Marriage Before Death by Uvi Poznansky

Author:Uvi Poznansky [Poznansky, Uvi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Romance
Goodreads: 35831905
Publisher: Uvi Poznansky
Published: 2017-08-17T22:00:00+00:00

I prayed that she would take advantage of the distraction I had created. Please, I begged her in my heart. Step away from him. For your sake. For the sake of the baby, curled in your womb. Take cover. Escape.

Instead she cried, “Lenny, you stay out of it!”

And to him she murmured, through tears, “Oh, how that man humiliated me! I must be married first, then do with him as you please. With that chain on his legs, he poses no danger to you, right? So I beg you, pay no attention to whatever he says.”

“I won’t,” said the SS officer. But his eyes kept searching for me.

“Herr Müller,” she said, drawing his attention back to her. “Would you hurt a pregnant woman?”

“For your sake I will make it quick,” he promised, with a cruel glint in his eye. “One second, and it will all be over. Poof!”

“Ah!” said Rochelle. “That’s just as I thought.”

In a blink, she slipped her hand into the coat, loosened the skirt that hugged her fullness, and pulled something out, which—to my surprise, and his too—flattened her figure, just as if a balloon had been punctured.

Because of the distance between us I could not see, at first, what it was she was holding, except to say it was made of some dark, red velvet, folded upon itself.

The SS officer snorted a laugh, while holding his gun aimed in the direction of my voice. “Ach, is that all you got for me? Seriously?” he muttered. “Are you going to threaten me, darling? And with what? A pillow?”

“No,” she said, unfurling it. “With what’s inside.”

Rochelle let the pillow fall at her feet. A metallic shine ran in-between her fingers. The SS officer froze in position, because he saw it too: what she was holding was a Colt M1917 Revolver.

This was not the girl I knew.

“You deceived me,” he complained.

Which she dismissed with a shrug. “You let yourself be deceived.”

The gun swung away from me as he turned to face her.

She ordered, “Drop it!”

He did.

“Raise your hands!”

He didn’t.

Instead, with a squeak of his boot, he took one, two, three steps forward and shrieked, at the top of his lungs, “Spion! Spy! Spy!”

With one more stride, he was at arm’s length from her. Assuming, perhaps, that she would be easy enough for him to handle, the SS officer flung out his arm and tried to snatch the revolver from her hand.

I leapt off, forgetting I could barely advance with my legs chained. I steadied the weapon and pointed it at his heart—but it was already too late. Before I could pull the trigger, she sprang to his side and with a steady hand, pressed her revolver right there, against his temple.

In an instant, there came a sound. It was somewhat muffled by the whoosh of wind, the rustle of leaves across the canopies, the screech of crows, and the Maxim silencer that was fitted onto the barrel. Watching a puff of smoke floating off from it and the slight backward bounce of her hand, I realized: Natasha had shot him.

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