39. Ruslan
39
RUSLAN
The flash of Aurora's blonde hair disappears through the theater doors with Kristofer in hot pursuit.
I try to follow, but a stream of bullets stops me in my tracks and I'm forced to duck down.
"Aurora!" My throat burns with her name as I return fire, dropping one of Semyon's men.
Two more rush forward, pinning me in place with gunfire.
I try to break cover but a hail of bullets forces me back. Every second she's alone with Kristofer twists my gut like a knife.
I duck behind the concrete barrier as bullets chip away at the edges, narrowly missing my head. The acrid smell of gunpowder mingles with the metallic tang of blood in the air. My ears ring from the constant barrage of gunfire, but I can still make out Semyon's voice cutting through the chaos.
"Your time is up, Ruslan!" Semyon shouts from behind his cover. "You, your pregnant whore, and everyone else here will all be dead soon!"
I check my magazine.
Three rounds left.
Fuck.
The weight of Aurora's life presses down on me more heavily than any bullet could.
I promised to keep her safe. I promised we'd face this together. But right now, with Semyon's men advancing and my ammunition dwindling, those promises feel like they're slipping through my fingers.
"How did it feel?" I roar back, shifting to get a better angle. "How did it feel sending your own niece to her death? Having that psycho slice her up while you watched?"
Semyon's laugh echoes across the parking lot. "Tamara was disposable! Just like your brother, just like your nephew?—"
I spot one of his men trying to flank our position. I exhale slowly, centering my aim, and squeeze the trigger. The man drops with a clean shot to the chest. Two bullets left.
"You're running out of men, Semyon," I taunt, though my confidence is pure fiction. I scan the area, desperate for any sign of Artyom or my backup. Nothing.
"And you're running out of time," Semyon calls back. "Only a matter of time before your wife is dead! Like old times, eh, Ruslan? Some history is worth repeating!"
The mention of Aurora makes my blood boil. I will not lose her like I lost Leslie. Never again.
"The only history repeating today is another Mikonov failure," I snarl, ejecting my nearly empty magazine and checking my pocket for a spare. Nothing. "You couldn't beat us twenty years ago, and you won't beat us now."
I hear Semyon barking orders, repositioning his men. I'm pinned down, nearly out of ammunition, and alone against what sounds like at least five attackers.
Just then, the sound of chaos rises up again. Fresh gunfire erupts from somewhere behind Semyon's position.
Sharp, staccato pops that don't match his men's weapons.
"What the fuck?!" Semyon screams.
I catch a glimpse of Artyom's tattooed hand signaling from behind a parked car. Relief surges through me like a shot of adrenaline.
That beautiful bastard!
"Boss, we're getting hit from behind!" one of Semyon's men shouts, panic edging his voice.
Semyon's attention splits, his men suddenly trapped between two lines of fire. I seize the moment, diving from my cover to a better position behind an overturned trash can.
"Artyom! Pin them down!" I yell.
"Already on it!" His voice rings out clear as a fucking bell.
Two of Semyon's men break cover, desperate to reposition. I take one down with my second-to-last bullet. Artyom gets the other.
Semyon is screaming at his remaining men, struggling to maintain control as his carefully orchestrated ambush falls apart. I can see the fear creeping into his eyes as the realization dawns.
He's losing.
"It's over, Semyon!" I shout. "You played your hand, and you lost!"
He responds with wild gunfire in my direction, bullets whistling past my head.
"Ruslan!" Artyom calls out. "Four o'clock!"
I spin just in time to see Semyon making a break for his car. No fucking way. Not after everything he's done.
My last bullet. My final chance.
I steady my breathing, tracking his movement through my sights. Time slows as I squeeze the trigger.
The shot cracks through the air. Semyon stumbles mid-stride, clutching his chest as red blooms across his shirt. He collapses against the side of his car, sliding down to the pavement.
His remaining men scatter like rats from a sinking ship.
I sprint toward Semyon, gun still trained on him though it's now empty. His breathing comes in wet, ragged gasps as blood seeps between his fingers.
I walk toward Semyon with Artyom at my side, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Blood pools beneath Semyon's body, spreading across the pavement in a dark, sticky puddle. His breathing sounds wet, labored.
"Finish it," Artyom mutters, pressing a fresh magazine into my palm.
I slam it home and chamber a round with practiced ease. The weight of the gun feels right, familiar.
After everything Semyon's done, this moment has been a long time coming.
I kick his gun away, sending it skittering across the asphalt. His eyes track me as I level my weapon at his face.
But instead of fear, his eyes glimmer with something else.
Amusement.
His lips stretch into a grotesque smile, teeth stained crimson with his own blood.
Then he starts laughing. A horrible, wet sound that bubbles up from his chest.
"What's so fucking funny?" I demand, pressing the barrel against his forehead.
Semyon coughs, spraying crimson droplets across his chin.
"The Triads they had a way to stop the bombs, right?"
His laughter intensifies, turning into a manic cackle.
"That's what I told them too."
A chill runs through me. "What are you talking about?"
"Did you think I'd come here without insurance?" Semyon's eyes gleam with madness. "This was always a suicide mission, Ruslan. I knew I wouldn't walk away."
My finger tightens on the trigger. "Explain. Now."
"The bombs..." He taps a finger against his chest, leaving a bloody smear. "They're rigged to my heartbeat. The moment that stops."
He makes an explosive gesture with his hands.
"Poetic, isn't it?"
I press the gun harder against Semyon's skull. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Semyon's smile widens.
With his final bit of strength, he reaches up with both hands, and hooks his thumb through the trigger guard of my gun.
And before I can stop him, he pulls the trigger.