I’m ready to blow his f*****g head off his shoulders—until a bullet, shot from somewhere behind the old Russian, spins me backward, knocks me off balance, and disorients me. I catch my footing and take another step.
Another bullet flies past me. I don’t see the shooter, but I don’t have to. I aim past Leonid and drop a man hiding just inside the doorway when he pops up to shoot at me again. He gets his shot off then dies for his trouble.
My vest protects my skin, but the pain of a bullet traveling at seventeen-hundred miles an hour that makes a sudden stop inches from my rib cage is enough to slam the breath out of me. And if the first shot didn’t do the job, the second does. Also the third. The final impact feels as if it hit close to my spine. Close enough that one leg goes numb. I don
