A shudder streaked through her. He’d shot the ambassador. She fully expected he’d pump her with lead, then dump her body in the woods.
Irony.
“Hello, Minka.” He made his way over, glared down. “Minka is not your real name, is it?”
“Get them to building,” Natasha said to Petrov. “They finish job. We deal with her after.”
Petrov pulled a gun, waived it at the van’s occupants. “Get out!”
With fear bursting from their eyes, the hostages made their way back into the building.
Yes, this was a setback… a big one. But she wasn’t giving up. Natasha’s sharp slap across her cheek had been a wakeup call. People were going to die tonight. She had to do everything possible to ensure it wasn’t the hostages.
At gunpoint, the group was ushered over to the conference tables.
“Finish job,” Petrov barked.
Halston could open fire, end it now, but she had no idea how many bullets—if any—were in the magazine. If she pulled the gun, fired, and missed, she’d be dead in a second. Like she had with Serge, she would separate Natasha from Petrov and kill them one at a time. Not an easy task, but she would make it happen. What other choice did she have? This deranged brother-sister team weren’t about negotiating any more than the Russian guard had been.
Two of the men helped Lars to the table. He sat beside them but laid his head in his hands. Risking another smack—or worse—Halston knelt next to him.
“Do you need to lie down?” she whispered.
“Get away from him!” ordered Petrov.
“He’s not well,” Halston said.
“Help me put him in bed,” Petrov said.
Petrov pulled Lars to his feet while Halston guided him back to the cot. Lars laid down, closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” Halston said to Petrov.
“Of course.” Petrov bared his teeth, his terrifying smile sending shivers racing down her spine. “Let us help team finish task.”
As she made her way out?—
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Halston startled, then whipped around.
Petrov had pumped Lars with bullets.
She wasn’t dealing with a madman. She was up against Satan himself.
“Now, he no longer slows me down,” Petrov bit out.
Screams and cries from the other room had Petrov glancing over her shoulder.
Every cell, every fiber of her being wanted to kill him. A seething hatred threatened to explode out of her, but she had to find the right time. The right moment that worked for her.
Maybe when they’re sleeping… if they let us live through the night.
“Where is he?” Natasha shrieked as she stormed in. “Where Serge?”
“He said something about toilet,” Halston replied. “That’s where he spends most of his time.”
If they saw the bedding was gone and they ventured into the woods, she’d have to take her chances and fire the gun. But she didn’t expect to live through the shootout.