“I’m coming now, Silas. Don’t —” But before he can finish, I’ve already hung up.
My hand moves to my gun, but the last thing I want is to cause a scene with this many people around me. I’m no saint, but I’d rather not have civilian casualties if I can avoid it.
I keep my eyes on Aleksandr’s jacket, and when less than twenty yards separate him from the exit, his bodyguard turns and grabs a girl who’s just stepped out of the bathroom.
The gun presses to her temple, pulling a scream out of her that gets swallowed whole by the music from the main floor.
“Alek, keep moving!” the idiot calls out. “I’ll be right behind you.”
His boss tucks his hands into his pockets and takes a step toward me, studying the fact that I’ve gone still.
“Who are you?”
An image of Dean in my arms, bleeding out far too fast, flashes across my vision, and I have to force myself to swallow down the bile rising in my throat.
“Silas Vaughn. Dean Vaughn’s brother.”
One second. But I catch the exact moment the name registers, and something moves through his eyes before heshakes it off and laughs. Something that looks far too much like fear.
The bastard laughs as he turns away.
“He should have taken my offer, my friend. A smaller amount, sure, but your brother thought he was owed more. Pride is an expensive thing to die for.”
I could draw my gun and shoot him, but I know his right hand will empty every bullet he has into the woman trembling and crying in his grip.
Someone in the hallway notices us, and when they see the girl with a gun to her head, they start screaming, setting off a chain reaction through the entire club.
Then two shots hit the wall beside Aleksandr’s soldier, and the man, caught off guard, turns just in time to see Andreas launching himself at him, knocking the gun loose.
The girl runs.
My best friend shouts at me while he wrestles the idiot who was shielding that snake to the ground.
“Go, Silas!”
I take off after Aleksandr, bursting through the back exit into the alley just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car.
My gun is in my hand in two seconds and I open fire. I could swear one bullet caught his shoulder, but I can’t be sure from this angle.
The car tears away, my shots chasing it through the rear window, the tires, the trunk.
Police sirens wail in the distance, and I hear footsteps behind me.
“Si, someone called the cops. We need to go!”
My gun clicks empty and I slam it against the ground.
He got away. Again.
“What about his soldier?” But when I turn, I see Andreas with one hand pressed to his abdomen, blood running freely between his fingers.
“Andreas?”
“I got blood on my John Lobb shoes, Si.” He’s trying to sound amused, but his eyes are glassy.
I don’t wait. I grab him and move toward the car.
“Stay with me, man.”
