Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“You’re going to be fine,” Alex says, cradling my face in his lap.
“Alex.” My voice is scratchy. “I’ve been shot.”
His lips flatten. Chaos swirls in his icy blue eyes, telling me the truth even as he offers me a smile. “You’re going to make it.”
I moan when he lifts me into his arms and rises to his feet.
“Your phone,” I say, breathing through the sharp waves of pain. “Call for help.”
“I have to get you to safety first.”
We must have a guardian angel, because the wind stills to a breeze and the snowfall calms enough to allow visibility.
Sheltering me against his chest, he takes a step. The snow is so thick he sinks knee-deep. On the other side of the ditch, a field stretches out before the forest. He has to cross that distance before we can hide in the denser vegetation. We won’t make it far like this, not with him wounded and carrying me while trudging through the snow.
“Put me down,” I say raggedly. “Make the call.”
He pauses, hesitates.
“You’ve lost too much blood. You can’t carry me all the way there. The snow is too deep.”
Indecision flashes in his eyes. He knows I’m right because after another second, he lowers me carefully. The snow is cold beneath me. Soon, my jacket will be damp. If I don’t bleed out, hypothermia will set in. If the bullet has severed an artery, I’ll need surgery and fast. The professional side of me calculates the risks on autopilot as he shrugs off his coat and lays it out like a blanket.
“No,” I say through bloodless lips. “Keep it on. You’ll freeze to death.”
He flashes me a grin. “I’m used to this cold. I grew up in it, remember?”
I’m not from Florida either, but that doesn’t make either one of us immune to simple science. Once his body temperature drops below ninety-five degrees, he’s dead.
“Alex, please.” I protest some more as he picks me up and lays me on his coat, but he’s not to be deterred.
Crouching next to me, he brushes the hair from my face. “I can’t leave you lying in the wet snow. You’ll go into hypothermic shock.”
A movement by the car draws my attention. Alex is partially blocking my view with his body, but when he straightens, I spot Besov climbing to his feet.
“Alex,” I cry out, my insides turning to ice.
Following my gaze, he spins around.
Besov leans against the car, pointing a gun at Alex. Judging by the blood running down the side of his face and the way he sways on his feet, he’s taken a hard knock. Alex positions himself in front of me, sheltering me with his body, but I see the horrific picture unfolding through the wide stance of his legs.
“You lose,” Besov says, laughing as he aims the gun at Alex.
Alex charges.
My scream tears through the air.
Besov pulls the trigger, but his hand is unsteady and the bullet hits the snow left of Alex. Besov stumbles sideways. Before he’s found his balance, Alex dives through the air. The gun flies from Besov’s grip as both men go down. They roll through the snow, fists and elbows flying.
Ignoring my numb arm, I struggle to my feet. My boots sink into the snow. The messily tied shoelaces don’t help. My feet fit loosely, slipping inside the oversized boots. The left one gets stuck in the muddy ground beneath the snow, and I go down face first. I push up onto my good arm, dragging myself off the ground. Male war cries and grunts come from where the men are fighting. I wipe the snow from my face and spit out the mouthful I’ve eaten before forcing my legs to move again.
Alex and Besov are trying to kill each other with their bare hands. They roll down a second embankment to the edge of a frozen river. Adrenaline pumps through my body, vanquishing the cold. I pick up my speed, my lungs burning from exertion, and in a few more steps, I reach the gun.
The metal is cold when I haul it up from the snow. The weight is heavy in my palm. I’ve never fired a gun, but my finger curls instinctively around the trigger. Bracing the arm on my injured side against my body, I run as fast as the snow allows while pointing the gun in the direction of the fistfight.
Both men are bleeding worse than before. A trickle of blood runs from Alex’s nose, and Besov’s eyebrow is split open.
“Alex,” I scream when I reach the embankment. The snow is thinner here, almost iced. Before I can catch myself, I slide down the slope. My feet slip out from under me. Pain shoots up my spine as my tailbone hits the ground, but I don’t let go of the gun. I grip it tightly, holding on for life and death.