Deceitful Lies by Brook Wilder
Chapter 35
Andrei
Eyes that avoided me now stare at me, silently pleading for their lives as Karamazov men fire into the terrified crowd below. The VIP level is out of range for now, but our safety won’t last once those bastards climb the stairs.
I look over the balcony as Karamazov men shoot at fleeing patrons, picking them off like a game. High-pitched shrieks pierce the chaos as bodies hit the floor. Glasses fall from tables as people duck for cover, trying to avoid the random bullets. The Karamazov Bratva shows no mercy. They don’t care who dies. No one is spared in their pursuit to kill my men.
Two of Karamazov’s men charge up the stairs to the VIP level. Screaming people flee past me toward the back exits to escape the slaughter. But the assailants don’t reach the top level before I cut them down. I race down the stairs, killing every armed man that I don’t recognize. My men have been drinking and are ill-prepared for a fight, but they follow orders and return fire.
Stepping over bodies, shots ring out behind me as more of my men are hit and crumple to the floor. I reach the main bar as more Karamazov soldiers flood in through the main doors of the club. They trample over the backs of the dead bouncers lying facedown in their blood.
A bullet flies past my head as I leap behind the bar, joining a few of my men who have taken cover. Dmitri’s left sleeve is drenched in blood. Grimacing, he reloads his automatic.
“It was supposed to be a fun night out!” he yells over the commotion. “Suka blyat!”
I smirk. “Murder and mayhem are no longer fun for you, Dmitri?” I stand quickly, aiming at our enemies, and drop down again. The dim lights in the club make it hard to gauge how many are out there.
“Igor must’ve emptied a warehouse filled with his men!” he shouts, taking a shot.
“How many have we lost?” I shout back.
“Six so far, but that’s all I could count before diving for cover,” he replies. “Do you know how annoying it is to drink and shoot at the same time?”
Fuck. What’s happening at home? Who will stop them from going there? Maybe that’s the plan: to keep us here while they grab Paige.
Igor better not be there, and he better not touch her. I feel in my pockets for my phone, but I must’ve dropped it in the confusion. I force myself to keep a cool head because a rash action in this situation will lead to deadly results. I can’t foolishly die if she’s in danger. Good men are guarding Paige. And Natasha is my best shot. But they have to be warned.
“Dmitri, call the house!” I shout.
He places his gun by his feet and fumbles for his phone with his good hand. A shadow quickly rises over the bar. Dmitri’s eyes grow wide as the man aims at him. I don’t have time to shoot as the man points his gun. The Karamazov soldier smiles with the certainty of a prized kill.
Time slows down as Viktor leaps over the bar toward us, taking the man out with a shot to the head. The boy lands hard with a scowl into a stocked shelf of glasses that break on impact. His leg is already bleeding badly. He lies winded and twisting in pain. I yank my tie off, crawl toward him to bind his leg, and stanch the bullet wound.
Just then, the memory of Paige pushing a tampon into my own bullet wound returns unbidden. I push the memory out of my head before I’m lost in it.
“This is why we wear ties,” I explain to Viktor, who looks at me with a distressed expression. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” he says, gritting his teeth. “They’re falling back. Someone called the cops.”
“Probably one of the patrons, blyat.” Dmitri struggles to his feet. “We’ll have no idea whose cops are coming until they get here.”
It will be trouble if the cops get here and they aren’t friends of the Barinov Bratva. The last thing I want is an honest cop shot.
“We have to clean up and get out of here. I’ll play bait. You pick them off, Dmitri. Viktor, stay low.” I jump up quickly and run away from the bar. Bullets trail behind me as I take cover behind a metal column. I return fire, taking two more men out. The ache in my head is gone. I’m thinking clearly again as I return to my element.
This is what I know, and this is what I do best.
I dash over toward another column, dodging bullets as I fire. The emergency lights come on, illuminating dark corners, and I take aim again as sirens wail in the distance. Soon, we are back in control as our enemies fall back and then retreat.
I signal to Dmitri, and he holds up his phone. He’s made the call, and they’ve been warned. But Viktor is slumped against the bar, breathing heavily, and in the light, I can see his jeans are soaked with blood. He won’t make it if we wait.
I glance around until my eyes land on a bloodstained purse. I make my way over to it. Relief surges through me when I find a single unused tampon. Quickly, I toss it at Dmitri.
“Plug his wound with this,” I explain. “Worked on me.”
Dmitri nods, a look of true concern as he does what I tell him to do. When he’s finished, I grab the boy, fling him over my shoulder like a sack, and run to my car. He slumps in the passenger seat, his eyes slowly closing as I speed to Dr. Meyers’s home.
“Wake up, Viktor,” I tell him, coaxing him to stay alert. “You will disappoint me if you miss your initiation.”
Will Paige believe I do nothing to do with it if Viktor dies? Other men are injured, but I grab this boy instead. Why? Because her sister loves him? I shake my head and resolve to stop thinking about Paige to concentrate on the road. I’ve lost good men. I still ball up my fist when I think of Oleg.
I can’t lose this one.
“Did I do well, Andrei Vasilyevich?” The boy smiles weakly. His long hair covers his eyes.
He winces as I make a sharp turn into the driveway of Dr. Meyers’s house. I carry Viktor to the front door and lean on the bell. When no one comes, I start pounding. The outside lights come on, and the doctor opens the door with an irate expression that turns into shock.
I push past him, carrying Viktor toward the back of the house into the kitchen. I lay him on the long wooden table. No questions are asked as Dr. Meyers cuts open the bloodied pant leg.
“Will he live?” I ask, staring at Viktor’s leg.
He nods. “He would’ve bled out were it not for the tampon in his leg. But don’t expect much from him for the next few weeks.”
Dr. Meyers glances at me briefly, but what else can he say? He then turns his attention back to Viktor. I start to pace until Dr. Meyers reassures me again, but I’m not thinking about Viktor. I’m thinking about Paige. I don’t have my phone to check and can’t shake the feeling that I’m needed.
She needs me.
I look at Viktor, satisfied that he’ll pull through.
“I have to go.” And just like that, I’m out the door.
