Chapter 19 Lev #2
I find the first one in the kitchen, a shadow moving between the counter and the refrigerator, and I put two bullets in his chest before he can raise his own weapon.
The sound of gunfire explodes through the silent house, shattering the tension and announcing my presence to anyone else lurking in the rooms beyond.
A second man appears in the doorway to the living room, already firing, and I dive behind the kitchen island as bullets punch through the cabinets above my head.
Splinters rain down on my shoulders and I return fire blindly, squeezing off rounds in the direction of his muzzle flash until I hear a grunt and the thud of a body hitting the floor.
Two down. But there could be more.
I move through the house room by room, clearing each space carefully as I listen to the house.
I don't hear footsteps, but that doesn't mean I'm alone.
The dining room is empty, the study undisturbed, but when I reach the hallway leading to the bedrooms, I hear movement ahead—the creak of a floorboard, the soft rustle of fabric.
I press myself against the wall and wait, letting my eyes adjust to the deeper darkness of the hall, and then a figure steps out of the shadows with a gun pointed directly at my head.
I react on instinct, knocking the weapon aside and slamming my elbow into his throat, but he's faster than I expected and his fist connects with my wounded side hard enough to send white-hot agony screaming through my entire body.
I stagger, nearly lose my footing, and he presses his advantage with a kick that sends me crashing into the wall.
His gun comes up again and I'm staring down the barrel, waiting for the shot that'll end everything, when the dim light of a car driving past illuminates his face and recognition crashes through me.
Tyrak.
One of my own men?
He's standing in my hallway with a gun aimed at my skull, and the expression on his face is cold resignation.
"Why can't you just stay dead?" he asks sardonically. "I put a bullet in you at that bus station and you survived. Now here you are again, refusing to die like a sensible person."
The bus station.
The shooting that tore through my side and nearly killed me on the roadside.
That wasn't Veche soldiers at all—it was Tyrak, one of my own, hiding among the chaos and taking his shot when he thought no one would notice or suspect.
"How long?" I manage through gritted teeth, my hand inching toward the knife strapped to my ankle. "How long have you been working for Yaros?"
"Long enough." Tyrak shrugs casually, but he hasn't pulled the trigger. This is personal to him, not just a hit. "He pays better than your uncle, and he's going to win this war. Backing the winning side isn't betrayal, Lev. It's just good business."
"It's mutiny." My fingers close around the handle of the knife and I bide my time. "You've sold out your family, your brothers, everyone who ever trusted you with their lives."
"Spare me the lecture." His finger tightens on the trigger. "I've heard enough Gravitch honor speeches to last a lifetime. Now hold still and let me finish what I started."
I move before he can fire, hurling the knife with every ounce of strength I have left.
The blade catches him in the shoulder—a wounding blow rather than a killing one, but enough to throw off his aim as his shot goes wide and punches through the wall beside my head.
I'm on him in an instant, driving my fist into his wounded shoulder and tearing the knife free in a spray of blood that paints the hallway walls.
He screams and drops his gun, clutching at the wound, and I kick the weapon away before pressing the bloody knife against his throat. We're both breathing hard, bleeding. But I know I have the advantage. Tyrak isn't trained for this, and I am.
"Please," Tyrak gasps, his eyes wide with sudden terror. "Lev, please, I was just—"
"You were just following orders?" I press the blade harder, watching a thin line of red appear beneath the steel. "You were just doing what Yaros paid you to do. You're a fool."
"I can give you information. I can tell you everything—"
"I don't need your information." I have no sympathy for traitors. Yuri had no idea how bad this was getting, but if Yaros has someone inside the family, it means he's already started his war. "I needed your loyalty, and you sold that to the highest bidder."
I draw the knife across his throat in one swift motion, and Tyrak's pleas die in a gurgle of blood that spills down his chest and pools on the floor under him.
He collapses against the wall and slides down slowly, eyes already going glassy, and I stand over his body and watch the life drain out of the man who betrayed everything I thought he stood for.
Then I wipe the blade clean on his shirt, retrieve my gun from where it fell during the fight, and listen to the sound of more footsteps overhead. No way I can keep fighting more of them, and so much for getting any of our things. We have to get out of here. Now.