Page 13 of Twisted Prince

I’m trained for tactical maneuvers, covert missions, and fighting dirty. This is just a bloodbath. But I suppose it doesn’t take much training when it comes down to shoot or be shot.

Beside me, Pyotr takes down Zhivoder men with deadly accuracy. And I know he’s just as enraged as I am. But I wonder if he knows yet what I see with brilliant clarity.

Mikhail’s men knew we were coming. The information Maks gave Pyotr was bad. And we walked right into the Zhivoder’s trap. Now, Veles men are being slaughtered.

I had a gut feeling.

I should have spoken up.

“Fall back!” Pyotr bellows, noting how close we are to getting pinned down.

He and Efrem slip from cover at the same time, and I follow closely, keeping a sharp eye on the blond bodyguard, who I fully intend on confronting when we get out of this alive. I’ve ignored my instincts long enough. I don’t care if Pyotr trusts him. Efrem knows too much.

I turn, taking out three men who appear around the trees, aiming to shoot us down. Then I hiss a string of profanity as my bullets run out. Shoving my gun in its holster, I grab for the next.

“Blyat!” Efrem cusses, drawing my eyes.

I look just in time to see him turn to face Pyotr, and he launches forward, tackling our pakhan to the ground. Bastard’s taking advantage of the chaos to take Pyotr out of the equation.

Over my dead body.

I aim at the back of Efrem’s head, ready to end the traitor.

Then, from my peripheral, I catch sight of the gunman. Dressed in full camo, he stands beyond the bushes, his gun still smoking.

I put three bullets in him without blinking—two to the chest, one to the head—then watch as the man drops, lifeless, to the ground.

My eyes shift back to our pakhan, and I freeze as the blond bodyguard rolls off of Pyotr. Blood spreads steadily across Efrem’s broad chest.

My heart skips a beat.

“Efrem!” Pyotr shouts, scrabbling across the ground toward him.

Efrem releases a gurgling cough, and I know from the sound that he’s not going to make it. Maybe if we weren’t in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by enemies who have us on the run. But not now. Not today.

“Someone help me get him up!” Pyotr demands, panic in his voice.

My gut wrenches as I step forward to do as he says, despite Efrem’s mortal wound.

Efrem releases a horrible, racking cough. His shoulders curl instinctively, his back lifting off the ground in an effort to relieve the choking sensation as blood fills his lungs. Our eyes meet, and I find a grim determination in their crystal-blue depths.

It makes me regret every horrible thought, every dark suspicion I ever had about the man.

Because he willingly sacrificed his life to protect Pyotr. I can see it in the way he looks at me now, silently demanding I take the responsibility on my shoulders now that he can no longer protect our pakhan.

And a deep, resounding respect for the man fills my chest.

“Help me carry him,” Pyotr commands.

I kneel to follow his order, though I know Efrem won’t make it back to the cars alive. But I suddenly can’t stand the thought of leaving his body behind. The man I was seconds away from killing myself, and I would put my life on the line to get him away from this massacre.

“No,” Efrem growls through bloody lips. He grips the front of Pyotr’s shirt, hauling him closer.

His next words are lost in the ensuing burst of AR gunfire, and I raise my gun to kill another enemy who leaves his cover for a split second.

“I’m not leaving you,” Pyotr states forcefully, his eyes commanding me to grab one of Efrem’s arms as he grips the other.

But the behemoth of a man shoves him back with impressive strength. Strength I wouldn’t anticipate from a dying man.

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