I sprinted forward.
Rayko launched another flash grenade into the front. I averted my gaze as the bang clapped the air.
I began shooting a moment later.
Bikers dropped like flies. A few lay on the floor, twitching or convulsing. My bullets showed them mercy, ending their torment.
Above, the light fixture flickered, fuses shorting out. It only added to the macabre chaos.
Blood slicked the floor as we closed formation.
“Clear!” Boris shouted from the back entrance.
“Clear,” I responded, not seeing any more rats.
But there were the back offices, and the places the Poles led ‘church’ every week.
“Downstairs.” I jerked my chin to Rayko.
My second nodded and took a group of four men to the basement to check for captives.
Meanwhile, I marched to the meeting room. Boris met me at the opposite end of the hall.
“That was easy, boss.” He grinned.
The heavy sickness of dread fell around me.
I crossed myself against the bad words and hissed, “Quiet.”
My soldier had forgotten his days in the military. We never said things like that until it was time for drinks and toasts in the hours that followed combat. To say it on the field of battle was to tempt fate or some cruel deity to reverse the strokes of good fortune.
I kicked on the locked door. The force jarred my bones, sending a bolt of pain up my knee. A violent curse flew past my lips. It wasn’t just locked, it was reinforced.
“Grenade,” I ordered Boris.
No sooner did he turn on his heels than gunfire erupted from the bowels of this hell.
Rayko!
Before I could turn to help my friend, the office door ripped open.
The shotgun blast from within caught Boris in the back. He crumpled.
I raised my rifle, firing off several rounds in quick succession.
The shotgun responded with another deafening boom.
My arm…tickled.
The rifle fell slack against my body, because I couldn’t hold it with my trigger finger. I pressed my back flat against the wall,ignoring the trails of crimson tears spewing down my numb limb.
A face appeared in the office door. I grabbed my pistol with my left hand and fired.
The biker fell.
Shouts in a language I assumed was Polish warbled in the office.
The next moment, wood splintered two feet from where I stood. The bastards were shooting through the paneled wall, trying to hit me.
