Page 5 of For a Price

The most uncomfortable silence of my life follows.

The moment becomes a game of chicken as the three of us stand where we are and size each other up. JC from inside the elusive Roman Volkova’s office and the hulking man who says that’s who he is in the doorway. I’m halfway in between them, feeling like the situation could go either way.

Either this job’s a botched fucking disaster or we’re still good.

The moment passes and the stretch of silence ends.

But not in the way we’d hoped—Roman snaps into motion. One second he’s eerily still in the doorway, glaring at the two of us with open suspicion. The next second he’s lunging forward, shoving me to the ground and swinging on JC.

I crash down like I’ve been knocked over by the force of a tornado blowing through. I don’t stand a chance of staying on my feet.

His fist connects with JC's jaw, sending the glasses flying off his face.

JC doesn’t fare much better than I do coming into contact with a man the size of Roman Volkova. He flops to the ground like a crash test dummy.

Roman’s on top of him the instant he lands. His iron-like fists rain down on JC one after another.

Blood sprays and the bone in his nose crunches.

“Get the hell off him!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “You’ll kill him if you keep punching him!”

I run at the Russian barbarian only for him to half-turn around and shove me back all over again.

For a second time, I’m knocked several paces back.Almostoff my feet, though I catch myself before the fall.

Roman returns his fist to JC's face.

Punch after punch after punch.

My eyes widen in horror watching the blows smash down into JC.

I act on impulse, my heart pounding away inside my chest. I dart toward the cleaning cart and scramble for the black pouch JC had carried with him. The pouch he’d said the tranquilizer was in. Filling up the syringe, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I leap toward the Russian Hercules and jam the needle into the side of his neck.

It’s a move that’ll either save us or guarantee I’m next on the receiving end of his steel fists.

The effects are immediate.

Roman pulls back his fist to throw yet another punch, then slows down like someone’s pressed the pause button. He shakes his head, fighting off the sudden wooziness, swaying from where he’s kneeling over JC.

But even he’s no match for what reallyisa bear tranquilizer.

He falls face forward into the ground, out like he’s been KO’d.

For several seconds to come, nobody moves.

I’m too shocked to do so, listening to my racing heartbeat. JC's barely conscious, his face a bloodied, swelling mess.

And the Russian Bear—he’s off in la la land.

Once my shock fades, I pad over toward the wreckage. First I check on Roman, nudging him with my foot to see if he’s really out and not playing pretend.

The shallow breaths he draws tells me he is. The tranquilizer worked.

I crouch next to JC. “Shit, JC. That went fucking left fast.”

He groans, barely able to lift his head. He can’t open his eyes. They’re too swollen. When he tries to piece together a few words, two broken teeth tumble past his lips.

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