Page 68 of The Fallen
Inwardly, Bryn breathed a sigh of relief. They’d fallen for it. “I can show ye, but ye have to go in shooting. They plan ta kill ye on sight.”
“Won’t be a problem.” The silver-haired man opened the car door to reveal a back seat covered in guns: assault rifles, shotguns, handguns, and even a grenade launcher on the floor. In the third seat, two more men looked at Bryn with cold, glittering eyes. “Get in.”
“Ye have ta promise not ta hurt my friend,” Bryn insisted.
“We have to do jack shit,” said the man who still held Bryn’s collar. “We can kill you right here.”
Bryn shrugged. “If ye do, ye won’t know where they’ve laid all their traps. Ye’ll walk right into them. They’ve been bragging they’ll make ye look like fools, and without me, they’ll be right.”
The silver-haired man laughed. “The balls on this one,nyet? We will… try to spare your friend.”
“He’s a big giant of a lad with a bright red beard.”
“Fine. Get in car.” The silver-haired man pointed, and Bryn got into the passenger seat. “If you lie to us, you will be very sorry.”
CHAPTER 10
“Stop here,” Bryn said when the SUV reached the halfway point through the woods leading to Grady’s house. “We should go the rest of the way on foot and surprise them.”
The silver-haired man, clearly in charge of this operation, pulled the car to the side of the dirt track and barked out a few words in Russian. The other three men quickly selected their weapons and stood awaiting orders. It was pitch dark, the moon barely a sliver.
“Lead way,” the silver-haired man said to Bryn.
Bryn dipped his head in acquiescence, but as soon as he stepped into an especially dense patch of shadow, he transformed and darted into the woods on silent cat’s feet. As he ran, he heard the confused curses from the Russians until their leader told them to just “Stick to road.”
Grady and Fedor had the farmhouse locked up tight. From the window, Bryn saw Gil sitting on the floor, leaning against a brick chimney, his hands tied with yellow nylon rope. Fedor sat on the sofa holding a rifle across his lap while Grady paced in circles, his pistol in his hand, stopping every few rounds to push the curtains aside and look out into the night.
Bryn went to the back door and the small porch overlooking the firepit. It was also locked, but he managed to push through a window screen and land in the dark, spacious kitchen. He padded slowly across the beige tiles and looked down the long hallway… directly at Fedor on the sofa. He crept forward until he stood in the last scrap of shadow. Gil sat only six feet away. His lip was scabbed and swollen and one of his eyes was black, but he was alive. Bryn intended to keep it that way… somehow.
Nothing else mattered to him.
The wooden door exploded off its hinges and flew across the room. The Russians opened fire, and brick, plaster, and wood rained down, filling the room with dust, gun smoke, and noise. Bryn transformed midleap and covered Gil’s body with his own as Grady and Fedor dove for the cover of the narrow hall. Crouching, Grady aimed and hit the silver-haired Russian in the forehead. He was a good shot; Bryn would give him that. The man dropped, and Grady pressed his back against the wall as the other three all targeted him.
Fedor was shouting something in Russian, but Bryn doubted his cousins heard him. As Grady shoved another clip into his pistol, he yelled at Fedor to “Shoot them for fuck’s sake!”
Grady’s next shot hit one of the Russians in the thigh. Bryn caught sight of a door on the opposite side of the big brick hearth. He didn’t know if it led to a closet or another room, but anything was better than lying here waiting to get shot. With as many bullets as flew around the small room, one or both of them would inevitably be hit.
“Gil,” Bryn said into Gil’s ear. “I’m going to create a quick distraction, and then I need ye ta follow me as fast as ye can.”
Gil nodded, and Bryn conjured an apple-sized ball of fire. He sent it into the corner farthest from them, where it hit the wall with a shower of sparks, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now!” Bryn practically dragged Gil to the door, flung it open, and tossed him inside. It turned out to be a small closet that held a mop, a vacuum cleaner, and a couple bags of ice melt. Bryn pushed his back against the door as the gunfire continued beyond it. He could see in the scant light coming from beneath the door, but Gil clearly couldn’t, because he pawed at Bryn, running shaking, bound hands over his face and body.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Gil panted.
“I am not hurt,” Bryn said. “I’m fine.” Except that acrid smoke had started to roll in under the door, and it was getting hard to breathe. They wouldn’t be able to stay here long.
Gil found Bryn’s face and held his cheeks in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. “I can’t believe you came back here. For me.”
“Pssht. I cannae believeyoucame afterme. I told ye not to.”
“I had to,” Gil said.
Bryn nodded. “So did I. Now, you stay behind me. Before long, someone will figure out where we went. I can conjure fire, defend us. Hold out yer hands.”
Bryn used a claw to slice through the nylon ropes. “I need ye ta do as I say this time, Gil. Promise me.”
Gil took hold of the wooden mop handle. “Okay.”
