Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I feel the angry gazes of the Ivan and the Bratva on my back, but I don't look in their direction. If I do, what little nerve I have will vanish, and if I'm going to die for this…well, I'd at least like to finish the job first.
Ilya's standing right outside the doors to the bar with a cigarette hanging from his lips, ignoring the cop asking him questions. He takes one look at me and then shakes his head like he's disappointed in me. I guess he probably is. He doesn't like cops any more than Ivan does.
By the time Detective Hernandez and I reach the last ambulance, most of the others have pulled away, carting the victims to the hospital for treatment. I identified those I could and told the detective where to look for the names of those I don't know. The dying girl, the one I tried to help, is nowhere to be found. I ask about her, but Detective Hernandez tells me that she's already been transported.
"Is she going to survive?"
"Probably not," he says, his tone weary.
"Oh." I already knew that but hearing him confirm that she's going to die bothers me. People in this neighborhood die all the time, usually by the hands of men like Ivan. But this is different, though I can't put my finger on why. Maybe because public venues are supposed to be off-limits. They're supposed to be safe. I guess safety is only an illusion in places like this, though. One I was naïve enough to believe existed behind the rickety doors to Ilya's bar.
"Was she a friend of yours?" Detective Hernandez asks me as he escorts me to the ambulance waiting to take me to the hospital.
"No."
"Yobanaya suka!" Mikhail Marozava snarls as we pass by him.
Fucking bitch.
I flinch away from him, fear shooting through me.
"Zatknis!" Detective Hernandez immediately snaps back at Mikhail in Russian, pinning him with a hard glare. He positions himself a little closer to me, so close the heat of his big body sears into me.
Mikhail seems surprised that Detective Hernandez knows enough Russian to tell him to shut up. I'm more surprised that I'm not surprised. He seems like the kind of guy who probably taught himself to speak five languages and put himself through one of those fancy schools, only to decide he preferred life as a cop. Is he former military? Maybe.
"Come on," he murmurs, ushering me toward the ambulance. "Let's get you out of here."
Once we're back where we started, I expect him to put me in the ambulance and send me on my way, but he doesn't. He glances at me, his lips pulled down into a troubled frown. "They're going to make your life hell for helping me, aren't they?"
I don't plan to stick around long enough for them to make my life any worse than it already is. If they want to kill me for this, they're going to have to find me first. As soon as I get to the hospital, I'm finding a car and getting as far as I can before Nikolai and Ivan realize I'm gone. Maybe this time, I'll actually find freedom instead of more hell. Instead of telling Detective Hernandez that, I shrug. "When isn't life hell in Nikolai Tarasova's territory?"
I realize that was the wrong thing to say the second his frown deepens, carving little lines around his mouth. Anger sizzles in those sepia eyes, searing along my skin. I open my mouth to tell him that I'll be fine, but before I can, he turns away from me and plants his hands on his hips.
"Anderson! Patel!" he yells.
Two cops glance our way and then jog toward us when he motions them over. He meets them halfway and converses with the two of them quietly. They both stand up straight and listen intently as he speaks. The smaller of the two is Indian. The other is tall and lanky. They both sneak glances at me as he talks.
After a few moments, he leads them over to me. "Faith, this is Sergeant Rich Anderson and Officer Sai Patel," he says. "They'll be escorting you to the hospital."
"That's really not necessary," I mutter.
He cocks a brow at me, silently telling me this isn't up for discussion. He's made his decision and nothing I say is going to sway him. He's spoken and that's that.
"Fine. Whatever," I mutter and stomp toward the ambulance, hoping like hell he doesn't intend for Anderson and Patel to hang around once they get me there. I plan to be long gone before Ivan Sedov even knows what hospital I was taken to.
There's no way in hell I'm going to sit around and wait for my blood-soaked cage to become a funeral pyre. Hell no.
Chapter Two
Octavio
The sun creeps over the horizon, turning the city an inky orange color as I circle around St. Francis Medical Center in Lynwood, creeping toward the emergency room. I've been up since yesterday morning, and I still have a thousand things to do…including checking in on the girl who helped me identify the victims.