Page 66 of The Russian's Forced Bride
“Any more?” I spoke into the comms, certain that the gunshots had alerted others on different floors, and it was only a matter of time before Maxim and I were swamped.
Diego answered almost immediately, confirming my theory.
“A swarm of them is approaching, sir. But the room where we suspect the victim is being held is just a little further. If you’re fast enough, you might get there before they do.”
Maxim spared me a glance after. “What’s wrong?”
“We have to keep moving. They’re about to come pouring in like bees,” I said, patting his shoulders and jogging ahead, my heart thumping at the revelation that Arlette was being held just a bit farther into the bunker.
Maxim and I kicked down each room we passed by, which included cell rooms, a storage room, and even a cellar, but they were all empty, covered in dust and cobwebs.
But right as we pushed through the hallways with flickering lights, a sudden gunshot popped into the air, aimed straight at me. I dodged out of the way just in time, the bullet grazing my arm. I immediately retaliated, firing back as the shooter came into view, before others came rushing in, firing sporadically at Maxim and me.
Some bullets grazed my exposed skin, a few missing my head by a strand. But Maxim and I were faster, shooting down as many of them as we could all at once. But it was getting overwhelming, and with all the noise we were making, I was certain Joaquin had already been alerted.
Through the firing and constant ducking, Maxim nudged me by the shoulder as he yelled into my ears, “Go, I’ll cover you,” all the while punching one of the men who came rushing to him, holding a bat. “Go find her before they take her somewhere else.”
It wasn’t fair for me to leave him all alone, but I was sure he could handle them by himself. So I gave him a nod in agreement, right after shooting at the throat of one of Joaquin’s many henchmen, whose blood sprayed all over my face while he doubled back, trying in vain to clutch at the injury.
And just before I left Maxim to finish off the rest that were still incoming, I grabbed a bat that lay beside one of the bodies, which loitered across the ground, their bodies angled grotesquely.
I made my way to another hallway, checking with Diego if I was going the right way, and he replied positively. Apparently,all the guards that had been stationed at this particular hallway had run off to engage with the intruders—Maxim and me.
I kept knocking down doors to empty rooms, my chest thumping in anticipation as I approached a huge metallic door at the end of the hallway. The room was familiar. It was once an interrogation room Father had used to question his victims—and the same room I would always be locked up in whenever I disobeyed him.
An odd feeling of nostalgia swept through my entire being as I now stood in front of it. Memories burned through my skull. My first kill had been in this room, and it had been in this same room that I had learned to channel all my emotions to a quiet rage that showed itself in the form of violence.
A part of me wanted to walk past it, but then a muffled sound from inside caught my attention, just as Diego’s voice once again tore through the comms.
“She’s right in there, sir.”
I drew in a sharp breath just as the door opened on its own accord, revealing a surprised Mateo Saavedra. Blocking off my emotion, I pulled the trigger—but he was quick to dodge, slamming the door shut in my face and dropping a spiked bat, which I picked up.
I kicked the door back forcefully before it could be successfully shut and stormed into the room, immediately meeting the woman I had been searching for the past eight hours.
My breath hitched, and my eyes widened in accordance with the sight of her. She was broken, strapped to a chair, her skin eerily pale with a visible bump protruding from her stomach. Her head hung limply by her side, her once fiery hair now washed to a dull color that was sprawled over her face.
And her face. Her face was almost unrecognizable. It was swollen, and blood trickled down her nose in drops onto the ground.
My grip tightened hard on the gun in my hands, my right hand tightening around the bat as well. I could already see myself bashing his head in as I lunged toward Mateo, who seemed to be loading a gun while panicking.
I immediately fired a gun at his hands in an attempt to destabilize him, and he let out a sharp cry of pain as the gun he was trying to load fell to the ground beneath him with athudwhile he inched closer to a dusty storage shelf situated at the right side of the room.
My ears rang—a sharp tone that resounded all over my body—and my eyes had become covered by a red veil as I tossed my Glock to the ground, certain he wouldn’t be able to use his fingers that were now blown off to shoot me. I lunged toward him, swinging the bat at his head. The bastard once again dodged my attack, holding his bleeding hands and sweating profusely. But I wasn’t in the mood to play tag with him, so I quickly reached for a table knife from my tactical jacket and swung at his shoulder.
“Fuck!” he groaned in pain as the knife wedged itself between his shoulder and the deteriorating wall, coated with smudges of dried-up blood from the past. And while he screamed, his eyes widening in fear as I approached him, I once again swung the bat to his head. The cracking of bones echoed through the room as the bat met his skull, Arlette’s muffled scream resounding in the room just as I hit him.
“Please!” she cried out. “Don’t kill him.”
Her strained voice yelled, and I wished she didn’t stress herself so much over him, because it didn’t matter what she thought of me after now. I had already set my mind on killing thefucker, who seemed surprised as well that Arlette was begging for his life.
Regret flashed through his eyes, wide and damp with tears, as they stayed trained on Arlette’s tied-up form, who kept begging that I let him go.
But as much as I wanted to for her sake, I simply yelled back to her to close her eyes—because as I had said, I was going to bash his head in.
“Please…” he begged, almost unconscious, blood trailing from the open tear on his forehead. But I never planned on showing mercy, even as his cheekbones jutted from his purplish skin.
He began muttering how sorry he was. His words didn’t seem directed at me, but at Arlette, who kept wailing.
