I roar with rage, having heard enough. When I push to my feet, I’m immediately hampered by the chair that comes with me off the floor. I’m huddled over, forced into a bent position by the chair, but my legs are free.
Fucking bad move, Karl. Not tying my legs.
I lurch toward Bogachev, who is still crouched in front of Bebe. I have just a moment where his head is able to turn my way, eyes flared wide with surprise at my sudden move, and then I’m crashing my entire body into him. I drive him back several feet, pumping my legs hard. Vaguely, I hear Bebe scream. As we near the wall, I shift my body slightly so the chair takes most of the impact. There’s an explosion of wood, and my shoulders feel like they’re nearly wrenched from the sockets.
Bogachev grunts with pain as we fall to the floor, him taking most of my weight as I crash on top of him. For a split second, we’re torso to torso, me on top, and I don’t waste the opportunity. I rear my head back and slam it forward, aiming my forehead for the bridge of his nose.
Unfortunately, I catch too much of his forehead and not enough of his nose. The impact concusses me, making my vision go blurry. The only consolation is the curse of pain from Bogachev and knowing he’s hurt as bad as I am.
But he’s got two advantages over me—he’s not hampered by rope or pieces of wooden chair and he didn’t take two strikes from a gun to the back of his head earlier.
With a mighty heave, he pushes me off his body. I come to rest on my side. He scrambles to his feet, and I recognize the urgency for me to do the same. I’m relieved to find the seat, back of the chair, and legs have all come apart at the joints, but pieces of wood are still tied to my wrists and arms, effectively binding my upper body.
I manage to lunge to my feet, ignoring the pain all over my body and the dizziness the move causes.
Bogachev is quicker than I am. Because his arms are free, he has no problem reaching inside his suit jacket and pulling out a gun.
He levels it at me, his chest heaving hard and a trickle of blood running from a cut in his forehead down the side of his nose. Peeling his lips back in a grimace, he glares hatred at me.
I have a choice. Keep fighting or surrender.
Not really a choice at all.
I spring toward him, hoping to catch him somewhat off guard. His eyes flare in shock, not expecting me to charge. Bebe screams again.
I lower my shoulder, intent on barreling into him once more, but the sound of the gun going off causes me to stumble.
No wait… something hitting me in my chest causes me to stumble.
Down to one knee I go, immediately becoming weak as a baby, but not feeling a damn thing otherwise.
“No,” Bebe shrieks, and it’s only then I realize I’ve been shot.CHAPTER 25Bebe“Griff,” I scream when the gun goes off. I see a bloom of dark wetness spreading across his black t-shirt, just under his collarbone, but he’s not thrown backward by the force of the bullet. In fact, he takes one more step before his leg wobbles and he goes down to one knee.
He hunches over, head hanging low, and I think he might just topple over. My heart slams painfully in my chest, and I have to blink my eyes hard to dispel the welling tears.
Bogachev remains still, his arm extended with the gun pointed at Griff.
Slowly, Griff raises his head. Even though his eyes are glazed with pain, his expression is one of determination. A lump forms in my throat as he pushes himself up… miraculously rising with just the power of his legs as his arms are still entwined with rope and wooden pieces of chair. He’s bleeding badly and wobbling, but his chin is lifted stubbornly as if daring Bogachev to finish him off.
“Anatoly,” I cry out, hoping to take the heat away from Griff.
Bogachev is no fool though. He keeps his gaze locked on Griff—who is still very much a threat—but his head tilts slightly my way to indicate he’s listening. The gun drops slightly.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg him. “Just leave Griff alone and take me. Do whatever you want to me, just…” My voice cracks, emotion clogging my throat. I can’t bear it if Griff dies. I don’t care what happens to me—I just need to save him.
“She’s begging me,” Bogachev says smugly, and a low growl emits from Griff. “It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” Griff snarls. “Fuck you straight to hell.”
I’m not prepared for his sudden move, but neither is Bogachev. Griff lunges at him, and he’s momentarily stunned into inaction. Another scream tears free from my throat, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the double doors bursting open. Sunlight temporarily blinds me. I hear gunshots—three to be exact—and I see Griff slamming into Bogachev where they both crash to the floor.