When Andrei aims a kick at Brody’s face, I barely hold back a scream. Quick as a viper, Brody catches Andrei’s foot and tugs. The Russian crashes onto his back. His skull cracks against the floor loudly enough to twist my stomach.
Stay down, asshole!
A shout echoes through the warehouse, and I whip my head toward the open door.
Grigori storms in, his gun raised.
He fires one shot, then two.
Three.
Bullets ricochet as Brody and Andrei roll across the floor.
Doesn’t Grigori care that he might hit Andrei? Is Brody’s death worth his own son’s life?
That’s probably what I hate about the mafia more than anything else. All these men sit around scratching their balls and prattling on and on about loyalty that doesn’t truly exist. To them, the thing that really matters is the mission, greed, and pride. If a son or daughter or wife or brother dies in the cross fire…so be it.
Pricks.
I could never live like that.
And neither can Brody. Not anymore.
My left hand still clutches the Glock. Raising the gun, I aim at the center of Grigori’s chest, use my right hand to support my trembling arm, and pull the trigger.
The recoil nearly tumbles me off the float. I grab the clown’s ridiculous hat and cling for dear life.
Grigori screams in Russian, his arm hanging limp at his side. I missed my target, but at least I diminished his fighting capabilities.
With his free hand, Grigori grapples for his gun. The weapon falls as his upper body tilts and crumbles.
Nausea rises along my esophagus, burning the back of my throat. Did I just kill a man?
I lurch over the side of the float and retch.
Nothing comes up but saliva, the nausea still churning my gut.
I glance away from Grigori’s limp body and slide down to the floor.
“Brody!”
He’s still wrestling with Andrei, who’s found a rope and pulled it taut around Brody’s neck.
Brody’s attempting to force him off, but he’s losing.
Fuck!
I can’t shoot Andrei. My aim clearly sucks, and I’m not taking the risk.
Think, Trinity!There must be something I can do…
The clown’s absurd face mocks me. Then I spot the lever just below its hand.
My eyes flit across the warehouse floor. Maybe if I…Yes!
I shove the metal with all my might, groaning as it gives way with aclunk, prompting the clown’s trailer to roll toward the fighting men.
“Brody!”
