Page 97 of The Bonventi War
"Inside," I growl, not slowing my pace. "Don't let anyone in or out of the warehouse."
As I approach, I see the metal door is ajar, Viktor's hasty entry leaving it open. I advance with caution, gun raised, senses heightened.
I slip inside, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. The warehouse smells of fish, the typical stench of dockside storage. Shipping containers are stacked in neat rows, creating a maze of potential hiding places. Perfect for an ambush.
Shit.
A sound to my left—the shuffle of shoes on concrete.
I pivot, ducking behind a forklift as the first shot rings out. The bullet ricochets off metal, sending sparks flying. Viktor's driver, a broad-shouldered man with a military haircut, disappears between containers, hunting me.
I steady my breathing, trying to listen for him.
I rise slightly, aiming around the edge of my cover.
The driver spots me first. His gun flashes.
Fire tears through my left forearm. The bullet rips through muscle, sending white-hot pain shooting up to my shoulder. "Fuck!" I growl, dropping back behind cover.
Blood seeps through my sleeve, warm against my skin. Instinctively, I check the wound, a through-and-through. Painful, but I'll live. I flex my fingers, making sure everything still works. I haven't been shot in some time, and I forget how much it hurts. But I push the pain away, focusing my rage on what I'm here to do.
Besides, I don't have a choice. The driver is coming for me.
I switch my gun to my right hand. As his footsteps come closer, I roll to the side, rising into a crouch. He appears in my sights, surprise registering on his face.
I pull the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three.
My bullets find their target. Two rip through the center of his chest, the third through his throat. He drops like a stone, gurgling as blood fills his lungs. His gun clatters across the concrete floor.
I press my back to a container, tearing a strip from my shirt to wrap around my wounded arm. The makeshift bandage won't stop the bleeding completely, but it'll do for now.
A sound outside catches my attention—metal scraping against metal. I move toward one of the small windows, staying in shadow. Outside, Viktor is frantically trying to open the Bentley's door. His hands shake as he pulls at the handle, looking over his shoulder for pursuers.
I smile grimly. The car's locked, and judging by the way he's cursing in Russian, his driver has the keys.
Then gunfire erupts. Viktor ducks and makes his way back toward me.
Ares is pushing him back inside, back to me.
Viktor realizes this too. His head whips toward the warehouse, understanding his only way out is through me.
I duck as he fires wildly toward the window. Glass shatters, raining down in crystalline shards over my head. I turn and run to hide behind a container.
"You think you can hide from me, you Italian piece of shit?" he shouts, his thick accent curling the words.
I continue moving silently between containers, tracking his voice. He's ducking behind a wooden crate near the main doors, foolishly believing I'm across from him.
"That bitch belongs to me," he calls, firing another shot through some crates. "Her father promised her. A debt must be paid."
Something snaps inside me. The thought of Raven being touched by this piece of shit makes my vision blur with fury.
"She's mine," I snarl, loud enough for him to hear. "And you'll pay for even daring to think otherwise."
