She must have come from the bunker. Leandro had always stayed away from the bunker and the forest because there were always too many hunters around, and he didn’t like the idea of getting spit-roasted for dinner. No, thank you, Leandro thought. No fucking way.
He’d only ever seen men in the woods, though, never women. Then, it clicked. She had pretended to be a man so she could get out of the bunker. If that was the case, then she was out here without permission. That meant those savages from the bunker would probably be after her. This mysterious woman might be in more danger than he thought.
He decided to follow her until she was safe.
Chapter Eight
Terrier couldn’t stall anymore. The bunker was in front of them. Tank and Knuckles, the guards on duty, stood in front of the entrance.
Tank was tough like Sergei. His neck looked like a tree trunk, and his nose was misshapen from the punches he’d taken. He had been given the name “Tank” by his mom, but the other men in the bunker thought it was because he was built like one. Tanks didn’t exist anymore, but they’d all seen pictures. The name fit him perfectly.
He never stopped fighting, no matter how badly he was hurt. If Tank didn’t win a fight, he’d sneak into your bunk when you were sleeping and finish you off.
Knuckles had a killer punch—one could literally kill you. He cracked his knuckles, ready for a fight as he and Tank watched the hunters approach without a kill. Sergei had something more valuable than meat, though—a traitor’s head.
Tank looked at Ivan’s head in amazement. “That sneaky fucker. He really did it. The fat shit-louse really tried to escape.”
Now that they had returned to the bunker, Terrier wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He wasn’t afraid of the hunters, but Afana, on the other hand, was a man worth fearing. Terrier had no intention of speaking with Afana, though. Not if he could help it.
Tank looked at Sergei with greed, which made Sergei grip both Ivan’s hair and his machete tighter.
“Wait,” Tank said. “That fat fuckface tried to run on my watch. I would have gone after him and caught him. That means his head is mine.”
Tank grabbed his machete and took a few menacing steps toward Sergei. He wasn’t going to let them in without a fight. Knuckles moved away from the door to stand beside Tank. It was two against the four of them.
“It’s rightfully Tank’s head,” Knuckles said. “Give it to him. Or we’ll take it.”
The two groups squared up. They were just posturing at this point but fights between the hunters and the guards were common. Terrier suppressed a smile. He was hoping something like this would happen.
Terrier had made it a point to distract the hunters all the way back to the bunker, not giving them time to think about what was waiting for them. They’d forgotten that they had to get past the guards before they could claim any prize.
The guards were known for collecting heads. Rumor had it that many of the so-called traitors weren’t trying to escape at all, and the guards just took their heads to get the reward. If they were willing to do that, they’d have no problem brawling for a real traitor’s head.
Sergei and the other hunters looked ready to fight over Ivan’s head, too. There was a standoff. Terrier took the opportunity to slip into the bunker while everyone was distracted.
He heard scuffling and arguing behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back. He had made it to the bunker and given Ryder a head start. This was his head start, and he knew just where to go.
Knuckles slammed his fist into his palm. “Give us the head,” he demanded as he and Tank walked menacingly toward Sergei.
Tank might have wanted the head, but Sergei had earned it and he wasn’t going to let the guards have it. “If you want it, you’ll have to take it from us.”
Yegor and Nestor looked at one another.
“Us?” Nestor asked. They weren’t getting the reward. Only Sergei was.
“Yes, us,” Sergei hissed and bared his teeth at his men. They were assholes, but he needed them since he was outnumbered.
Yegor and Nestor lowered their weapons. This wasn’t worth dying for. They weren’t going to get anything out of it. Sergei would be pissed at them, but that would only matter if he lived, and the odds were not in his favor.
“You fucking chickenshits!” Sergei cursed. “You better watch your heads because I’m coming for you two next.” Sergei pointed his machete at Pavel. “Where do you stand?”
Pavel looked at Yegor and Nestor. They tilted their heads toward the bunker, indicating exactly where they thought they should go. Then, Pavel glanced at Tank and Knuckles. They grinned at him arrogantly.
“Run away, pussy,” Tank taunted. “You hunters aren’t shit compared to us.”
Knuckles flapped his arms like a chicken. “Yeah, chickenshits. Stop your clucking and get lost.”
Pavel gritted his teeth and gripped his knife. “You two are so full of shit, it’s coming out your mouths. And you know the old saying: ‘Talk shit. Get hit.’”
Yegor and Nestor stopped looking at the bunker door and moved up beside Pavel. All of them bristled at the guards’ taunts.
Tank rolled his eyes. They’d gone from fighting Sergei on his own to four against two, but he wasn’t worried. The hunters had nothing on him and Knuckles, and Knuckles was happy to show them that.
Before any of the hunters could move, Knuckles swung a meaty fist at Yegor, knocking his scrawny body to the ground. Then, he turned his fists on Nestor and administered the same punishment. Nestor’s unconscious body crumpled on top of Yegor’s, making an “X.”
Knuckles laughed. “Maybe we’ll bring Afana three heads today.”
Tank nodded beside him, grinning.
Pavel hadn’t planned to lose his head today. “Give
