and turned back around, firing shots into the cloud with no thought or care as to who might be out there.
Drago tried to adjust his position, but a spike dug into his back and he groaned.
He reached back to see what he was leaning against, and he touched a long metal object. A nail or screw maybe?
His fingers gripped it and he tried to see if it was loose. It didn’t seem to have much sideways movement, but it did give way as he twisted it, so he gripped the end and started to turn.
When it twisted more easily with each turn, Drago realised it must be a screw, and he continued to turn it faster as he felt more and more of it available for him to get a better grip.
> After a minute of turning, the screw came loose in his hand, and he brought it forward, so he could see what he was dealing with. This ten-centimetre screw was his only weapon, so it was imperative he made the best use of it he could.
Gripping it tightly in his free hand, Drago looked around him for inspiration as to how best he could use the screw. Ilya was around fifteen feet from him, so what was he gonna do? He couldn’t exactly throw it at him!
“We need to get out of here.” Ilya mumbled, still firing off into the distance. “Can you move?”
“If you can help me get to my feet, I’m pretty sure I can.” Drago hissed. “I think if we can join up with our men, we can fight our way out.”
Ilya glanced at him sceptically before turning back and firing off a few more shots.
“Come on, then.” Ilya half crawled across the floor to him and grabbed Drago by the arm. “Get your feet underneath you, or you’re just gonna end up on your face.”
As Ilya pulled him up, Drago gripped the screw tighter in his free hand, leaving the pointed end sticking out. If he got the chance, how he’d love to plant it in Ilya’s neck.
Unfortunately, Drago never got the chance to attack, as the pain of stretching his wound shot through him, and all he could do was bend over double and vomit.
“Fuck, man!” Ilya stepped away quickly. “Get a grip on yourself, would you? I can’t get you out of here while you’re hurling all over my boots.”
Drago spat out the last of the vomit from his mouth.
“Sorry man, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.” He growled.
Standing up slowly, Drago tried to ignore the second wave of sickness, swallowing hard as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He tried to ignore the dizziness, but it competed with the nausea for which was going to floor him first.
“Ok, man?” Ilya wrapped his arm around Dragos’ shoulder, effectively trapping the hand holding the screw between their two bodies. “Ready to go?”
As Drago turned his head to look at Ilya, he caught a flicker of movement through the drifting smoke.
Hollywood!
“Hold on.” Drago deliberately wobbled, giving Ilya the impression that his legs were about to give way. “Just give me a second until the dizziness passes.”
Ilya leaned him against the van and turned to fire off a few more rounds.
“Let me have your belt.” Drago rasped.
“What?” Ilya looked back in disbelief.
“Your belt, Ilya!” Drago hissed. “I’m fucking bleeding out here. I need something to stem the flow of blood.”
Ilya turned to Drago and sighed.
He put his gun on the floor and pulled off his outer shirt, before starting to unfasten his belt. Wadding the shirt up into a ball, he shoved it at Drago.
“Put that against the wound.” Ilya instructed.
Drago watched over Ilya’s shoulder as Hollywood and a few of his men edged closer, weapons already raised to their shoulders. All they needed was one clean shot without him in the way.
Ilya pulled his belt through the loops of his pants and threw it around Drago’s middle.
Drago placed the wadded shirt over the wound, just as Ilya tightened the belt.
Gritting his teeth, Drago waited for both of Ilya’s hands to be busy, and then swung his arm up.
Gripping the screw as hard as he could, he lashed out, catching Ilya in the face. He’d hope to get him in the eye, but with Ilya holding the belt tightly around his waist, he couldn’t quite reach far enough.
With one hand he gripped Ilya’s t-shirt, stopping him from moving away. With the other, he gouged the screw as hard as he could into Ilya’s cheek, as the scumbag tried to squirm away from him.
The first punch was unexpected and off target, so Drago just kept gouging, feeling Ilya’s skin tear under the pressure. Ilya’s second punch was exactly on target, and he could feel the bile rise in his throat even as his vision swam, the pain radiating out from the bullet wound. Eventually he couldn’t hold himself up any longer and he slumped back.
Ilya immediately let him go and reached for his gun.
Drago flopped back against the wall, gasping for air as Ilya pointed the gun at him, blood dripping from his face where he now had almost matching scars on each cheek.
“What the fuck, man?” Ilya screamed at him, clutching his bloody face with his free hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Drago would have told him, but his mouth was full of bile.
“Is this because of Niko? Because I gave her to the men?” Ilya screamed. “Were you trying to get in her panties all along? Is that it?”
Drago turned and wretched, spitting out the bile as the pain from his wound almost made him pass out.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” He scoffed as soon as he had enough air in his lungs to speak. “Is that the only reason you can come up with why someone would hate your guts? Your sister?”
