Throne of Vengeance: Chapter 18

“This won’t do.” Damien checks his gun, then curses in Russian. He only has a few bullets left.

I’m not any better.

My gaze trails to Kirill, who’s firing over the car’s hood. The three of us are behind the vehicle, caught in the midst of a gun war that has lasted only a few minutes but feels longer.

I thought it would be the Irish, but it’s worse. Their Albanian allies have joined the war and they have absolutely no fear. They’d readily step into direct gunshots as long as it meant they killed their targets. Dedushka once told me that if a soldier dies, the Albanians’ leader honors him and makes sure his name goes down in the organization’s history in a reverent kind of way.

The ambush was smart. Not only did they get Damien, Kirill, and me together, they also got us without many guards. Since they greatly outnumber us, it’s easier for them to take us out now.

We have been trying to stall as much as possible before backup arrives.

“How much do you have left?” I ask Kirill.

“Five.” He fires a bullet, hitting an Albanian in the chest. “Four.”

“They keep multiplying like fucking cockroaches.” Damien kills two more, but the others continue approaching, using the cars as shields.

They probably know we will be out of ammunition soon so they don’t mind sacrificing a few soldiers to empty all our guns.

At this rate, our death is a matter of when, not if.

“Stop firing,” I tell them. “Try hiding more.”

“When I need your help to tell me how to shoot, I will ask for it,” Kirill says without looking at me.

He’s distracted, gaze straying to Aleksander, who’s a car ahead with Damien’s senior guard. They, and a few other soldiers, work as our front line.

“No offense, Rayenka, but leave this to me.” Damien’s critical gaze flits ahead, probably trying to figure out how to turn this into a fistfight.

“They want us out of bullets.” I stand between Kirill and Damien, and although I’m crouched, I try peeking through the car’s window at the scene.

There are still a lot of them, and Aleksander is most likely out of bullets, his feminine features creasing with exertion. He stares back at us—or more like, at Kirill—and mouths, “Prosti menya.”

Forgive me.

“No!” Kirill completely ignores the bullets and barges to his second in command.

I try grabbing him by the jacket, but he yanks my hand away and runs to the middle of the battlefield.

I lose my balance from the force of his push. Before I hit the ground, I make out one of the Albanians coming. “Careful!” I scream at Damien. He shoots him in the face, creating a bloody hole, and grabs me by the arm to keep me upright.

“Fuck. I’m out.” He throws his gun away. “And stay still. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m fine. Kirill, however…” I don’t get a chance to look at him when another guard rushes toward us.

“Let me take care of this sucker.” Damien steps in front of me.

“Don’t be an idiot—he has a gun.”

He winks at me over his shoulder. “Didn’t stop me before.”

“You’re not bulletproof, asshole.”

“I love your tough love, Rayenka.” He grins. “Besides, I need to stay alive for that marriage and shit.”

He goes straight for the guard, and I attempt to shoot on his behalf, but I don’t get the chance.

Two others gang up on me. I shoot the first, but before I can do the same to the other, he kicks my gun away, nearly breaking my wrist with it.

Instead of shooting me as I expect him to, he comes at me. I grab him by the arm and knee him in the crotch. My skirt tears at the bottom, but it’s a small price to pay.

He howls in pain and I use the chance to try to snatch his rifle. A black bag is shoved over my head from behind. My nails dig into the fabric, but it’s strapped so tight that no air comes in.

Worse, I’m breathing some sort of a funny smell.

I kick my leg up, but it connects with nothing. I buck against the one holding me, but two other pairs of hands join in immobilizing me.

No. I’m not going to die.

I still have a lot to do and…Kyle and I didn’t even get our proper start yet. I can’t die.

I elbow the body behind me, but his hold on the bag doesn’t loosen. I feel lightheaded and my movements slow. My harsh breathing withers away and I fall slack against meaty arms.

No.

No…

I try to kick, but my limbs don’t move.

Soon enough, darkness swallows me whole.