Page 61 of Bloody Savage God
Which means aside from my knife, I’m unarmed, turning this into even more of a shit show than it already is.
Not that I’m about to let him just shoot me.
I duck my head and roll over my shoulder, bringing me below where he’s aiming and closing the distance between us. It’s the only way to disarm him and get this over with. The hard concrete hurts like hell on my shoulder, my roll less than perfect since I’m confined by the other parked cars, but I still get to where I wanted to be. Under the guy’s gun arm.
Pushing up, I redirect his aim, turning his wrist in as I push. Almost simultaneously, I bring my other elbow up, knocking him in the face with a satisfyingcrunch. His attention is on keeping his gun secure from my attack, holding fast despite the blood gushing from his nose.
Not letting another second go by that he could use to recover and start a renewed attack of his own, I reach for the hammer with my free hand, ignoring the warm liquid on my elbow from his broken nose. I twist the gun, breaking his finger, and finally he gives up. Not completely, of course, but enough to allow me to get a hold of the weapon.
Aiming at his chest, I have two options. Shoot the guy, a very tempting way forward, but also one that wouldn’t be easy to deal with in the aftermath since the shot would alert anyone in the area to what’s going on, or option B. Since I have enough problems already, and dealing with a potential murder charge is just going to help give my uncle more time to fuck up everything, I opt for option B.
The asshole’s eyes widen in surprise as I move. Everything goes fast, the movements practiced too many times for me to count. I change my hold on the gun from my right to my left. Aiming for his temple, right between his hairline and eyebrow, I clench my fist and twist my hips to generate force for the blow. The attack takes him by surprise, no doubt having anticipated me to pull the trigger, which means he moves too slow to avoid the follow up kick I deliver to his crotch. That has him bending forward in pain. Right into the knee I’m thrusting upward. His already broken nose crunches again, the sound a nice reward for my efforts.
When he’s on the ground, elation floods through me, and I kick him a few more times until I’m sure he’s out. Also, because it’s damn satisfying. Then I pull him to the back of my car. In it, I keep a spare tarp, which I quickly spread out, since I’m in no mood to ruin my interior. Getting him into the trunk isn’t exactly a fun task, his bulky form a heck of a lot more impractical to lift than sandbags. But I get it done.
Moving to the front, I double check the angle of the cameras. I should know this already, but I’ve been slacking, not as attentive to my environment as I should have been. Turns out that between my tinted windows, the van parked next to me, and the position of the columns, the back of my car won’t be visible on any recordings. Should they even be stored, which I doubt will last for longer than twenty-four hours.
I climb into the trunk, kneeling on the asshole, and open the box with emergency supplies. Taking out a nylon rope, I quickly tie two knots, about thirteen centimeters apart. Roping it around the guy’s neck, I cinch it down until it squeezes his windpipe. The knots I placed in the middle of the rope help to compress the carotid arteries on either side of his trachea, a nifty trick Eric taught me when I was fourteen.
Payback’s a bitch. I didn’t like being choked, either.
The asshole comes by then, realizing I’m about to end his useless existence. He claws at the rope, legs twitching and bucking. Not that it’s much use. His neck twists slightly and I get to watch his bulging eyes lose their light as I completely cut off the blood flow to his brain.
Once I’m sure he’s dead, I sink back, sweating from the effort. Shooting him would have been easier, but this was silent.
Under different circumstances I would call Eric now, but he should be meeting up with Mia already, and I don’t want to distract him from what he’s doing, so I get into the front and start driving, annoyed at the thought that I have to deal with my uncle’s henchman before I can do anything else.
When I pull out of the garage and into traffic, a thought strikes me that has my fingers curl around the steering wheel tightly, as if the forceful grip will somehow lend my life some of the stability it has lost. What if the guy in the back wasn’t sent by my uncle? It’s not like I paused long enough to ask him.
What if Mikhail has gone to see his father and Adrik Tsepov sent this guy after me as payback for what I’ve done? And if that’s the case, did Mikhail know and decide not to warn me?
Chapter Twenty-One
Gianna
WhenIarriveathome, Mateo is waiting for me, standing in the driveway next to his car. It’s already dark out, making his presence here more than a little strange. After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure I’m really in the mood to deal with yet another issue, but it doesn’t look like the universe gives a fuck.
“Mateo,” I greet as I get out, “What’s up?”
He looks a bit uncomfortable, but pushes off his car and walks to meet me between the vehicles. “Could we talk? In the office, maybe?”
“Sure.”
We make our way in. Anton steps into the foyer and takes in that I have company.
“Might I offer to make some coffee?”
It may already be night time but it looks like I’m not going anywhere near my bed anytime soon, so I nod. As always, Anton is astutely aware of what is needed around here.
When we get to my father’s office, or rather, my office, I head over to the small bar. “What can I get you?”
Mateo hesitates for a moment. “Anything would be fine, really.”
I pick out a whiskey and pour him two fingers, handing the glass over. Mateo immediately lifts it to his lips, taking a large drink that has his eyes bulge out slightly. The man is definitely on edge.
“What’s going on?” I ask after we’re both sitting on the sofas. Something akin to reluctance flashes across Mateo’s face, only increasing my curiosity.
“I don’t want to step over the line or anything, but I just felt you might want to hear about this.”
