In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(113)

The guy’s eyes were open, and brilliantly lucid, considering the size of that pool of blood. Chest. Gut. Groin. All bullets he’d taken for Sam. Sam’s death wounds, intercepted.

He caught Sasha’s eye. “Thank you,” he said. “You crazy bastard.”

Sasha coughed. Flecks of blood and lung spattered over his lips and chin. “Not for you,” he croaked. “For her. Save her.”

The previously hidden force of Sasha’s character blazed out along with that directive. “Yes, I will.” If she’ll let me. She’s f*cking hard to help. He left that part out. No point tormenting a dying man.

Sasha tried to speak, but there wasn’t enough air to vibrate his vocal folds. Sam leaned down to hear him whisper. “What?”

“I didn’t . . . join the club,” Sasha whispered.

“What club?” Sam demanded.

“Of the people who let her down.”

Sam stared into Sasha’s eyes and felt like ten different kinds of shit. “You sure didn’t,” he said, feeling helpless. “You saved her.”

Sasha turned his head and whispered something to Sveti in Ukrainian. She whispered back. Then Sasha’s haggard expression softened into a look of dumb relief. He was gone.

Sveti pressed her finger to his throat. Tears ran down her face, mixing with blood. Sasha had lasted longer than most would have.

But now was not the time for mourning. Enough being a *-whipped *. This girl was going back into the vault, with Tam and Val and Nick and all the rest of them to guard her until this mess was cleaned up. Completely, and for all time.

“Baby, you have to get these restraints off me,” he said.

Sveti looked up. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I . . . I didn’t think.” She scrambled unsteadily to her feet and looked around. “How . . . ?”

“A knife,” he reminded her gently. “They took mine, but these guys will all have them. If they were going to gut me, they have to have good blades. Go on, search the one I head-butted.”

She knelt by the man’s still form. “He’s dead,” she said, as she rummaged through his pockets.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said wearily.

She found a knife and hurried over, sawing at the plastic.

The cuffs came loose, along with the wave of pain. Oh, f*ck. Fuck.

The first thing he did when he could use his fingers was to close Sasha’s eyes, after which he just sat there, in slack-jawed overload. Sveti clutched the knife in her shaking hand, shoulders hunched.

He put his hand on her shoulder and tried to make his voice gentle, but it was too thick to sound anything but harsh and aggressive.

“He’s gone, baby. We can’t help him now. We have to go.”

“We have to get you to a hospital,” she said.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m not at death’s door.”

“You have been shot!” she snarled. “Don’t you dare play your bullshit macho games with me!”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, breathing down the nauseous giddiness. He looked around the grisly scene and his guts twitched, uneasily. The math did not add up. “Hey, Sveti. Where’s the other guy? Josef?”

Sveti struggled to her feet and looked around. “I don’t see him.”

That zinged him right out of his trance. “That sucks ass,” he said.

She helped him struggle to his feet. “I’ll call an ambulance?”

“While we wait for Josef to bring back some of his friends? We’ll be better off if we move ourselves. Can you imagine trying to give directions to the medics? I don’t even know where the f*ck we are.”

“Then I’ll get the car and bring it back,” she said.

“I don’t want you out there alone, with that scumbag around.”

“I’ll take a gun,” she said. “I can handle a gun.”

“I noticed that,” he said. “What’s with your hand?”

She looked down at her bloody hand and forearm. “Oh, I grabbed a thorny branch. Shoved it into Josef’s face. I think I got his eye.”

“Wow. My warrior princess.” He took a step, but his legs were rubbery. Sveti caught him, and he almost brought her down with him.

“I’ll go get the car,” she said, her voice shaking. “Wait here, Sam.”

“No, we stick together. Find our guns. Get that Saiga, too. See if he has another ten-round mag for it, too. Check his pockets.”

She scrambled to gather it all up. His Glock, back into the waist holster. His ankle holster. The snubbie. Her Micro, in the thigh strap. He’d leave the Black Rose and the PX Storm for the cops, but he wanted that shotgun, at least til they were home free. Sveti gestured at the man she had shot, who was now only barely conscious. “What about him?”

Sam’s own belly scar tingled nastily, just looking at the guy. He remembered how it felt. Innards torn up, life leaking out. Death rising like a swift dark tide. The man panted, with swift, shallow breaths. His frantic eyes met Sam’s and then fell to the gun in Sam’s hand.

Sam shook his head. “He would have raped you and ripped my guts out in front of you. Let him die alone, in his own good time. We’ll tell the authorities about him. Let’s go.”