Page 82 of Fight for You
I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Well. I just got a bad feeling. Same as I did last night before Rocket attacked me, I felt … a premonition.”
“That’s not a premonition.” As Nan went to her briefcase, I leaned against the sink. “That’s—” Before she could open it, anarm slipped around her neck from behind. A blade sat at her throat.
“If this fat babushka screams, Jordyn,” a man growled, his voice deep, rough, and Russian, “I’ll slit her throat. Now come with me. Quietly.”
Nan’s eyes locked onto mine with a look that could only come from a momma protecting her child. She mouthed,Run. A second later, she hyperventilated and heaved a breath. “Ple-please,” she stuttered aloud in a voice full of the fear that rattled around in my chest, except I figured she wanted the masked Russian off his guard. “Please don’t hurt me.” The plea in her voice was convincing. “H-how di-did you find us?”
“Eh … some racist hacker. We pay him.”
Satisfied with his answer, the mask of fear melted from her face, replaced with something cold. Calculating. Her head snapped back. She narrowly missed the man’s nose but didn’t flinch.
Briefcase in hand, she brought it down toward his knee.
The man jumped back, and the bone-cracking force only hit with mild impact. He arched the knife in front of him.
The kitchen window exploded from behind me. Glass shattered in a hailstorm of shards, one slicing against the back of my shoulder. I screamed as a bullet, clearly intended for Nan, shattered wooden splinters from the cabinet to her left. She dropped. I hit the ground too. Hard. Where was my beautiful protector?
No. I couldn’t depend on Jamie to defend me every second of my life.
A weapon.
I needed a weapon.
31
BIG BEAR
Jamie
Brody’s breathfogged the air as he recounted a night in Glasgow when he and Kieran fought a couple of drunks at a bar.
“Alright, big brother.” I patted Brody’s shoulder, removing myself from his animated, story-telling headlock. “Sounds like Kieran got the snot beat out of him. You saved the day?”
“Aye.”
As if I believed that. “What did you put in your OJ for breakfast?”
Closer to the deck’s edge, Enzo chuckled. “Next time, pass the bottle.”
“Deal.” Brody nodded. “How about you Marine Raiders? What have you been up to? I love a good story.”
Oh, so no more Marine Rat? Enzo struck up a story just as animated as my brother’s. My attention drifted as I glanced across the half-frozen lake, past the large chunks of slush. The lake reminded me of when my fourteen-man assault team had wornscuba gear at Kolsai Lake in Kazakhstan. We emerged from the icy water with underwater firearms.
Where did that come from?Should I be worried? But I reminded myself that Aleksandr Chelomey and his Bratva enforcers lacked training as operatives. My gaze shifted up the incline, a restless habit, and to the ridgeline to my left, where Rocket took Jordyn.
The trees were quiet. Too quiet.
And then … I saw it. A glint. A shimmer of light on glass. My stomach dropped. I hadn’t found Chelomey. He had found us. And he had the audacity to initiate a full-on midday assault. “Get down!”
The words were barely out before the first shot whipped the cold air. Glass shattered from the kitchen window behind us. Enzo shoved to the ground behind the stone fire pit, cursing.
“Mam. I’ve got to get to Mam,” Brody growled on the ground at my side. He removed his golden Magnum from the back of his leather jacket.
Should be me going into that house. It would leave us two and two—one street-smart and one soldier in both positions, but the look on his face. Mam’s firstborn wouldn’t take over for me and participate in this surgical strike while I saved the girls.
“I’ll cover you.” I drew my weapon, then snuck a quick scan of the tree-covered hill where Rocket had parked the night before. I counted as many as I could distinguish from the trees, wearing over-whites. Full tactical gear. White Ruger AR-556 semiautomatic rifles. These guys were professionals. Mercenaries. A bullet pierced the wood on the ground. Would’ve been my head if I hadn’t made it quick. “Ferri,” I addressed my brother-in-arms seriously, “I count at least ten tangos.”
“I got the piece you loaned me,” Enzo replied from his position behind the firepit.
