Last Breath (Hitman #2)(65)
Author: Jessica Clare

She holds up a finger. “I have a paper cut.”

He laughs, and for a moment he looks so relieved that I want to laugh, too. “No, I mean, did these assholes hurt you? Did they touch you?”

“I don’t know why you’re discounting my paper cut,” Naomi says, disgruntled. “It’s quite deep.”

Daniel leans in and gives her a rough kiss on the cheek. “I love you, you nut. You know that, right?”

“I’m fine,” she says in a softer voice. “If that’s what you’re asking. No one has hurt me.” She puts her hands out and begins to straighten Daniel’s clothing, adjusting his collar and smoothing a wrinkle out of his sleeve.

“Thank God.” He seems to visibly deflate for a moment, and then he looks over at me. “Come on,” he says. “We need to get out of here. We’ve got one more guy to find, and then we’re busting out of this turkey farm.”

“This is not a turkey farm,” Naomi says, a furrow of concern on her brow. Her fingers dance along the brim of her cap again, apparently a nervous reaction. “This is an extremist compound. And if they find out I’ve escaped, they will kill Mom and Dad. I can’t leave.”

“They’re not going to kill anyone, Naomi. I promise.” Daniel’s words are so confident, even I believe them. “Now, come on. We have to get out of here.”

But Naomi hesitates, then shakes her head. She turns back to her desk and begins to straighten things, as if a tidy room will stop the anxiety she’s feeling. “I can’t leave. I can’t. Everyone gets hurt if I leave.”

Daniel casts his sister an exasperated look when she sits back down again and then moves to my side. “You okay, fighter?”

I nod, unable to do much more than that.

“Good. Okay. Stay here and shoot anyone that comes through that door unless it’s me or Petrovich. Hell, shoot Petrovich. I don’t give a damn. Keep yourself and Naomi safe and don’t worry about Petrovich. All he cares about is finding the hacker.”

“Here,” Naomi calls from her desk. She raises her hand as if we’re in class.

Before Daniel can say anything in response, a massive form fills the doorway, and we all turn, pointing our guns there.

It’s Petrovich, and for a moment, my finger itches on the trigger. He’s got blood splattered on his face, and he’s wearing the same ridiculous waiter uniform that Daniel is. Except on his enormous body, it’s tight over the arms and looks as if he’s been stuffed into it. Not much of a disguise. He’s got a gun held aloft, and there’s a wild look in his eyes.

“We need to leave right now,” he says in that ominous, deep voice.

“Goodbye,” Naomi says from her workstation, and her voice is sad.

“Did you find the hacker?” Vasily asks.

“Here,” Naomi says again and raises her hand. She doesn’t look at either man, just goes back to typing.

“Naomi’s the Emperor,” I whisper to Daniel, moving closer to him as Petrovich pushes his way into the room. “She’s the hacker. They’re the same person.”

“I know.” He sighs.

“Then she is mine,” Vasily says in a satisfied voice. To Naomi, he says, “You come with me.”

“Now wait a goddamn minute,” Daniel begins.

Naomi stands up, eyes Petrovich in that weird, not-quite-looking-into-your-face way of hers, then reaches out and straightens his collar. “I’m not going with you.”

Daniel

“CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT this later?” There’s no way my little sister is going with that fuckhead Petrovich. I’ll kill him myself if I have to, but I need his muscle to get out.

“There is a caterer’s truck that is stalled, and they have abandoned it. Come now.” Petrovich orders.

“Go.” I gesture toward the women who, after a stalled pause, scamper after Petrovich as he barrels down the hall. We race toward the cellar space beneath the kitchen. Petrovich is first up the stairs. He fires two shots and then curses. When his magazine tumbles down the steps, I realize he’s out of bullets.

“Give him your gun,” I order Regan.

“What?” she clutches the black stock tighter between both hands. “No!”

“Give me the fucking gun, you stupid woman,” Petrovich grabs for the gun, but Regan resists.

“Don’t call her stupid, you asswipe.” I barrel up the stairs past Naomi and pull Regan away. “Here, take my gun. You’re the stupid fuck who ran out of bullets.” Regan scrunches her nose and reluctantly hands me the Ruger. “Thanks, fighter.” I give her quick kiss on her lips and push Petrovich in front of us, using him as a shield. What do I care if his bear of a body gets riddled with bullets? I only want to get my girls out of this fucked-up place.

Two of Hudson’s men are barricaded behind the center kitchen island and fire off a series of rounds when Petrovich’s head peeks out.

“Ebanatyi pidaraz,” he roars and then dives out, shooting five bullets quickly. I hear return fire and hold Regan back. Behind me I hear the harsh breaths of Naomi as her anxiety ratchets up.

“Fucking motherfucker,” she translates unnecessarily or maybe for Regan’s benefit, and then she begins rocking on her heels. “Too loud,” she’s saying repeatedly, her hands over her ears. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I yell the last profanity out loud. I have to get them out. Regan’s crying but places a comforting arm around Naomi’s shoulders. I don’t have time to tell Regan that Naomi isn’t a fan of touching before Naomi lets out a piercing scream.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Naomi,” Regan says, releasing Naomi immediately. My sister is rocking back and forth on her feet, her hands over her ears.

Petrovich is looking at us like we are a circus troupe. A really bad one that he’d like to shoot to put out of our misery.

Fuck this shit.

“Stay here,” I order, and then I dive out toward Petrovich. More rounds are fired off, and I feel a fire in my side. Fuck. I’ve torn open the glued wound. Army crawling toward the back of the island, I can feel tile chunks and plaster pieces raining down on us. “What I wouldn’t give for some C4 right now,” I joke to Petrovich, who merely grunts. “You got a plan?” I ask.

“Shoot. Kill. Leave,” Petrovich answers.

“Nice plan. On two?” I point upward.

He nods in understanding.