Screaming.
The word flashes three times before it disappears, and I shove the phone into my back pocket. Now or never. Sliding the knife from its sheath, I test the weight. I can do this. For Sloane. Because no one isevergoing to hurt her again.
Angling a quick gaze around the door, I pinpoint my two targets. Volkov stands too close to a wooden beam for me to get a clean shot, and the other two—Pavel Andrei and another dude I don’t recognize—carry Sloane by the arms as she kicks wildly. “Let me go! Or just kill me already!”
Oh,hellno. As the three round the end of the wooden platform and turn towards Volkov, I throw the knife. It sails end-over end until it finds its target. In the unknown man’s lower back. He drops Sloane’s arm, falls to his knees, and struggles to reach the knife.
Off balance, Andrei shoves Sloane towards Volkov, and pulls a gun from his shoulder holster. Two shots splinter the wood inches from my head, and now…all I have left is the small pistol inside my vest. And ten bullets.
“Griff! Run!”
I ignore the red text and pull the weapon from the holster. Backing up, I wait for Andrei to charge. And he will. The man’s been arrested a dozen times because without someone else in control, he’s too fucking stupid to pull off anything more complicated than assault and battery.
The moment he rushes through the door, I fire, and though my left hand is only good enough to help steady my right, the bullet hits its mark. The back of his head. He’s flat on his face—what’s left of it anyway—in less than five seconds.
“If you want Sophiana to live, you’ll put down the gun.”
Volkov.
If I drop my weapon, we’re both dead. “Sloane? Talk to me.”
Fuck. No reply. Ripper sends a message to my glasses telling me the police are five minutes out, but that’s four minutes Sloane doesn’t have.
Stepping out from behind the door, the gun aimed where I last saw Volkov, I draw on all the anger I’ve kept locked up since the attack that stole so much from me.
The fucker has one arm around Sloane’s torso, pinning her arms in front of her. With his other hand, he presses a knife to her throat. She strains, her head pressed against Volkov’s shoulder to try to escape the sharp blade, but it’s no use. Blood seeps around the shiny metal. He hasn’t hit her carotids yet, but one flinch—hers or his—and he will.
“You won’t get away with this.” I don’t dare take another step closer. “The police are on their way. Search and rescue will find Marina, and you’re all alone now.”
The other thug is still alive—technically—but he’s barely moving now, and a large pool of blood spreads out around his prone body.
“You can kill me, American,” Volkov says with a smile that makes me want to kick his teeth in. “But this whore will die with me.”
“Call her that again and I’ll make you suffer before I end you. Let her go, and I’ll put one between your eyes. Nice and quick.” My left arm throbs with every beat of my heart, but my anger and desperate focus give me the fine control of my prosthetic fingers I need to line up my shot.
The knife glints in the overhead lights, and Sloane’s lips move even as pain flits across her face and more blood trickles from her neck to her chest.
“I love you.”
Seeing those words—knowing she feels the same way I do—it lets me believe I can do this. I have to do this. For her. So we can have our forever. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’m going to get us out of this.”
Volkov laughs and drags Sloane back another few steps. But he can’t do that with the knife held as tightly to her neck, and the second it lifts slightly, she swallows hard and shudders against the big man.
Dropping my left hand to my side, I spell out,“Gag. Vomit,”and hope Volkov doesn’t notice the movements—or understand what they mean. But he’s too preoccupied with what he’s about to do to Sloane.
“You are half a man, Mr. Harry Griffin. And while I clearly underestimated your skills and your background, nothing can make up for only havingone arm.” Grinning, he angles the knife against her neck. Sloane makes a sound—it has to be a low wail for me to be able to hear even the faintest hint of it—and tears cascade down her cheeks. But then she starts to gag and choke, sucking her stomach in hard.
“You fucking bitch,” Volkov says with a sneer. His gaze trails to his captive for the briefest of moments.
“Now!” I shout. Sloane slams her head back, catching Volkov in the nose, and I fire. The knife jerks, but her move forced her up onto the balls of her feet, and the slice catches her close to her collar bone, safely away from any major arteries. He still has a hold on her, though, and they fall together, landing in the water with a massive splash.
No!
I toss the gun aside, racing for the end of the dock. Sloane kicks wildly, trying to stay afloat. I drop to my knees and grab her wrists with both hands to pull her up. It’s awkward as fuck, and we topple over together, me on my back with her on top of me, but she’s safe. In my arms.
Her bound hands slip over my head, and she holds on for dear life, her sobs loud enough even I can hear them. “You’re safe, sweetheart. He’ll never hurt you again.”
Chapter Thirty-One
