Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“You fucking bitch,” he roars, but I’m up on my feet and moving.
I break for the door while he’s down and bleeding and roaring something in Russian behind me. I run for the one thing in this house that can actually save me.
The stairs.
I take them three at a time even though my legs feel like jelly and my lungs are full of smoke. I claw up the railing hand over hand, and as I go, I scream it, I can’t help it, I scream it down into the great room, “Finn! Finn, hold on, I’m coming, hold on—”
I risk one glance back, and below me, at the bottom of the stairs, I see it happen.
Finn—broken, shot through the chest, a man who shouldn’t be able to move—has dragged himself across the floor into the mouth of the hallway. I almost stop and go to him, but then Mikhail is lurching out of the study and I can see he has his gun in his hand.
I don’t want him to see Finn, so I scream at him, “Hey, asshole… come and get me if you think you’re fast enough.”
Mikhail’s face contorts with fury and through the bleating house alarm—is that my imagination or are those… police sirens?
I can’t contemplate it anymore as Mikhail raises his gun and aims straight at me. He fires a round that hits the wall two feet from my head but before he can fire again, his body jerks.
I see that Finn has grabbed his leg and my heart breaks as I see it for what it is. A miniscule distraction with a dying man’s grip. It costs Mikhail a single stutter-step and after he kicks free of Finn, he raises his gun and points it at the man I love.
Instinct kicks in, and without a thought I throw the fire poker down the stairwell toward Mikhail. It doesn’t come anywhere close to hitting him, but it does bounce off the stairwell and get his attention, which is now locked on me.
“Come on, you pussy,” I taunt from the top of the stairs. “You know I’m the one you want. Come and get me if you have the guts.”
Please, please, please let his ego not be able to tolerate a woman belittling him.
I turn and sprint down the hall out of sight, thankful I don’t hear another gunshot but rather booted steps lurching up the staircase.
I enter Finn’s bedroom, my shoulder smashing into the doorframe but right myself quick. I go for the nightstand at a dead run, ripping the drawer all the way out. It crashes to the floor and the gun’s there. I lunge for it, get my hand around the grip and spin toward the door.
Mikhail’s already there.
He fills the doorway, his face a mask of blood and fury. His gun comes up and there’s no time for me to consider the ramifications. There’s no clean shot, there’s only the two of us, fifteen feet apart and raising weapons in unison.
We fire together and I brace for an impact that never arrives.
My gun bucks and my round goes low and wide. His blows the headboard apart a foot from my hip, goose-down and wood exploding into the air.
I aim for another shot but Mikhail is somehow there, charging at me like an enraged bull. Two hundred pounds of muscle and male ego driving into my chest. We slam into the wall with a force that empties my lungs and I realize, my gun is gone and I have no idea where it went.
It doesn’t matter, though, because Mikhail’s forearm is across my throat now and his weight is on it. The air is gone, just gone, like a door slammed on my windpipe.
I claw at his arm, but it’s futile.
The edges of the room go soft, and I wonder vaguely why he doesn’t just shoot me. The house alarm is dulling, getting farther away. Some calm terrible voice in the back of my head says, “This is how you die, Josie.”
No.
No! something in my head screams.
Not like this. Not when Finn needs help. Not when he crawled across broken glass to grab a killer’s ankle for me. Not when he threw himself in front of a bullet. Not when there’s a white fence and a dog and a lawn I haven’t gotten to mow yet.
I stop clawing at Mikhail’s arm and instead find his face with both hands. I drive my thumb into his eye, the soft, vulnerable socket, and I push with all my might. I do not let myself feel anything about it. I ignore his inhuman scream and the mushy way his eyeball gives way with a soft pop. His arm drops from my throat and I suck in a breath.
Just one that gives me the strength to bring my knee up hard into his balls.