Artem
“What the fuck is that?”
I open my eyes.
Budimir is still holding the gun to my forehead. He hasn’t pulled the trigger. The pain of the stab wound and the gunshot are overwhelming. I strain against my thundering heartbeat.
That’s when I hear the noise that stopped him.
Running footsteps and the crunch of leaves underneath heavy boots.
A gunshot blasts through the air. Instantly, one of the masked soldiers crumples to the forest floor, blood spurting from his neck.
Budimir ducks, falling behind his men who converge around him. I duck away too, but his men surround me, their guns jabbing into my blood-soaked ribs.
In the darkness surrounding the clearing, a flash of yellow-gold.
Then another bullet slices through the air.
One of the men standing in front of Budimir drops to the ground, his eyes wide even in death.
The soldiers jump into action. Guns clack as they are racked and aimed. The nearest troops pour into the shadows.
I hear the sound of a fist meeting flesh. A grunt—so achingly familiar.
No.
No, no, no.
“Bring him to me!” Budimir commands. His tone is black with anger.
From the trees, a pair of soldiers re-emerge into the moonlit clearing.
They’re holding Cillian’s limp, bloodied frame between them.
My shoulders sag at the sight of him.
He’s going to die with me here. All because he cared enough to try and save me.
Against all odds. Against all reason…
He tried.
“Ah, the Irishman,” my uncle groans in exasperation. “I should have known he was up here with you.”
Cillian looks like shit. There’s a nasty gash in his arm and an appalling lack of color in his face. If he loses much more blood, no amount of medical attention will save him.
“Leave him out of this,” I call out, even though I know that bargaining was pointless now.
“Leave him out of this?” Budimir says in amusement. “He’s a part of this, just as much as you. I assume this is the loyalty that you hold in such high regard?”
Budimir raises his gun again.
This time, he’s pointing it at Cillian.
My best friend glances up at me and I can see the apology written all over his face.
He knew that intervening would mean his death.