28. Rashid #2
"You've been lying to me for months, Rostov," Gusev snarls, tightening his arm around Emory's neck.
She gasps and grabs at his forearm with both hands.
"You sold me garbage intelligence and then you hid behind Krasnov like a coward.
I came here to collect what you owe me and I'm not leaving without it. "
"Let her go," I say from the doorway, but Gusev still doesn’t look at me, though his men aren't taking any chances. Their eyes are locked on me.
Gusev's pistol stays against Emory's temple. "Krasnov. I thought you were at a barbeque." The disgusting smirk on his face pisses me off. He's going to regret every bit of this when I'm done with him.
"Well I didn't burn. Now, let her go." I honestly don't care what they do to Oleg, but if he hurts her I will dissect him like a turkey at Novy God.
"This doesn't concern you," Gusev says, jerking Emory tighter against him. "This is between me and the old man. He stole from me and he fed me lies and now he's going to pay for it. The girl's just insurance until I get what I came for."
"You came for Rostov," I say, keeping my weapon trained on the man near the window.
"The girl has nothing to do with your business with Oleg and you know it.
" I'm not sure what he thinks the old man is going to give up.
He has nothing. That hostel was flea bait at best; if the old man had money, he'd have gotten a hotel with it.
"The girl has everything to do with it. She's the leash he used to pull you into his mess." Gusev chuckles darkly and says, "And to think he thought you'd protect them. The fucker called me right in like duck during hunting season..."
"Please," Oleg says from his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Take me. Do whatever you want to me. Just let my daughter go."
"Where is my money, old man?” Gusev snarls, jerking Emory hard. The gun beats against her head and she whimpers, now turning a little blue in the face as she claws at his forearm, nearly crushing her windpipe.
Everything happens in the span of about three seconds.
The man near the window shifts his weight and I put a round in his chest before he can fire on me.
Then Gusev flinches and his pistol moves a fraction of an inch away from Emory's temple as she drives her elbow backward into his ribs.
He doubles forward, and his grip on her throat loosens just Oleg launches himself off his knees at Gusev's gun hand.
The pistol goes off, making Oleg's body jerk and fall sideways.
Blood sprays across the carpet in a long arc, and Emory screams, dropping to the floor.
The second Gusev man fires at me and the round slices through the air past my ear.
But I return fire—two shots—and he crashes backward into the couch.
Gusev tries to bring his pistol around toward me, but Emory's tangled in his legs and he stumbles. I close the distance between us, running, and put the barrel of my weapon against his forehead and my knee in his chest. His eyes are wide with shock as I look him dead in the eye.
"This is for my family," I tell him, and I pull the trigger.
Gusev jerks and twitches, but the room goes quiet except for Emory screaming.
I stay on his chest, waiting until the twitching stops, but I still hear the faint report of gunshots out back where Devid is working to clean up the rest of the house.
We'll have cops crawling on us soon, but for now it's calming down.
Then I drop to my knees beside Emory. She's crawling toward her father on her hands and knees, sobbing, whimpering his name.
Oleg's on his back with his hand pressed against his stomach as blood seeps between his fingers, spreading across the carpet in a dark pool that grows wider with every second.
"Are you hurt?" I ask her, grabbing her shoulders and turning her toward me. "Emory, look at me. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," she chokes out, pushing my hands away and reaching for her father. "Help him. Please help him, Rashid."
"You're bleeding," she says suddenly, looking at my side. I follow her eyes and see the tear in my shirt and the red soaking through the fabric along my ribs. I didn't feel it until she said it, but it's not that bad.
"It's nothing," I tell her. "Look at me. Are you hurt anywhere?"
"I told you I'm fine. Help my father. Please."
I move to Oleg and press my hands over his on the wound. The blood is warm, pulsing between my fingers with each beat of his heart, which means he's still alive. His eyes are open and unfocused and his skin has gone pallid.
"Stay with us, Oleg," I tell him. "You don't die on this floor."
Emory kneels beside me and takes her father's face in both hands, turning it toward her. "Batya, stay awake," she says, her voice cracking apart. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. You're going to be okay."
Oleg's lips move but no sound comes out. His hand finds Emory's wrist and his fingers close around it weakly. The blood keeps coming though, soaking my hands and Emory's knees where she kneels next to him.
"Devid!" I shout toward the hallway. "Get me a medic! Now!"
Emory leans over her father, pressing her forehead against his, whispering to him while his blood pools around both of us.
I keep pressure on the wound and watch the old man's chest rise and fall, each breath shallower than the last. I don't know if the next one will come.
And I don't know if he's going to make it.
God help me if he doesn't.
I don't know a thing about comforting a grieving woman.