My fingers twitch towards my rifle, preparing myself for the moment that is quickly approaching.
“Oh, I know you do,” the leader snaps, clicking his tongue again. “Somehow you’ve managed to get your hands on her. Which means either she hired you to protect her, or you’re the cabrón that took her in the first place.”
I smile. “I’m not a fucking hired hand,” I reply in a menacing voice that doesn’t match my facial expression at all. My smile clearly makes him uncomfortable, because I see his eyes flash to his men. “You wanna know who I am?”
He says nothing.
“I’m Artem Kovalyov, don of the Kovalyov Bratva,” I finish. My voice echoes from the mountains enclosing us. Harsh, unyielding.
The voice of a man capable of dealing out death to his enemies.
Silence follows my revelation, as I sense the stench of fear rise from all four men that surround me.
It’s a more flattering reaction than I expected.
They know the name.
They know what it means.
“And the reason I don’t mind sharing my identity with you,” I say calmly, “is because I know none of you will tell a soul.”
I allow three seconds of silence to let my words sink in.
And then I start to move.
66
Artem
I move fast and I move low, so that if someone fires, they’ll hit the air above my head.
I slam my body into the leader first, hitting him hard around the stomach. We fall back into the dirt.
The moment he’s on the ground, I somersault over him, grab his gun in the process, turn it on his men, and shoot twice.
One bullet hits Scarface in the arm. Blood spurts from a struck artery and he screams in agony as he collapses.
But the other bullet narrowly misses Blondie.
I duck behind one of the larger trees, pocket the leader’s pistol, and pull my rifle out to play.
These fuckers may know my name, my legend, my reputation.
But I’m about to show them why it’s all deserved.
I can hear them scrambling frantically from behind the tree, but I don’t want to give them too long to re-group. So I jump out and sprint, still staying low. I fire as I move to the next cover.
One shot strikes Scarface again. He twitches and goes completely still.
The man with yellow teeth has his eyes on me. He shoots three times, but his bullets bury themselves in the trunk of the tree that’s giving me cover.
I fire a few return shots blindly, but none of them find the target.
Growling, I creep backwards into the darkness of the clustered trees to reload.
“Pendejo!” the leader yells, as he finally manages to get to his feet. “Fucking Russian. Where’d he go?”
“We should have brought Antonio and Javiero,” Yellow Teeth growls.
“And Guillermo,” Blondie adds.
That comment sticks with me. If there are four here today, the other three they mentioned brings the total to seven who might know something about Esme and me.
Killing these bastards won’t finish the job.
“You fuckers are the ones who told me that the four of us were more than enough,” the leader hisses furiously.
“That was when we thought we were dealing with a fucking amateur!”
Taking advantage of their distraction, I dart out from behind the tree and fire again. This time, I’m aiming carefully.
My bullet hits the leader in the leg. He howls in pain, while his two stooges run for cover.
Scarface is still on the ground. He hasn’t moved since he went down.
I move to another tree, careful to keep moving so that none of them have a straight shot to me. I need to preserve ammo if I can, seeing as how Guillermo probably won’t sell me more bullets after I kill his friends.
That means I need to get closer.
I glance out from around the tree. The leader and Scarface are still on the ground, though the former is trying his best to get to his feet.
“You fuckers, come back!” he howls into the forest.
Come back? Goddammit.
If they ran, they’ll alert someone. Higher-ups, maybe. And that just means more people will come looking for us.
I need to end this shit.
Now.
The leader isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, judging by the waterfall of blood flowing down his leg. I’ll come back for him. First, I have to stop the runners.
I take off after them. It takes me only a few short bounds to see them scampering down the mountain trail.
I drop to one knee, raise my gun, and take aim. They’re moving fast, following the zig-zag of the trail. A few seconds more and they’ll disappear around one of the huge boulders that dot the mountainside.
Steady…
There.
I pull the trigger. The gun recoils harshly into my shoulder.
And down the mountain, Blondie drops like a rock.
Yellow Teeth keeps moving. Doesn’t even glance back. So much for being a good comrade.
I take a deep breath and fire again. This bullet narrowly misses him. Instead, a rock over his head explodes into fragments.
But it’s so close that he assumes he’s been hit. He loses his footing, trips to the ground, and his firearm tumbles through the air.
We both watch as it hits the ground once, twice—and then clatters over the edge of the ravine.
I keep my rifle on him as I advance down the trail. When I’m close enough, he raises his arms above his head in surrender.
I shake my head in disgust.
“That’s not a gesture I recognize,” I tell him as I point the gun at his head.
“Por favor,” he begs. “Razor is the one who wanted to check you out.”
“I don’t care,” I grit. “You messed with the wrong fucking Don.”
Then I shoot him between the eyes.
One more left.
But just as I’m turning to head back and finish off the wounded leader, I see a large form lunge at me out of the corner of my eye.
It’s Blondie.
The bullet I had fired earlier had only passed cleanly through his shoulder. He’s bleeding profusely, but he still has full function of his other arm.
He manages to land a punch, but it’s badly aimed and
