Rick #2
“Are you seriously expecting to step up as pakhan, Katarina?” sneers one man. “I can tell you now, whatever happens here, our men will never take orders from a spoiled bitch with your track record.”
“Don’t ever talk to my wife like that again,” I say, punctuating my warning with a shot that puts a bullet between his eyes.
I sweep my Glock across the remaining five.
Anton and Yuri won’t attack because they think they’re my allies, and Grigor isn’t going to throw his machete and lose his only weapon, which leaves two immediate threats.
Katarina and I don’t speak or so much as look at each other.
I shoot one of the brigadiers at the exact same time she dispatches the other.
Our synchronicity is something to behold.
We just know each other’s moves. I won’t lie, that gift also comes in very useful in the bedroom.
Sasha tuts as she uses the sleeve of her white blouse to wipe blood from her laptop. “Do you have to make such a mess?”
“Would you like me to add your blood to the table, sestra?” Katarina asks. The venom behind her words is manufactured, but the glee not so much. Today she and Sasha get as near to closure as possible for the loss of their innocence, and their friends.
“I much preferred you when you were dead,” says Sasha.
“I was never going to rest in peace while we have outstanding issues to resolve.”
Grigor shows no concern about the implied threats towards his wife. He’s more interested in his own preservation.
“I’m impressed, Katarina,” he says as he turns his machete over in his hand. “Your resilience is beyond anything I could have hoped.” His gaze drags over me briefly. “I can’t pretend to be too impressed with your choice of husband, but an alliance with the Irish might work. With my help.”
Katarina’s smiling as she circles the table to get closer to her old camp commander. I position myself behind Anton and Yuri, curling my fingers over the top of my Kevlar vest. I appear relaxed, as are the two men with their backs to me. Idiots.
“The art of any negotiation is to make things simple,” I announce.
My movements are a blur as I grab two knives from beneath my vest and stab Anton and Yuri in the base of their skulls. They slump forward onto the conference table then slide to the floor, Anton’s landing softened by Yuri’s plump body.
“And there you go,” I say to Grigor. “Now it’s nice and simple.”
I’m fighting a smug grin as I wipe my knives clean on my combat pants. I’d plunged the knives through bone and cartilage with equal precision and force, the strength in my left and right hands perfectly balanced.
Katarina catches my look of self-satisfaction and rolls her eyes, mocking me for even doubting myself. She’s been my champion during my fight to full-health, as I’ve been hers. Believing in each other is how we’ve healed.
She taps the barrel of one of her handguns against her chin, pausing some ten feet away from Grigor. “I might have to disagree with you, husband,” she says. “Things are simpler, yes. But this is no negotiation.”
Sasha closes her laptop and stands next to her husband in what could be perceived as a show of support. Unlike the rest of us, she’s unarmed, which is why Katarina is holding an extra gun. They deserve to kill him together. Slowly.
“I fear you’re making assumptions you really shouldn’t,” warns Grigor, using his machete to pick at a fingernail. “You see, I do have a bargaining chip.”
“There’s nothing you have that I’d ever want,” Katarina replies, but her smile is just a touch too tense.
My jaw feathers. It could be a bluff, but even as I get ready to throw my blades, Grigor grabs Sasha. He pulls her back against his chest, his machete pressing to her neck.
Katarina laughs. “She’s your bargaining chip? Have you not been paying attention these last few years?”
Grigor tips his head. “Clearly not well enough,” he says. “But your behavior just now was very telling. You were in full control of the situation from the moment you walked in here, and yet you let my darling wife sit at her laptop.”
“Grigor, please. Don’t test her. She’ll kill us both,” Sasha pleads as she digs her fingers into the arm pinning her in place. She’s shorter than Katarina and her husband’s frame dwarfs her. I can’t tell if her fear this time is real or an act.
“Then answer me this, Sasha. Why would Katarina let you keep tapping away when she knows you can do more damage from your keyboard than any of us could do with bullets and missiles?” He draws his blade gently over Sasha’s skin, leaving a thin line of scarlet.
He smirks when Katarina’s eye twitches. “The only reason you didn’t act, Katarina, was because you trust your apparent nemesis. Implicitly.”
When Sasha starts laughing, Grigor’s brow furrows.
He doesn’t know how she’s used her laughter in the past as a warning, but Katarina and I ready ourselves.
Somewhere in the distance, a loud boom shakes the house and briefly distracts Grigor.
My knife hits him in the upper arm, severing tendons that make the weapon in his hand useless at the same time Katarina shoots his kneecap.
Sasha twists away from Grigor and grabs the machete before it drops from his limp hand. He falls onto his back with a thud and the two women stand over him.
“Is there anything left of the gatehouse?” I ask, assuming that was the cause of the explosion.
“I doubt it,” Sasha says, smearing the trickle of blood from her neck before licking her finger. She’s a beautiful woman, but her sparkling violet eyes are stone cold.
“Now that we’ve dealt with all the guards,” Katarina muses as I round the table to join them. “We have lots of time to play.”
“Killing me would be a big mistake,” Grigor insists, blood leaking from his wounds while his arrogance remains stubbornly intact. “If you think you can lead the Bratva, think again. You need me.”