31. Big Bear
BIG BEAR
Jamie
Brody’s breath fogged the air as he recounted a night in Glasgow when he and Kieran fought a couple of drunks at a bar.
“Alright, big brother.” I patted Brody’s shoulder, removing myself from his animated, story-telling headlock. “Sounds like Kieran got the snot beat out of him. You saved the day?”
“Aye.”
As if I believed that. “What did you put in your OJ for breakfast?”
Closer to the deck’s edge, Enzo chuckled. “Next time, pass the bottle.”
“Deal.” Brody nodded. “How about you Marine Raiders? What have you been up to? I love a good story.”
Oh, so no more Marine Rat ? Enzo struck up a story just as animated as my brother’s.
My attention drifted as I glanced across the half-frozen lake, past the large chunks of slush.
The lake reminded me of when my fourteen-man assault team had worn scuba gear at Kolsai Lake in Kazakhstan.
We emerged from the icy water with underwater firearms.
Where did that come from ? Should I be worried ? But I reminded myself that Aleksandr Chelomey and his Bratva enforcers lacked training as operatives. My gaze shifted up the incline, a restless habit, and to the ridgeline to my left, where Rocket took Jordyn.
The trees were quiet. Too quiet.
And then … I saw it. A glint. A shimmer of light on glass. My stomach dropped. I hadn’t found Chelomey. He had found us. And he had the audacity to initiate a full-on midday assault. “Get down!”
The words were barely out before the first shot whipped the cold air. Glass shattered from the kitchen window behind us. Enzo shoved to the ground behind the stone fire pit, cursing.
“Mam. I’ve got to get to Mam,” Brody growled on the ground at my side. He removed his golden Magnum from the back of his leather jacket.
Should be me going into that house. It would leave us two and two—one street-smart and one soldier in both positions, but the look on his face. Mam’s firstborn wouldn’t take over for me and participate in this surgical strike while I saved the girls.
“I’ll cover you.” I drew my weapon, then snuck a quick scan of the tree-covered hill where Rocket had parked the night before.
I counted as many as I could distinguish from the trees, wearing over-whites.
Full tactical gear. White Ruger AR-556 semiautomatic rifles.
These guys were professionals. Mercenaries.
A bullet pierced the wood on the ground.
Would’ve been my head if I hadn’t made it quick.
“Ferri,” I addressed my brother-in-arms seriously, “I count at least ten tangos.”
“I got the piece you loaned me,” Enzo replied from his position behind the firepit.
“Brody needs cover.”
“Copy,” Enzo said .
“Get inside, bràthair .” I clapped Brody’s arms. “Protect them. Ready?”
Gritting his teeth, he nodded.
Enzo and I opened fire on Chelomey’s men, buying Brody the time he needed to sprint a few yards across the deck and into the open cabin sliders.
Jordyn’s screams came from inside. God, please let Mam and Brody have that angle covered. I’d counted my bullets with each squeeze. Nine shots discharged. Six left. “We gotta get up that hill. Bullet count?”
“Five,” he muttered while the cabin exploded with noise behind us—more shattered glass, more of Jordyn’s screams, more exchanged gunfire.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t have time to focus on the love of my life.
I picked up a fluffy throw pillow from the chair in front of me. Threw it up and away. A hail of bullets filled the air. A greater amount of cotton than I extracted from Carly’s teddy bear surrounded me as I crawled on elbows to Enzo near the deck’s edge.
“Need to get to that tree line.” Enzo maintained a crouched position behind the pit. “You ready, fra ?”
Nae! I’d never be ready to have shots flying at my rear.
“Yep.” I offered, demeanor calm, adrenaline keyed up.
I glanced up the hill. A bullet whizzed past me.
Pressed against the firepit, I fired blindly, my arm and muscle memory guiding the shot.
Looked again. Blood soaked into the snow-covered ground near the head of a man in white tactical gear. “One down.”
“Smile. This could be fun.” Enzo patted my shoulder. “My turn.”
Bullets riddled the air when he took a quick peek up the hill. Enzo glanced again. Exchanged a single shot. “One and one. After we grab those sweet guns they left for us, let’s continue to count our kill shots, fra ? ”
“Sure. Let’s push for the trees. Now. Now.”
We vaulted off the deck, boots crunching into icy snow, zigzagging through the trees to make it difficult for the shooters. My heart pounded in my chest. A warning. I’d gone farther away from Jordyn. I led. Enzo covered the rear, shooting anything that moved.
Needed to get to cover.
Snow sprayed like mist as bullets tore through the powder. These guys lacked the training of the team Aleksandr sent to my house. These must’ve been his own, not hired. Not professional. The tactical gear they wore blended into the snowy atmosphere made me think otherwise. Now, I knew better.
I clipped one man, trying to flank us with a bullet to his shoulder. He dropped his weapon as he fell to the ground. He cussed in Russian before my Glock met his forehead. Aye, the Bratva’s own men. Vicious up-close, not nearly half as deadly behind a gun.
I pulled the trigger. Took his Ruger. “I’ve got one bullet in the chamber. You want this one?” I held out the gun.
Enzo shook his head. “Nah. Your trophy. One-two. Next one’s mine.”
We moved like ghosts through the tree line. Enzo now fisted the weapon of another dead stiff. Bullets tore through the bark around us.
“We’re surrounded,” I growled. “At least six. One’s covering the back trail. Two on the ridge.”
“Listen, we gotta get that sniper?—”
“I saw the glint.” I ducked behind a pine. “They’re flanking.” The men were trying to get around us.
Another round rang out. The sniper. Well, he must’ve been cherishing those bullets. And he must’ve shifted. Higher up. A better vantage point to the house. The men on the hill were a diversion—here for us.
The sniper was for my family and must be eliminated. I hoped Mam or Brody would give me a sign if they needed help in the cabin.