Page 92 of The Hermit

A burst of laughter escapes him. “I’m not dying today. My tarot reading said I’m going to live a long life with a woman who’s like the rising sun.”

“The fuck?” I mutter, starting to believe Santiago is really crazy.

“It’s true,” he says, giving me a grin. “I can feel her coming toward me, and soon our paths will cross.”

Letting out a sigh, I grumble, “Please shut up so I can focus on our surroundings.”

As Santiago steers the truck up a side road that will lead to the back of the factory, I spot a body lying at the entrance of an alley.

“Looks like Knight came through here already,” I mention.

“He used to be special forces. I found him in one of Rojas’ houses, covered in blood from all the men he single-handedly killed. The fuckers trafficked his sister, and she died of an overdose of the coke they forced her to take.”

“Jebat,” I murmur.

“He’s broken, but broken men make the best soldiers,” Santiago says as we drive past more bodies.

When we’re a couple of miles away from the factory, he brings the truck to a stop. “I’m leaving Princess here. If shit gets out of control, I can come back to her and launch a missile at the factory. It’s better to blow the place than to let the bratva have control.”

I nod as I shove the door open, and after we climb out, Santiago smacks the ass of the truck before heading to the Jeep Leo and Enzo are in.

After we climb into the backseats, Leo drives the last few miles.

When we turn up the road that runs past the back of the factory, we can already hear the sporadic pop of gunfire.

As the building comes into view, Santiago and I jump off the Jeep and run to the side of the road where we’ll be able to have some cover.

The others park their vehicles in a way that blocks the road off, and soon, we’re all running toward the war that will make or break the alliance.

I leap over the body of a soldier who died of a perfect shot between the eyes. Another soldier appears in a window, but before any of us can react, he takes a shot to the head. I watch as he falls out of the building, and a moment later, his body hits the concrete below.

When we reach the entrance, I grip my machine gun tightly.

“Blyat!” Someone shouts. “Ubey ikh vsekh!”

I run toward a stack of crates, and leaping into the air, I grab hold of the top one, flinging my body onto it so I have a vantage point from higher up.

Santiago takes cover somewhere below, muttering, “Yeah, leave my ass down here.”

I open fire on a group of soldiers hiding between the crates while shouting, “There are explosives in the crates! Try not to blow us all up.”

I hear gunfire from below, then Santiago mutters, “The fucker shot a hole in my sleeve. I love this shirt.”

I can only shake my head as I continue to fire at the Russians, making sure not to hit a crate.

Bullets hit the corner of the crate I’m standing on, and I leap off while shouting, “Move, Santiago!”

We run for our fucking lives, weaving through pallets and containers. Whatever was in the crate detonates, sending a blast of energy and heat through the air.

Santiago’s body slams into mine, tackling me to the ground just as a piece of debris flies right over us.

It takes a stunned minute before we lift our heads, then he says, “Let’s not make the lovely Grace a widow today.”

The crazy fucker just saved my life.

Climbing to my feet, I lock eyes with Santiago while giving him my hand. As he takes it and I yank him up, I mutter, “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “Your gain is my gain.”

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