Page 60 of Break Me
Along with an unexpected security measure, there were more guards than we’d been told maintained a presence at night.
Double the number.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
A sudden deluge of men ran toward us, their boots pounding on the concrete floor. The flashing lights were a pain in theass, creating ominous shadows in shades of crimson, leaving darkened corners everywhere.
“Look out,” Sasha snarled, managing to shove me to the ground then dropping and rolling before firing off his weapon.
The asshole had managed to sneak up on me. Maybe I’d lost my touch. Scrambling to my feet, I moved through the warehouse, my weapon held in both hands.
Pop! Boom!
And the motherfuckers had smoke bombs. What the hell? It would seem they’d been prepared for any possible retaliation. That pissed me off. What had happened to the element of surprise when you needed it?
As acrid smoke filled the air, making it almost impossible to breathe, I realized we were on our own. There was no chance of catching sight of anyone. We’d need to act on instinct.
I threw my back against a wall, my eyes burning. After rubbing them, I was able to focus enough to see one of the security guards making his way toward Mikhail. Unfortunately, Sasha couldn’t see the enemy from where he was standing.
The shot was risky, so I lunged forward, grabbing the guard by the back of the neck, pitching him to the ground. Without hesitation, I fired off two shots, catching him between the eyes. But I couldn’t rest on my laurels.
An instant blast of pain electrified my system, starting with my shoulder and extending down my arm. I’d been shot. While a glancing blow, the anguish was horrific, the force enough to drive me against several crates. I went down, my weapon flying from my hand.
A soldier was right there, attempting to take advantage of the moment. While I was scrambling to reach my weapon, he decided he’d kick me in the stomach while I was down. The bastard even laughed.
Big mistake. There was little I hated more than being made fun of.
Even with being in my late thirties, I was still in damn good shape. Given I was one pissed-off Russian, I rolled onto my side, throwing my leg up and catching him in the face. He was instantly pitched backward. I jerked to my feet, lunging toward him.
“Aaarrrrr…” My bellow was one of fury and I drove us both into a stacked set of crates, sending them flying. I ignored the biting anguish as we wrestled, the fucker managing to get off several brutal punches.
But I was bigger and stronger, pummeling my fist into his face and throat, able to toss him aside seconds later. But I’d be damned if he didn’t rise like from the dead, aiming his weapon at me. I’d had enough, smacking my hand around the barrel, fighting to shove it away. He was strong. I’d given him that, somehow able to scramble to his feet while we continued the death dance.
The asshole managed to drive the cold, hard steel against my throat. Grinning, he believed he had me, a prize for his mantel. He’d underestimated me as so many had. With a quick jab with my injured arm, I broke the tight hold he had, his fingers loosening enough I was able to jerk the man’s weapon from him.
After another brutal kick to the gut, I leveled the gun in his direction.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
“Take that, fucker.” Huffing, I raked my hand through my hair, wincing from the pain. Another sound caught my attention and I crouched low, swinging to the left. Just in time to catch another guard trying to sneak up on me.
He failed.
Only after his body slumped to the ground did I lower my weapon. Within seconds, there were no other sounds but the shrill alarm.
“Would someone cut the goddamn thing off!” Mikhail shouted from somewhere deeper in the interior of the building.
Half laughing and thankful the smoke was starting to clear, I went and found my weapon, shoving the guard’s phone into my jacket while holding mine. Jesus Christ, it hurt like a son of a bitch. The days of being fascinated by fights more than contracts were way behind me. Within seconds, one of our men had successfully turned off the alarm, also switching off the emergency lights.
Through the smoke and carnage, I noticed the man we’d placed inside certainly hadn’t been wrong about the drugs. There were crates full of them.
“What the hell was that?” Kazimir hissed as he appeared from the shadows.
“A near ambush,” Mikhail answered.
“They were waiting for us.” Sasha lifted an eyebrow, looking from one to the other of us.
Vissarian wiped blood from his face with his arm. “Yeah. How the fuck did they know we’d hit tonight?”
