Midnight Lies (Tasarov Bratva 2)

There’s an opening in the trees to the right and wind whips through the ditch, making it hard to hear him. Making it hard to hear anything. Even my own thoughts are lost to the keening screaming of the wind.

“How many more men do you think are in the car?” Stefan asks as he joins me.

“Malcolm wouldn’t be coming out if there was anyone else he could force out ahead of him,” I growl. “He’s alone.”

With his gun still trained on her, Malcolm maneuvers them both through the car and out through the trunk hatch. He keeps Emery in front of him the entire time, making it impossible to get a clean shot.

His face is a purpled mask of pure rage, pure venom, pure fear. “I’ll fucking kill her. I will. If you so much as move, I’ll—”

Suddenly, Emery slams her right arm straight up, sending Malcolm’s gun pointing into the air. He pulls the trigger, firing into the sky. Then Emery spins around and knees him in the balls.

“Holy fuck.” It sounds like Stefan is laughing, but I don’t have time to look. I’m already running through the waterlogged ditch to get to my wife.

Malcolm bends over, clutching himself for a second before he tries to stand tall again. But Emery squares up the way I’ve seen her do with the punching bag many times before.

Then she rears back and cold-cocks him in the jaw.

It’s a perfect strike. Practiced. Vicious and direct.

Malcolm’s head snaps back. Blood spurts from his lips. And the gun falls from his slack fingers.

“Move!” I roar at her.

For once in her goddamn life, she listens. Emery throws herself to the right, rolling into the grass, out of the line of fire.

I raise my weapon. Malcolm can’t do anything other than stare on in horror.

And then I pull the trigger that ends his miserable fucking life.