Artem
We circle each other. Budimir’s men form a tight ring around us.
I’m no fool. I know there’s no I can walk out of this ring, whether or not I win.
But hopefully, if I can get Budimir at my mercy, I can use him as leverage to get myself out from under their fire. That’s the murky plan forming in my head as we size each other up.
I try and read the intention in Budimir’s face, I try and predict his next move, but his eyes are black pits of determination.
“I thought of you as a second father,” I hear myself say in a low voice.
“I know you did,” Budimir says. “You were meant to. I worked carefully to maintain my relationship with you. I didn’t want you getting suspicious. Of course, I didn’t have anything to worry about once your head was turned by that woman.”
Marisha.
“You should have known, Artem. Women exploit your weaknesses, and if they don’t, they makeyou weak.”
“The time for talking is done, old man,” I snap. I’ve had enough of his preaching. “Let’s get this over with.”
Budimir laughs. “The impatience of youth. That’s where we differ. See, I like to take my time.”
Then he lunges.
I bolt to the side, grab his outstretched arm, and twist it back.
He manages to slip out of my grasp, taking advantage of the fact that my wrists are stiff and vulnerable from the restraints.
The moment he’s free, he swings at me, decking me square in the jaw before I can get out of the way.
The punch was badly placed. It only succeeds in pissing me off.
I move forward with a vengeance and hit him once in the stomach. When he keels over, I strike him in the face.
Blood blossoms around his nose, but I know I haven’t yet broken it.
I grab his neck viciously and force him to double over. One well-placed blow to the back of the head will send him to his knees. I cock back, ready to end this right fucking now.
But it’s all too easy. Too quick.
Budimir’s men are quiet as they watch us. Even in the face of their supposed don’s approaching defeat, they remain damn near impassive.
My instincts warn me a second before I see the glint of a steel blade.
Budimir’s arm lashes out and buries the blade in the side of my stomach.
Pain bursts in me like fireworks. I grunt and stumble backward as it radiates through my torso. My hands scrabble at my side and find the blade still buried to the hilt in me. Blood gushes endlessly.
Gritting my teeth and refusing to drop to my knees again, I grip the hilt of the dagger and draw it out. It’s pure agony.
Budimir stands where I left him, still hunched over, a trickle of blood running from his nose into his beard.
I raise my hand, ready to fling the dagger right into Budimir’s heart.
He nods at someone behind me.
And a gunshot pierces straight through the hand that’s holding the dagger.
The knife clatters to the forest floor. A sensation like a red-hot poker drills through my bicep. The hand on that arm goes limp and useless.