Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1) by T.l Smith Page B

“They can help,” she says looking back to another door. I turn her head back toward me.
    “They can’t. They don’t want to be near us if it’s a war. We will kill anyone that isn’t us. Goes for you as well. Stay away.”
    She nods and runs through the door, grabbing a kitchen knife from the bench as she passes.
    When I reach the door, Anton kicks it in and starts to walk forward, smoke clouds around so seeing things clearly is difficult. Footsteps are close.
    A shot fires off, Anton staggers backward. I see blood running down his arm, it doesn’t stop him as he continues to walk silently now, his senses on high alert to where this person could be hiding. A hand comes around my side, I see the glint of a knife before it makes contact. Knocking it to the floor before I can move to see who it is, Viktor walks in front of me, grabs the man while he tries to stab Viktor in the chest. I’m pretty sure he’s succeeded at least once, then Viktor snaps his neck. I hear the crunch that follows, everything else is silent, just the noise of the crack filling my ears.
    A man steps down from the stairs. I hear him before I see him. Before I can fire off my weapon, I hear it, the soft cry for help. Anton and Viktor both turn, Anton half way out the door, with a body at his feet. When we can finally see, there’s a man standing, looking down watching us, a ski mask over his face and he has Freya by the neck. Viktor starts to move, and I stop him by reaching out and grabbing his arm. He tries to shrug me off, but I hold tight forcing him to stay put.
    “You do know whose den you just walked into, right?” The man grunts in response. “Not only should you be worried about me, but you should most of all be worried that you’re holding Russian royalty by the throat. She is, after all, the daughter of Russia’s most dangerous man. So I could keep you alive, torture you some, then smuggle you back home to her father, or I could just kill you right now. Decisions, decisions,” I say tapping my chin. He grunts again, pulling tighter on Freya’s neck making her eyes go wide.
    “Kill him,” she half screams.
    The pressure to her neck is applied more, making her face go extremely white. She tries to struggle from his grasp.
    As Viktor decides to run to her, I launch my knife, and it lands straight through his open mask directly in his eye. His hands drop straight away. Freya’s hands go directly to her neck, holding it and gasping for breath to fill her lungs. The man drops where he stands, then starts tumbling down the stairs, dead, with a knife protruding from his eye.
    Viktor manages to stop a collapsing Freya before her head hits the floor. He picks her up like a doll, she looks like a small child in his arms. Her head is lolled backward, she must have fainted. Anton walks up to her, slaps her across the face, making Viktor even angrier and she flutters her eyes awake.
    “See, women respond great to a good slapping,” he says walking back to the door to shut it. He kicks one of the dead men’s feet in further so he can get the door fully shut.
    “Are any alive?” I ask looking around noticing three dead men.
    Viktor places Freya back to her feet, and she sees the blood on her. Her eyes scan her body then she looks back up to Viktor, noticing it’s coming from him. She starts to tear at his shirt, removing it with her hands, and he stands there stunned, unsure what to do. I try to contain my laugh where Anton doesn’t. Freya manages to find the wound and wraps his shirt around it. Then she turns to Anton, who’s still laughing and does the same thing, starts tearing at his shirt. What I didn’t see is that she has a knife in her hand. And Anton keeps on trying to smack her hands away which she just ignores and continues to cut it open.
    “You’ve been shot,” she gasps when she can finally see his wound.
    He smacks her hands away again. “Soon you’ll be shot if you keep touching me,” he sneers at