Page 92 of Captive Prize

"Well, that girl has millions stashed away. We need to know where it is. We want our cut."

"How the fuck should I know? Have you thought maybe she put it in a bank?"

Of course, this was about money. Not even money they were owed. Lazy fuckers.

I popped up again, but this time from the other side of the desk and fired four times.

At least two dropped before my gun made that sickeningclicksound, telling me there was nothing left to fire.

I ducked back down behind cover as I switched to a new magazine.

Crawling over to the other side of the desk, I peered around the corner and tried to get an idea of how many were left.

Two too many and more were coming.

"Come out, come out, little bitch," Mateo called, and the grating sound of his slurred words was followed by the rapidpop pop popof an AK-103 assault rifle.

Being outmanned was one thing. But being outgunned—by a fucking Russian gun, no less—was different.

Mateo was likely high, which made him unpredictable.

The surrounding men seemed to rally with his presence.

"Don't worry boys, when we show that bitch this man's head, I'm sure she'll give us what we need. Assuming she doesn't bleed out first."

Bleed out?

I checked my watch. It was a little after ten p.m. It had been about twenty-four hours since the doctor gave her that IV.

If he hurt her...if she was bleeding...I could be too late.

Fuck.

I popped up once, took a couple shots, and then hit the floor again as quickly as I could.

The hail of bullets was immediate, and they barely missed me.

I didn't have enough ammo to get through this.

Fuck.

This was what I got for taking on this mission alone. I should've had backup. I should have grabbed Gregor by the fucking throat and made him listen. Made some type of deal.

He wasn't like our fathers or our grandfather. Gregor was reasonable. There could have been a compromise.

I didn’t know what it would have been.

But I could have done something, made a deal, like once I saved her, I’d bring her back to the house for questioning. Or maybe I could have said I would marry her.

I wouldn't be the first Ivanov man to carry a woman kicking and screaming down the aisle.

Hell, it was happening so often now, it was practically a new tradition.

There were other options, smarter options.

There had to have been an answer that didn't get both me and her killed.

I switched out the magazines again, but I was on my last one, and my two backup Glocks were smaller, only six rounds each.

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