Page 58 of Savage Warrior

Their whispered conversation carries on the frozen air. I can’t make out the words, but it’s clear they’re confused, not sure if they believe me or not.

“You’ll find Piatro over to your left,” I supply, by way of being helpful. “You’ll have to scrape him up. Give my regards to Olaf when you deliver his Vor back to him.”

“Who are you?” The heavily accented words hover in the arctic breeze. “What is this to you?”

“You don’t want to know,” I yell back, all the while inching towards where I judge the voice to be coming from.

“And you do not know who you are dealing with,” the Russian replies.

Hasn’t he registered my name-dropping? “You haven’t been listening, drocher.” I rise onto my knees to better scan my surroundings and catch a flicker of movement a few paces ahead. I let fly a volley of bullets.

In the moments of silence that follow, I approach the spot. The bloodstained corpse of a red deer is there, still twitching.

Fuck!

I drop into a crouch again and gaze around. The scream reverberating through the forest brings me to my feet.

Arina!

Frantic, I call her name. “Arina? Are you okay? Answer me.”

“Your shlyukha is in no position to answer you, English bastard.” The Russian is sneering now. “We have her, now we come for you.”

Bring it on.

I fire into the air to betray my position. I need to draw them towards me, away from Arina. I assume she’s hurt, but maybe she can still escape…

There’s a crunch of booted feet crashing through the undergrowth. I roll onto my back, firearm poised. I let loose a volley as soon as I sight him, but not before a bullet slams into my thigh. I grunt as the agony grips me. It’s like my leg is on fire.

They must have split up. One is in front of me, I can still see him. The other is concealed somewhere off to my right, using me as target practice.

A second hail of bullets pins me to the ground. I return fire, but I’m already faint from blood loss. My shots go wild. I’m helpless. Trapped.

My ears ring. I can hear a buzzing sound, a distant, low drone, never-ending. It’s a familiar hum. And getting louder.

The figure ahead of me is closer now. On top of me, towering over me, silhouetted by the late afternoon sunshine at his back. I raise my gun with bloodied, nerveless hands, but he kicks it away.

“Mudak,” he snarls. “You will die.”

I guess he’s right. I flinch in readiness for the kill shot. But instead of the roar from his Kalashnikov, all I hear is a dull thud before he collapses to the ground, his body partially covering mine.

I’m gasping for air, fighting to throw his dead weight off me. Suddenly, he’s gone. I draw in a breath and open my eyes.

“Hey.” Ethan drops to his knees beside me. “How’s it going?”

I grimace. “Fair enough, I suppose. You cut it fine, boss.”

He shrugs and grins at me. “You’ve Magda to thank for us being here in time. She put the chopper down in a clearing the size of a postage stamp, just over there.”

I focus my gaze in the direction he indicates and spot Aaron Savage, Ethan’s brother. Behind him, Jack Morgan and Tony Haigh, my closest friends among the Brotherhood, are checking over the Russian’s body.

“He’s dead, boss,” Jack announces.

“Fuck.” Ethan holsters his firearm and reaches for me. “We could have questioned him. Still, never mind. Let’s get you on board the helicopter.”

I try to shake off his grip. “No. You need to find Arina.”

“We’re on it.” Ethan hoists me to a sitting position. “Can you walk?”

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