“Jake,” Ivan said through gritted teeth. “What’s wrong?”
Jake spoke loudly, silencing the others who were arguing. He didn’t take his eyes off Andreas. “You’re the asshole who shot me. I’d hoped we might meet again – but I thought it would be in hell...”
Andreas laughed. “I don’t remember you, sorry. I shoot a lot of people.”
“I was a cop. You ruined my life.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Good. I hate cops.” He reached inside his jacket. “But you’re still alive, so I obviously didn’t ruin your life quite as well as I should’ve. Allow me to finish wha
t I started. No one screws me over – accidentally or otherwise.”
He pulled out his gun and aimed it at Jake. Ivan frantically glanced around for a way to save his brother, but suddenly everyone’s attention was seized by the boom of roaring engines outside – thundering through the room in a deafening blast.
“What the hell’s that?” Langdon asked.
“Sounded like a fucking plane,” Andreas said, pointing his gun at Jake, but looking out the window.
Jake took the opportunity to pull his own gun. “Drop it, asshole. I’m not a cop anymore and I’d gladly kill you for what you did to me.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Andreas said. “Now where was I? Oh yeah, about to kill you.”
Andreas stood and fired, but Ivan grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled him toward the door – saving him from the bullet. Jake turned back and fired, getting Andreas in the hip – which was poetic revenge for what he’d done to Jake last time they’d met. Andreas flew backward with the impact and shot the ceiling fan, so – while he was incapacitated – Langdon grabbed Andreas’s gun, as the two heavies looked confused now their boss was flailing in pain on the ground.
“Get after them!” Andreas shouted as Ivan and Jake darted into the hallway.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ivan asked, as they pelted toward the stairs.
“I got him in the hip – now we’re even.”
“Don’t shoot anyone else.”
Ivan pulled his brother down the stairs, leaving behind the chaotic shouts from the Mexicans, Langdon, and the wounded Andreas in the office. They took the steps two at a time and reached the front door as the others chased them. Ivan ripped open the door, pushed Jake out in front of him, and darted into the sunshine – slamming the door behind him as one of the Mexicans fired off a few rounds – shooting the door and – thankfully – missing him and Jake.
“Where to?” Jake shouted. “Driveway’s too exposed.”
Ivan glanced around. Jake was right – if they started running down the driveway now, they’d be picked off easily by Andreas’s men. And they still didn’t have Samira’s passport…
“This way,” Ivan said, already running toward the back of the house. “We can cut through the woods and scale the fence at the far end of his property.”
Jake ran beside him. “Flag down a car when we reach the road?”
“Yeah… hopefully.”
Running as fast as he could, Ivan opened his mouth to tell Jake they should meet at the airfield if they got split up, but he closed it again as he heard bullets showering behind them. Ivan’s heart thumped hard as his lungs gasped for air – which felt as if glass shards were stabbing them with every step.
“Shit!” he shouted. “They’re gaining on us.”
“Keep going,” Jake said.
“I’m good in a fight, but not against a goddamn gun.”
“Maybe you should’ve let me shoot them all then.”
“Oh sure,” Ivan said, panting as another bullet flew past his shoulder. “You could’ve taken out all four of them, huh? We would’ve been dead in that room if I hadn’t pulled you out.”
“So I owe you my life,” Jake shouted. “But it won’t be worth much if we don’t get the fuck out of here.”
Ivan pushed Jake toward the wooded area, making him stumble, but he recovered and they ran onward into the forest with the Mexicans hot in pursuit. Ivan prayed they could shake them off in here, but then – through a gap in the trees – he caught sight of the plane that had just crashed. It wasn’t too badly damaged…