Page 92 of Savage Warrior

“My thoughts exactly.”

We whirl in our tracks, knives drawn. We’ll need to be fast to beat the bodyguard and his gun.

Except, we don’t. He beats us.

But we are not his targets. Fedor is already sprawled in the dirt, gurgling his last as blood spurts from a gash in his throat. The bodyguard crouches over him and casually wipes his blade, then straightens. His gaze is on a spot over my shoulder, and he moves like lightning. His knife whistles past my ear.

It seems I’ve had a lucky escape. His aim was off.

In the next instant, I hear the thud behind me. The other guard has toppled like a felled tree.

“Holy fuck!”

We both sheath our knives and eye the so-called bodyguard with varying degrees of astonishment.

“Nice work,” I remark.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Do I need to kill you?” He speaks to us in English, the Texan drawl incongruous in the shocked hush.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ethan assures him. “I think we’re on the same side.”

His eyes narrow. “Those girls?”

“They’ll be safe and cared for. We’ll return all of them to their homes, or where that’s not possible, find them a safe place to start over.”

The American tilts his head, considering whether to believe us or not. Somehow, we must have convinced him we’re on the side of the angels. “Okay. I’ll leave that with you, then.” He offers us a salute, turns, and limps away.

“Who the fuck was that?” I breathe, once we’re safely back outside.

“Not a clue. But with that assassin working his way through his ranks, old Olaf has big problems.”

“Good. What’s the plan for this lot?” I’m referring to the girls huddling under a car blanket beside our Trabant.

Ethan beckons Grigor over. “Can you hotwire one of the other vehicles? That van should do…” He indicates a battered Volvo. “Take the three we don’t need to the Bival mansion. When Marius gets back from raiding my liquor cabinet tell him I’d appreciate it if he could guarantee their safety until he’s able to make arrangements to send them home.”

Grigor grins. “Right, boss.” He ambles over to the Volvo where it takes him less than half a minute to gain entry and get the engine started.

I approach the group of terrified girls, shrugging out of my jacket. “Natalija, you’re with me. The rest of you, go with my friend here. He’ll take you somewhere safe until we can find a way to send all of you home.”

They just gape at me in utter bewildered confusion. My Russian is worse than I thought. I try again.

“It’s over. You’re all going home. But we need to be quick.” I’m conscious that the bodies in the viewing gallery will be discovered at any moment. We all need to be out of here. Now.

Tony and Ethan help to bundle the girls into the Volvo, and Grigor gets behind the wheel. He waves to us and swings the old vehicle around, then heads for the wrought-iron gates.

Natalija is left standing alone by the Trabant. She cringes away when I approach her. I drape my jacket over her shoulders, covering the tattered shift dress she’s wearing.

“You need to get in the car, Natalija.”

”Ostav’ menya pokoye.” She backs away from me.

I try to convince her, using my best joined-up Russian, but it’s no good. She drops into a crouch then huddles in a foetal position beside the wheel of the car, begging us over and over to leave her alone. Out of time, and alternatives, I lift her in my arms and slide into the back seat with her.

“You’re safe. I promise you, but we have to go. Now.”

The others pile in, and moments later, we’re following Grigor’s taillights down the unlit road.

“We kept ourselves busy while you were inside.” Aaron makes his announcement as he steers us away from the warehouse.

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