Page 3 of Possess Me
A strange sound caught my attention. I’d learned from extensive training that enemies came in many forms and usually never offered advance warning.
Which meant I was always on edge.
Even vacationing in Jamaica, a location Megan had long fantasized about visiting, I was completely aware of my surroundings. I’d been forced to be since I’d been a small child living in Moscow.
There were men in uniforms and expensive tailored suits who longed to crush the spirit and lives of anyone who didn’t follow the rules.
That was something I’d never done thanks to my father and uncle, their mastery of weapons and covert actions helping our family create a new life in the United States.
My training kicked in and I pushed Megan against the wall of the clinic, giving her a stern look. “Listen to me. Go back inside and stay there until I return.”
“What’s going on?” Her face was pinched from fear, her voice barely audible over several loud and shrill shouts.
“I don’t know, baby. Just do what I say. Okay?”
She nodded, her entire body shaking.
My father had advised me to take several soldiers with me. I’d refused, ignoring the rules of the Bratva. I’d believed there was no need.
As I grabbed my weapon, turning toward the sound, I noticed a man holding a gun. A single pull of the trigger and the front glass of a shop exploded into shards. Several people on the sidewalk and street screamed, a melee ensuing.
I rushed toward the asshole holding the weapon. I was no hero. That wasn’t something I’d ever wanted to be, yet seeing so many innocent people fearing for their lives created an intense vacuum, a need to stop the madness.
“Get away!” I shouted as I shoved my way through the crowd. People scattered everywhere, terror increasing.
I raised my weapon, pointing it at the gunman who was standing staring at the destruction he’d created. Not moving.Not attempting to rush inside to steal whatever merchandise he was after.
Wearing a mask, when he turned his head in my direction, every muscle tensed.
That’s the moment I knew the scene had been set for one reason.
An assassination.
“Drop your weapon,” the bastard said as he shifted his arm, pointing the barrel of his gun toward my forehead. There was no discernable accent, no identifying markers of any kind.
Just like a professional.
Echoes pounded in my ears, a single scream capturing my attention.
Megan.
With the entire world in slow motion, I spun around, facing where Megan remained. She’d been prevented from going inside where it was safe.
Now a monster had his gun pressed against her beautiful face.
I calculated the distance, taking several long strides toward him.
“Let her go,” I gritted out, darting my eyes toward Megan. Hers were open wide, but I could tell she trusted me to keep her safe.
The bastard laughed. “Vissarian Dmitriyev.”
The assassin knew my name.
This was personal. The fucker would die for touching the woman I loved.
“I said. Let. Her. Go. Or I will put a bullet in your brain.”
“Ora perderai tutto ciò a cui tieni. Giustizia è fatta.”
