A sea of men appears from the upstairs landing, but I quickly land bullets in their necks, taking them out as quickly as possible. I don’t need some fucker lodging a bullet in my head because I wasn’t thorough enough with killing him.
I throw the bodies over the banister before they even have a chance to register the fatal shot.
The sickening crunch they make as they land on the stone floor below is starting to feel like music to my ears.
“Where are you, Scout?” I mutter to myself as I wade through the sea of bodies.
All I want is to scream his name, but that could be more damaging than helpful.
Once Adrian learns I’m among the men ambushing him, he’s going to retaliate, and I can’t afford to put Scout in any more danger.
“Fuck. Upstairs, clear,” Ronan says in my ear.
“Maybe he’s not here,” Brennan says.
“He’s here…” I mutter.
I can’t explain it, but I know Scout is somewhere in this place. The only question is, where?
I turn and head back down the stairs, darting out of the way as Kieran slams someone into the wall and uses his own head to knock him out.
“You better finish that,” I grunt as I pass him.
A second later, a gunfire is shot.
He scoffs, passing me as he sprints down the hall. “You think I’m some kind of amateur?”
I’m about to call after him when a sound catches my attention.
It’s so soft and quiet that it nearly gets lost beneath all the chaos, but my ears are so attuned that I know immediately it came from Scout.
“Scout,” I whisper, already moving.
My heart stutters violently, and I backtrack a few steps, wondering if the sleep deprivation has made me hallucinate.
But then I hear it again, a soft whimper of a noise.
My knees almost buckle with relief.
He’s alive.
“Ground floor, East hallway,now,” I hiss into my earpiece.
Kieran replies, “On my way.”
The hallway narrows around me as I follow the sound of Scout’s whimpers, the air growing heavier with each step.
There’s a door at the end, which is slightly ajar.
I don’t wait for my brothers to catch up to me before readying my gun and kicking the door open with my boot.
The world around me tilts as I lock eyes with Smirnov.
He looks exactly the same as when I last saw him, except his once jet-black hair is almost entirely white, and his face is more heavily lined. But those dark gray eyes… I would recognize those eyes anywhere. They’re Nadia’s eyes.
Adrian stands there, one arm locked around my son’s small, trembling body.
I growl. “You son of a bitch.”
