On the Hunt: Book 8 in the Ryan Kaine series by Kerry J Donovan

Author:Kerry J Donovan [Donovan, Kerry J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fuse Books
Published: 2021-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday 3rd May – Vadik Pataki

Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

“Kibaszott pokolba!” Vadik cursed aloud.

The attack had started so well. A concerted and bull-roaring all-out assault designed to instil terror in the hearts of the occupants. Shock and awe. The cowards in the house, Pansy and his cronies, would have been shitting themselves.

Truffle Pig reached the house first. He broke through the pitiful defences, brave in his actions, bold even. A man worth his wages even if he was black. He crashed through the broken windows, firing his weapon as he entered. Three shots from inside the house followed by screams of pain suggested the black mercenary had been successful.

Farzin, a short way behind, stopped his darting, serpentine rush and turned to Vadik, his long hair flapping around his head.

“That was easy, főnök. So very easy,” he called.

Together, they punched the air as brothers.

“Go help him find Lajos,” Vadik ordered, waving Farzin towards the house. “And keep the woman alive. I have plans for her.”

Dark plans.

He would take her back to Hungary and use her as one of the family’s whores. After being strung out on horse for long enough, she would beg to please any man, just for one more fix. A fitting life for a woman who had caused Vadik Pataki so much inconvenience.

As Farzin marched towards the front, rapid shots exploded from the rear garden. Obasi, Eliasz, and the others had reached the house and found their targets. Vadik whooped. He had plotted the encounter with the precision of a military genius. The mission was back on course. They would clean up the mess here at the house and take over the business as planned. Papa could not fail to be pleased and proud of his firstborn son. No longer would Vadik suffer the ignominy of being called the Bastard.

Only then did things turned to shit.

Something moved behind the smashed front window. A leather-clad arm pushed through the opening, its hand holding a black semi-automatic. Farzin froze to the spot.

One second later, maybe two, Farzin flinched. Then came the shot that ended his existence.

A single shot, fired through the window by the man in black leather.

The hair at the back of Farzin’s head billowed as though ruffled by a puff of air. Blood and other stuff sprayed out in a red halo. Slowly, Vadik’s oldest friend fell backwards to the drive. He lay still. Dead.

Szar!

“No!” Vadik screamed. “Farzin. No!”

He punched and kicked the tree behind which he had orchestrated the assault.

The one who shot Farzin from inside the safety of the house was a fucking coward. He would die!

Die! Slowly. Painfully.

As the gunfight raged at the back and sides of the house, Vadik edged further behind the tree, peeking out with only one eye. Multiple cracks and pops broke the stillness. Bullets whizzed, ricocheted. Glass smashed. Men shouted, shrieked, and screamed. Some were dying. Vadik did not recognise the voices.

He turned towards the gates. From his seat in the BMW, Wilfred stared at him, through a face with skin as pale as Lajos on a normal day.

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