Page 86 of Her Silver Fox Mountain Men

The sound of footsteps approaching causes us to turn to see who’s headed toward us. I expect to see Kara relieved at the sight of the two men coming into the alley, but the look on her face tells me they’re not who she was hoping for.

“Kara?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“I need you to run,” she says. “Now. As fast as you can all the way to the back.”

“What?”

“They’re Igor’s men. They must’ve followed us from the café. They probably had eyes on me. That stealthy motherfucker.” She’s already moving backward, her eyes never leaving the two men who keep getting closer.

“Igor knew you were in town.”

The men take out their guns. I notice the silencers and the deadly looks in their eyes before Kara pushes me. I whip around and start running like there’s no tomorrow. She’s right by my side, our boots splashing across the puddles as the men fire their weapons.

FLIT. FLIT. FLIT.

The silencers are effective in muffling the sound of gunfire. All I can hear are bullets bouncing off the brick walls, missing us by mere inches.

We reach the end of the alley, another street opening up ahead. A bullet darts past my head, taking a chunk off the corner of the building. The bricks explode and fragments fly. I raise a hand to shield my face from the incoming debris.

Two men wait for us at the end of the alley.

“Thank fuck!” Kara shouts. “Dmitri, Piotr, what the hell?”

We turn the corner and move away from the alley, our hearts stuck in our throats. Dmitri and Piotr whip out their guns and fire back. They don’t have silencers, though, the popping sounds startle everyone around. Bystanders scream and scatter.

Dmitri and Piotr aren’t bothered by any of it. They’re too busy shooting at our assailants. I can’t see them from where we’re standing, but as Kara’s men put their weapons away and rush to assist us, I have to assume they managed to push Igor’s goons back a safe distance. For now.

“Dmitri, what happened?” Kara asks the blonde-haired giant.

“No time, let’s go,” he replies in a heavy Russian accent.

“Go where?”

“Safe place. Get in that car,” he points to a blue Buick.

Their thick accents would be rather comical were it not for the dire circumstances. Without hesitation and desperate to get as far away from Igor’s people as possible, I follow Kara into the backseat of the Buick, while Dmitri takes the wheel and Piotr slides into the passenger seat.

I can already see the red and blue lights of cop cars flashing down the street, their sirens wailing.

“The sheriff’s deputies are going to be here in a minute, tops,” I mumble, scanning the entire block on both sides. Some people huddle beneath outdoor coffee shop tables and displays while others flee for their lives, understandably scared.

It pains me to see how much trouble my presence has brought to this place. Rustic used to be quaint and quiet. Now, it has gunfire from the Russian mob and former Army Rangers bringing in a whole crew of private security mercenaries to keep me and the twins safe. The ache I feel in my heart is almost too much.

“Elise, it’s going to be okay,” Kara tells me as Dmitri kicks the car into gear. We speed off with a shrill screech of tires just as the deputy’s car approaches from the other end of the street.

“We’re not going to be okay until I get the evidence I have on Igor,” I say to Kara. “We need to stop by the bank, and we need to have a talk with your dad.”

“Where are we going exactly?” Dmitri asks.

He takes a tight left turn to get us back onto the Rustic belt road, content that we left the chaos behind. Piotr keeps looking behind us and in the side view mirror, always watching, making sure weweren’t followed.

I’m doing the same thing, constantly looking over my shoulder from the backseat. “Rustic Union Bank,” I say. “But nobody can see us go in. Something tells me that Igor’s got eyes everywhere in this town now.”

“I swear, Elise, had I known for a fact that he’d be looking to kill you, I would’ve brought the issue up with Papa a hell of a lot sooner.”

“Listen, I get it. Family is family,” I mutter.

“You’re family, too,” she insists. “And if what you’re telling me about Igor is true, if he had your parents killed, Elise, then the Konstantinovs owe you a lifetime’s worth of apologies and so much more.”

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