Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
However, following Yulian isn’t really a foolproof plan. Yes, he’s been up these mountains many times during the period we’ve spent here, but what if he’s in on this?
What if Yaroslav, whom I’m already so wary of, decided to either kidnap or kill me to get to my father and asked Yulian to be in on the plan?
But then again, Yulian wouldn’t have taken a bullet for me if that were the case.
Or maybe he did it so I’d trust him?
I groan. Guess I’ll kill him in that event.
But right now, wandering north is my best bet for survival.
I jog behind Yulian while rummaging through my backpack until I find the bandage roll.
As soon as I catch up to him, I wrap it around his middle from behind, and he startles, pointing his gun at me, then lowers it and stops for a second to look at me.
“It’s just a graze, not too bad…” His voice is low, too low, actually, the lowest I’ve ever heard, and it’s full of a sort of…wonder.
“You’re losing a considerable amount of blood. It could be bad. This will at least help stop it until we can disinfect it properly once we’re safe.” I tighten the bandage in a secure knot around the wound on his side, right below his rib cage. I can barely see it through all the blood, so I doubt it’s just a graze—in fact, the wound is deep enough for the bullet to still be in there.
“We need to get going.” He moves as soon as I’m done with the knot, his eyes focused forward.
I step in front of him, my gun pointed ahead. “Tell me which way to go. I’ll cover you.”
He moves right beside me with his own gun, scanning our sides and our backs. “I don’t need you to cover for me.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re injured. You’ve seen me shoot targets. I can protect us.”
“Not sure if you missed the memo, Russian aristocracy, but targets aren’t real people.” He grabs my wrist and swings me around, then points his gun at a tree across from us and shoots.
A thud echoes around us as a body falls from the tree to the ground, a rifle in his hand, a mask covering his face.
“They’re always up there like fucking monkeys.” Yulian heads over and kicks the cadaver. “Yo mama sends her regards.”
My fingers twitch on the trigger. Fuck.
I didn’t even notice the sniper.
I mean, I was wary of them, but not to the point where I could pinpoint their exact locations and even shoot and kill them.
My eyes narrow on Yulian’s back as he cuts through the forest with the ease of someone used to every nook and cranny of this place.
Who the fuck is this guy? He’s entirely different from the incompetent, idiotic, and violence-prone Yulian I’ve known this summer.
“To your right,” I shout as I shoot a figure from behind the tree.
Yulian points his gun at me, and I freeze, but before I can react, he runs toward me and shoots right next to my ear.
The bang is deafening, and my ears buzz in a constant flow of nothingness. The sounds of the forest disappear, overwhelmed by the gunshots still echoing in the air.
When I look behind me, I find a body slumping against a tree.
So that’s what he was shooting at.
Slender fingers rub the curve of my ear, and I jump, goosebumps prickling along my skin.
What the fuck was that?
Yulian takes a step back, his brow furrowing, and he pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, then releases it and turns around. “That was the best angle.”
It doesn’t sound like an excuse or an apology, more like he’s irritated.
He was the one who shot right next to my ear, then caressed it like a weirdo, and he’s the one who’s irritated?
“Hurry up, Mishka. Don’t slow me down.”
I slam my shoulder into his as I fall in step beside him. “You’re the one slowing me down.”
“Ow, my injury hurts.”
I frown, staring at the wound. Maybe I should refrain from being physically aggressive when he’s injured. “Can you move?”
“Ha, got you.” He’s walking backward, grinning like an idiot, even as blood slides down his striped shirt and onto his black shorts.
His lips are bluish now, which is a bad sign, but he’s moving around as if it’s nothing.
As if he doesn’t actually have a hole in his side, so close to his heart.
I get it, adrenaline can make you forget pain. I know my blood is pumping full throttle, my senses entirely aware of my surroundings.
Any rustle, any movement is a possible sign of danger.
But fuck if I’d be this nonchalant if I were the one who’d been shot.
Not sure what I’d do, but I definitely wouldn’t be grinning and messing around.
That nauseating malaise slithers more between my heart and rib cage the longer I watch him.