The world stopped spinning in the time it took Jay to palm his Glock.
Finger on the trigger, he felt the mechanism’s resistance and registered the moment it released. The metallic click of the firing pin sounded loud in his head as it hit the chambered round, and a nanosecond later, a deafening bang reverberated through the small space, echoing like a clap of thunder.
The recoil kicked back through his hand, the jolt traveling up his arm and into his shoulder, the absorption of the explosive energy causing his muscles to tingle as the scent of gunpowder invaded his nose.
He hadn’t bothered to aim. Didn’t matter. The bullet found its intended target, and Roman Dmitriev crumpled to the floor, a stunned silence following his short journey.
“Holy shit,” Chase muttered, taking a step back from the victim and palming his heart despite the bulletproof vest covering his essential organs. “I thought I was a dead man.”
Cody snorted. “You almost were.”
“Not even close,” Jamie said, coming to Jay’s defense.
“Let’s go.” Brain on autopilot, he reholstered his weapon, and grabbing Becca’s sweatshirt, he put it on her himself while she stood immobilized. Her eyes wide. Her expression shocked.
“Is he dead?” Chase asked.
“No.” Dropping his medical pack to the floor, Jamie rolled a groaning Dmitriev onto his back. “Gut shot. He’s bleeding out fast. If I don’t stop it now, he won’t last ten minutes.”
“Fuck him,” Cody huffed, drawing his pistol and aiming it toward Roman’s head. “The only reason the asshole’s still alive is because he hid behind Rebecca and his men to begin with. He’s a woman-beater and a coward. He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“Don’t,” Jay said, scooping Becca back into his arms and crossing the floor to the door on surprisingly steady legs. He’d never shot a man before. Never been the direct cause of someone else’s pain and suffering outside of the boxing ring. Did he give a flying fuck?
Nope. Not at all. Not when it came to Dmitriev.
The bastard had beaten Becca. Choked her. Made her bleed.
Cody was right. He deserved to die. And he would. Slowly. In the most amount of pain possible. Jay couldn’t think of a better way for him to go. Besides, he didn’t want to traumatize Becca any further. Didn’t want her to fear him. Didn’t want her to think the JTT were nothing but cold-blooded killers.
“What about Dominion?” Chased asked, hooking his thumb toward the dying man while looking to Jay for answers. “Don’t we need him to stop the virus?”
“Help me,” Roman begged, his hands clamped over his stomach. A futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood seeping from between his fingers. “Take me with you, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Aw, fuck. Jay had no idea whether they needed Roman or not. But considering he might be the difference between life as they knew it and a global disaster resulting in millions of dead, better to find out before letting him bleed out. “What do you think, Doc? Can you patch him up enough to fly?”
“Wait,” Becca replied, stopping Jamie before he even got started. “You can’t trust him. He’s Volkov’s man through and through. He doesn’t want to stop Dominion, and without the lock and key in place, he has no clue how to control it. He can’t help us. And even if he could, there’s no way he would. He wants the world to crash and burn.”
“Then we leave him,” Chase said, making the final decision.
“Fuck you, suka. I’ll find you. And when I do. I’ll kill you myself,” Roman spat, red-tinged spittle landing on his cheek between heaving breaths. “I promise you, I won’t stop coming. And someday, I’ll stand in front of you to finish what your sister started. Then I’ll find her, and?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jamie ordered, rezipping his medical pack, a death sentence if there ever was one. “Dead men don’t walk, asshole. So good luck finding Becca from the other side.”
“Yeah,” Cody added. “Besides, she’s with us now. And we’ll destroy any fucking cannoli who comes near her.” He pinched his thumb and fingers together, tossing the gesture through the air like the Sicilian mafia had landed in the middle of a casual convo about murder and mayhem. “Tell your friends before you meet your maker, Capeesh?”
Chase snorted at the Texas twanged Italian accent. “You know he’s Russian, right?”
“Tomayto. Tomahto.” Cody shrugged, his attempt to aim a wink in Becca’s direction resulting in a cockeyed double blink that distorted his features. “Russian. Italian. American. If they come for one of ours, we’ll kill ‘em all.”
“Alrighty then…” Shaking his head at the dramatics, Chase readied his weapon and jerked his head toward the door as Jamie shouldered his load. “If you’re done channeling Tony Soprano, dumbass, let’s move. Same formation. No stops. And do me a solid, radio ahead to the team to let them know we’re coming out. I’ve had enough close calls for one day.”
“Roger that,” Cody replied, grinning like a serial killer who loved his job before replacing his mask and poking his head into the hallway. A second later, he signaled the all-clear over his massive shoulder before disappearing around the corner.
Jamie followed next, and hot on his heels, Jay carried his girl while Chase watched their backs. Together, they made their way to the front entrance, stepping over too many corpses and the odd bit of debris.
“Close your eyes,” he said, wanting to shield Becca from the worst of the violence and gore as they neared the exit. She’d already been exposed to more than enough killing in her lifetime. Had witnessed the very worst of humanity up close and personal. Was far too intimate with death and the loss of loved ones.
She didn’t need to see this too.
