Quicksilver in the Hand (Arts & Crimes Book 2) by Heather R. Blair

Author:Heather R. Blair [Blair, Heather R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Some sixth sense had him on his feet even before he heard Jozef’s roar and Jan’s shout. Lucjan leapt for the stairs as bodyguards stepped in front of Yerik and Sava, lifting their weopons.

“Nastka!” he roared, taking them two at a time. As soon as he gained the first landing the ornate floor to ceiling windows of the dining room below exploded. Gunfire ripped through the remains of the lavish dinner. Crystal and porcelain shattered and the guests screamed. Blood sprayed the walls as the ones who hadn’t already dived for cover were riddled with bullets. Lucjan ignored it all, scrambling for the second floor.

The first thing he saw was Jan’s body, slumped at the head of the stairs.

Jozef was a few yards farther on, barely breathing in a puddle of blood, lying between the remnants of the bathroom door and an open balcony. He’d been shot from behind, just like Jan. More gunshots rang out downstairs, moving closer.

Lucjan went to one knee, pulling open the other man’s jacket.

“They took her,” Jozef muttered, blood frothing on his lips. More blood soaked Lucjan’s hands, warm and sticky. “Her and the American.”

“American?”

“The woman marshal.” Jozef’s hand lifted, then fell. Each word came with immense effort. “I saw the car. B-black Aurus Senat.”

Ilya. The Worm owned a fleet of the armored limousines favored by Putin himself.

“You did good, Jozek,” Lucjan said.

The man didn’t hear him. He was dead, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Jozef and his brother had been with him since they were teenagers. Orphans from the Warsaw ghetto, loyal only to each other. Then him.

Now they were both gone and there was no time to mourn them. His hands tightened, the blood on them cooling even as his own went to ice. The doors to the balcony stood open.

They took her.

The words echoed in his head as he pulled the bodyguard’s gun from his cooling fingers and got to his feet, stepping over the body. Ear-splitting shrieks echoed up from the dining room, the sounds of people dying.

But he didn’t care about them. They took her.

“The Worm wanted us to know.” Sava said softly from behind him. He had no idea how long Sava had been there, but obviously long enough to hear the dead man’s last words. The Russian had an AK in each hand, one of which he tossed to Lucjan as they stepped together onto the balcony. With Jozef’s P64 in one hand and the AK in the other, Lucjan looked over the edge. There were footprints in the soft grass below. Disappearing where grass met asphalt.

“This was a message,” Sava continued. “For you and my brother.”

Men were pouring out of the grounds like a swarm of beetles, shiny and black in the lights. He and Sava fired as one, picking off the Worm’s men as they ran.

Lucjan continued to fire long after the men were out of range. Until the click of the empty chambers beat through the emptiness in his head. Until a bit of fabric clinging to the top of the trellis drew his eye.

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