“Then why?” Ilya demanded, bending so he could shove the gun in Drago’s face. “What have I ever done to you?”
Drago coughed a laugh.
“Ilya, you’re a scum-sucking piece of shit.” He sneered, wishing he’d had the sense to kill him before today. “What other reason do I need to want you dead? Fuck, it’s at the top of my Christmas wish list!”
Ilya stood up and laughed.
“It’s a shame that you won’t get your wish today.” Ilya pointed the gun at Drago’s head. “If only you’d been smart enough to bring a back-up weapon, then things might have gone very differently.”
Drago laughed a little hysterically.
“Oh, I brought back-up alright.” He just about lifted his hand high enough to point.
It took a second or two for Ilya to figure out what he was saying, and then his head swung around to find Hollywood and the others behind him, weapons raised.
The cry of rage that came from Ilya was one of a trapped animal, as his arm whipped around, already firing.
What sounded like one loud burst of fire had Drago flinching, and then everything went quiet.
He watched in bemusement as Ilya’s body flew backwards, landing at the end of Drago’s boots.
The single large hole in Ilya’s forehead was probably the killer shot, but as it probably arrived at the same time as the second shot to the chest, the third to the abdomen and the fourth to the neck, it was probably going to be difficult to say with any surety. He’d leave that up to the coroner to figure out.
Drago looked up to see Kellen, Hollywood, and Evan, right in front of him, their guns still raised. In the distance, Yuri was standing on top of the truck with his rifle still to his shoulder.
Yeah, if he had to guess, he’d give Yuri credit for the head shot.
Drago felt his vision slipping, and his head dropped back.
“Are you Ok?” Kellen was next to him in a second, checking his wound.
“Don’t touch it, or I’ll probably throw up on you.” He murmured. “Don’t think it’s too bad, but I’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Ok, keep still and we’ll get you some medical help.” Kellen looked up at Hollywood.
“I can’t hear any more gunfire.” He observed. “Have the Russians finished with the rest of Ilya’s men?”
“Alex? What’s the position over there?” Hollywood asked, stepping to the side of the van to see what was going on.
Drago watched as a big grin appeared on the man’s face.
“Five or six of Ilya’s men are still alive and have been arrested, but the rest of them have probably already met up with Ilya in hell.” Hollywood grinned as he relayed the message.
“Ok, then do you want to send some of your Russian SF friends back here with handcuffs?” Hollywood suggested to Alex. “It would be better if those men of Ilya’s that are still alive thought we’d actually been arrested as well. It’ll keep our cover intact and will make it look like we’re the bad guys we were supposed to be.”
“Great. We can all get arre
sted.” Drago rasped. “But do you think one of you could find me a doctor before I bleed out? I really don’t want a reunion with Ilya just yet.”
Chapter 64 – Hollywood
Sitting in a hospital waiting room was never one of his favourite pastimes, but in his line of work it had always seemed like something of an occupational hazard.
At least this one wasn’t a field hospital, in the back of beyond in some godforsaken third world country.
As Hollywood sat on the floor in the children’s corner of the family room, helping Roman build a Lego spaceship, he kept one eye on the door, desperate for news.
Niko had been brought in by ambulance still barely conscious from the knock on the head, and Sophia had warned him that a concussion was the most likely cause. But how serious the concussion was wouldn’t be determined until after she’d had a brain scan.
That was hours ago, and he was still waiting for news.
Ironically, the operation to fix Drago hadn’t lasted nearly so long.
No vital organs had been hit, so in Sophia’s words, he’d just needed a blood transfusion, a little embroidery, and after a restful night’s sleep, he’d be good to go.
“H, is my mama gonna come soon?” Roman tugged on Hollywood’s arm. “I’m tired, and I want mama.”
Hollywood glanced at his watch. Almost two in the morning? No wonder the kid was tired.
“Hey, come up here and sit with me.” Hollywood reached for the child and hauled him onto his lap. He leaned back against the wall so Roman naturally curled up against him.
“Your mama is just getting checked out by the doctors, because she bumped her head.” Hollywood smoothed Roman’s curls back from his face. “They’re taking some pictures, just to make sure there’s nothing that needs to be fixed, and if everything’s Ok, she’ll be back with us in no time.”
“Can I be in the pictures?” Roman sat up and looked at him. “Mama likes to have pictures with the both of us.”
Hollywood smiled.
“I think this one has to be just your mama.” He snuggled the boy up close, almost as though it was bringing him closer to Niko. “But from tomorrow, I promise you, we’ll be taking thousands of photos of you and your mama.”