“You are so full of shit, Powell,” he called. “You didn’t try to kill me because of any DCO directive. You did it because you’re a piece of shit who gets off on killing. You figured you were about to die and you wanted to make sure I went first.”
Powell laughed again, the sound closer and slightly off to the left. The jackass was getting ready to make his move. Good. Jayson wanted to finish him and get out of there. He didn’t like the idea of Layla being out there by herself. Anya had shown herself capable of firing a weapon, but that wasn’t the same thing as having actual backup. That was Jayson’s job.
“You might be right,” Powell agreed. “I have to admit, I never did like working with you shifter freaks. I doubt you ever heard of him, but Jeff Peters was a good friend of mine, and that psycho bitch Ivy Halliwell got him fired from the DCO, then killed him. I’ve been looking for a chance to off a shifter ever since. Even if you’re not much of one, you were the only shifter I had available at the time, so I figured you were better than nothing.”
Jayson heard the guy by the fireplace edging a little closer while Powell moved into position on the left. The third militia soldier was still holding firm in the western corridor, probably with his weapon sighted on the couch in case Jayson popped his head up suddenly. Within seconds, Powell was going to have everyone in position and this little show was going to get started.
“I figured it was something like that,” Jayson said. He didn’t really care about the conversation, but he wanted to keep Powell talking. “I’m just shocked you made it off that roof in one piece. I thought the militia would have killed you for sure.”
Jayson wiggled across the floor to the right. When everybody started shooting, he didn’t want to be in the same place he’d been the last time they’d seen him.
“I almost didn’t,” Powell answered. “The militia could have killed me, but one of them recognized me as American and figured their colonel would want to see me. Zolnerov was about to execute me when I mentioned there was another American here with a diplomat’s son from the U.S. embassy in Kiev. That got his attention damn quick. Then I told him about shifters and that really floated his boat. The idea of getting a feline shifter of his very own had him salivating. Telling him I could deliver the two of you on a silver platter made me his favorite person in the world.”
Jayson’s head was spinning. Powell had told Zolnerov about shifters—about Layla. And unless Powell was full of shit, this entire rescue mission was a setup for Zolnerov to grab a shifter of his very own—a very special female shifter.
Anger welled up in his chest. It was bad enough that Powell had tried to kill him, but now he’d betrayed Layla, too, setting her up so a sadistic piece of shit like Zolnerov could grab her. Jayson decided that shooting Powell was too good for the man. He would snap his frigging neck with his bare hands.
Jayson slipped his finger in the trigger guard of his AK, twisting around to head for Powell to kill him first. Then he heard the crunch of boots on marble fragments from behind him.Shit. Powell had been fucking with him all along, using his feelings for Layla to get him to do something stupid. And it had worked. Jayson had turned his back on the closest threat and was about to pay the ultimate price for it.
* * *
Layla herded the girls down the central corridor in the same direction they had just come from. “Find the first exit out of the building. It should be up on the right somewhere.”
Leaving Jayson behind to face Powell on his own had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, but he’d been right. If she and Anya had stayed where they were, it would have only been a matter of time before one or both of them had been hit, and she had to get Anya and the other girls out of here. Once they were over the wall and safe, she would text Mikhail and let him know what was going on. Then she’d be able to get back in there and help Jayson.
She just prayed he’d be able to hold on that long against what seemed like overwhelming odds.
Up ahead, Anya quickly found an exit along the east wing corridor and urged all the girls outside. Layla caught up with them and hurried the group toward the pool area. They’d just gotten there when the concrete in front of them was chewed up with the impact of bullets. The girls screamed and scattered toward the only cover available—the raised flower beds positioned around the near side of the pool.
Layla cursed as she crouched beside Anya. Zolnerov and a handful of his soldiers were heading their way at a fast pace. The men had gotten between them and the south wall like they’d known Layla would be bringing the girls that way.
Zolnerov wasn’t trying to kill them, though. He and his men repeatedly put round after round into the concrete in front of them, driving her and the girls closer to the pool. Layla’s heart sank as she realized that he intended to recapture them. Of course he did. He needed the girls to pay off Kojot. With only two weapons, a limited supply of ammo, and nowhere to escape to, Layla had no doubt the colonel could do it. Even as she watched, some of the girls were forced into the pool as Zolnerov’s men circled around her side of the pool and closed in. It wouldn’t be long before the stone flower bed didn’t provide any cover at all. When that happened, Layla would be forced to surrender.
That didn’t mean she and Anya were going to give up. Maybe the men out there were hesitant to shoot at the girls for fear of injuring their valuable merchandise, but the reverse certainly didn’t apply. Layla took aim with her 9mm and emptied her clip into the handful of soldiers coming at them. Beside her, Anya did the same with her assault rifle. The girl might not be able to shoot very well, but she could sure as hell make the soldiers duck and back up.
Even though Layla hit at least two of Zolnerov’s men, there were too many left to simply run from. Layla loaded her last clip into her pistol and turned to Anya. The Ukrainian girl shook her head. She was almost out of ammo, too.
Layla glanced back at the girls. She couldn’t let Zolnerov get his hands on them again. She had to give them time to get away.
“Anya!” she shouted. “I’m going to distract them. Get the other girls to the wall.”
The Russian girl looked at her like she was insane. Maybe she was. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do except charge at the colonel and his men, focusing their attention on her and praying her speed would make her difficult to hit. It was probably a suicidal plan, but it was the best she could come up with.
Layla was just about to dash forward when a hail of gunfire came from behind her. She was sure it was Jayson, Danica, and Clayne coming to their rescue, but when she turned, she saw Dylan, Olek, and Mikhail running toward them while laying down a steady barrage of bullets from the three Makarovs they’d just learned to shoot.
Layla couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but she wasn’t going to waste their amazing display of courage. She stepped out into the open and popped shots off at Zolnerov and his soldiers. Anya did the same, and suddenly, the tide began to turn. She had no idea if any of Zolnerov’s men were actually hit by all the bullets flying through the air, but it sure as hell freaked them out. Within seconds, the majority of them turned and ran.
Without being told, the girls abandoned the protection of the pool and the flower beds and ran back toward the main house.
“Go after them!” Layla shouted at Dylan and the other boys, gesturing to the girls. “Get them moving toward the east side. Find Clayne and Danica if you can. Just get them out of here.”
Dylan nodded, motioning Anya and the other girls toward him before turning to lead them to safety. Dylan wasn’t the only one taking charge. Olek and Mikhail were helping girls out of the pool and urging them in the right direction.
The move must have pissed off Zolnerov because he began shooting straight at the girls, and this time, he was aiming to kill.
One dark-haired girl, who’d been late getting out of the pool because she’d been helping the others, got caught up in a hail of bullets and froze where she was. Layla turned to race toward her, but Mikhail was already sprinting across the open area. Suddenly, the Russian teen’s leg twisted as bullets tore through his right thigh. Mikhail ignored the injury and lunged at the frightened girl. They both went down as another torrent of rounds annihilated the ground where she’d been standing.
A moment later, Mikhail was sitting up and aiming his Makarov at the nearest soldier, calmly putting a bullet through the man.
