Cillian
TWELVE YEARS LATER—A REMOTE MOUNTAINTOP IN NORTHERN MEXICO
I’m going to die.
I’ve been close to death before. Several times, in fact. But it never felt quite like this.
There’s a finality about this pain that clings to my bones and make me feel decidedly mortal.
Armed soldiers clad in black swirl around me amidst the sparse mountain foliage. Some step on me as they converge around Artem.
He’s lying in the dirt several feet away in front of his uncle, Budimir.
I’m so delirious with pain that I can barely think straight. But the sight of the power-hungry bastard who caused all this still makes my gut twist in fury.
Artem’s vicious, backstabbing uncle. The man who tried to steal Artem’s throne as don of the Kovalyov Bratva.
The man who tried to kill all of us.
Me. Artem. Artem’s wife, Esme.
I should have seen this fucking coming. I should have prepared for it.
But I didn’t, and now, my best friend and I are at the mercy of a deranged psychopath with a point to prove.
And it’s my fault.
It’s all my fucking fault.
I try to move, but my body seizes up immediately. Probably not a wise idea.
I’ve got three bullets lodged into my chest, courtesy of Budimir using me for target practice as a way to torture Artem into giving up his birthright, and I’m bleeding out from a gash in my arm. The smell of my own blood fills my nostrils and makes my vision blurry.
One of Budimir’s traitorous soldiers kicks me in the stomach.
I grunt, but no sound escapes my lips as I roll over. My legs flop over a small ledge. I try to clamber for purchase on the ground, but I’m going, going…
Fuck.
My bodyweight drags me over the edge and I slam hard onto the ground two or three feet below. Dried leaves fall on top of me.
Everything that was hurting before now hurts twice as bad.
I try to look up, to figure out what’s happening. With the twisted way I landed, I can barely see Artem.
But I can see Budimir.
The bastard is surrounded by his men. There’s a manic look in his eyes. Triumph. Sheer fucking glee.
He’s speaking, but the words sound hazy. Like they’re coming from far away.
Concentrate, motherfucker! I hiss silently to myself.
It’s important that I keep my wits about me for as long as possible.
But the pain… the fucking pain…
Then a gunshot resounds through the air.