“They’re always up there like fucking monkeys.” Yulian heads over and kicks the cadaver. “Yo mama sends her regards.”
My fingers twitch on the trigger.Fuck.
I didn’t evennoticethe sniper.
I mean, I was wary of them, but not to the point where I could pinpoint their exact locations and even shoot and kill them.
My eyes narrow on Yulian’s back as he cuts through the forest with the ease of someone used to every nook and cranny of this place.
Who the fuck is this guy? He’s entirely different from the incompetent, idiotic, and violence-prone Yulian I’ve known this summer.
“To your right,” I shout as I shoot a figure from behind the tree.
Yulian points his gun at me, and I freeze, but before I can react, he runs toward me and shoots right next to my ear.
The bang is deafening, and my ears buzz in a constant flow of nothingness. The sounds of the forest disappear, overwhelmed by the gunshots still echoing in the air.
When I look behind me, I find a body slumping against a tree.
So that’s what he was shooting at.
Slender fingers rub the curve of my ear, and I jump, goosebumps prickling along my skin.
What the fuck wasthat?
Yulian takes a step back, his brow furrowing, and he pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and indexfinger, then releases it and turns around. “That was the best angle.”
It doesn’t sound like an excuse or an apology, more like he’s irritated.
He was the one who shot right next to my ear, then caressed it like a weirdo, and he’s the one who’sirritated?
“Hurry up, Mishka. Don’t slow me down.”
I slam my shoulder into his as I fall in step beside him. “You’re the one slowing me down.”
“Ow, my injury hurts.”
I frown, staring at the wound. Maybe I should refrain from being physically aggressive when he’s injured. “Can you move?”
“Ha, got you.” He’s walking backward, grinning like an idiot, even as blood slides down his striped shirt and onto his black shorts.
His lips are bluish now, which is a bad sign, but he’s moving around as if it’s nothing.
As if he doesn’t actually have a hole in his side, so close to his heart.
I get it, adrenaline can make you forget pain. I know my blood is pumping full throttle, my senses entirely aware of my surroundings.
Any rustle, any movement is a possible sign of danger.
But fuck if I’d be this nonchalant if I were the one who’d been shot.
Not sure what I’d do, but I definitely wouldn’t be grinning and messing around.
That nauseating malaise slithers more between my heart and rib cage the longer I watch him.
It’s because I’m feeling guilty.
Ithasto be.
