Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“No!” I shriek. “No, no, Finn—”
“Go.” His face is angled toward me, blood spreading across the right side of his chest. He wheezes, coughs wetly as he stares at me with pained eyes. “Josie. Go.”
A second shot, the round punching into the floor inches from my hip, sprays tile chips across my body with such force, I feel them shred my jeans. Somewhere underneath the grief and the terror, a reflex kicks in that I didn’t know I had.
Move or you die.
I move, scrambling on glass and grit. I get the kitchen island between me and the shape just as the third shot blows a fist-sized crater out of the cabinet where my head was half a second ago. I press my spine to the island’s base, my chest heaving and my hands shaking so hard I can barely make fists.
Think, Josie.
Fucking think.
My gun’s upstairs. In the nightstand on my side of the bed, where it’s been every night since I moved in. It’s loaded and ready to go but on an entirely different floor from where I’m at now.
I didn’t carry it with me because I didn’t think it was necessary. I was safe in Finn’s house with an alarm set and doors locked. I think I trusted that Connie didn’t give us up and tonight Mikhail was going to be apprehended.
I shouldn’t have needed that fucking gun, but well, here I am, about to die.
Mikhail is between me and Finn and coming closer. I hear his boots now, crunching glass, calm, taking his time, despite the fact he doesn’t have all night. Not only will the security alarm notify the police, but the neighbors will have called in the explosion.
Two minutes. Maybe five. I just have to stay alive that long.
The boots stop on the other side of the island. “You should have drowned.” Mikhail’s voice is thick, accented, almost gentle. Conversational. “That night. We thought the water took you. Mr. Voronin does not like loose ends, and you have been a very loose end.”
I don’t answer. Answering tells him exactly where I am.
I reach up, slow, and find the wooden block on the counter above me by feel, and I close my hand around the handle of the chef’s knife and slide it free without a sound.
It’s nothing. A joke, really. A knife against a gun, but it’s something in my hand.
The footsteps start again, coming around the long way, around the far end of the island.
I go the short way, crouching low for the first few steps, but when I reach the near corner, I bolt.
Not toward Finn, I can’t, but down the hall toward the study. Behind me, the gun goes off twice, and I feel one round pass close enough to move the air by my ear. Then I’m through the study door.
I have the advantage.
It’s dark and Mikhail doesn’t know the house, this room, not the way I do. I’ve read in here. I’ve watched Finn work at that desk. I know there’s a low ottoman two steps in on the left that will break a stranger’s shin and I know the floor lamp is heavy iron with a marble base. I know the fireplace set hangs on a stand by the cold hearth, so I drop the useless knife on the desk before lifting the iron poker off its hook. Pressing myself flat to the wall beside the door, I stop breathing and I wait.
His silhouette fills the doorway and Mikhail pauses, trying to listen past the wailing alarm. I’m grateful for it, even if it masks his location.
He takes one step in, gun up, sweeping the room away from me, toward the desk, toward where I’d be if I were stupid enough to—
I swing the poker with everything I have.
I aim for the place where his head meets his neck and I put fifteen years of being underestimated into it. While my strength is on point, my aim not so much, and I manage to connect with his upper arm just a few inches below his shoulder joint. The shock of it travels up my arms, rattling my teeth, and Mikhail goes down to one knee with a guttural grunt of pain. More importantly, he’s right-handed and the gun skitters across the floor, right under Finn’s desk.
I don’t wait around but take off out of the study, intent on hitting the staircase and getting my gun from upstairs. I keep hold of the iron poker and make it three strides when Mikhail’s hand shoots out and catches my ankle.
I start to fall, twisting backward, and in some crazy move I’ll never know how I pull off, I bring the poker down again. It hits his wrist and he lets go with a snarl. For good measure, I kick out with my foot and catch his chin, snapping his head back.