Read Russian Mobster's Stolen Wife for Free Online

other two men in Russian. “We’re close.”
    “I left the car over here.” Igor gestured vaguely to a spot in the darkness.
    Anson grunted. “We can’t see, you moron. Where is it?”
    “It was right here.” Igor was pointing, but there was no car.
    “Are we lost?” Flynn asked Grigori. “Because we really need to get out of here before Teller gets up off the ground.”
    “We’re not lost.” Grigori spoke in English while he turned in a circle, glancing up and then turning his attention to a point somewhere to their left. “It’s right over here. See that irregular blob?”
    “A blob. Great.” Anson did not sound thrilled. “We are going to die because Igor lost the fucking car.”
    “Your negativity is wearing on my nerves,” Flynn told him. “Shut up or I’ll kick you in the nuts.”
    Flynn wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Grigori chuckle. Then he started walking energetically in the opposite direction, tugging her along with him. She saw his blob and realized that he was right. It was a vehicle.
    “Is there a road?” she asked dubiously. “How stupid to get caught because we’re lost. Did you guys plan this at all?”
    “Next time we’ll let you do the planning,” Grigori told her. “You seem very adept at this sort of thing. I’m starting to think you’ve got more up your sleeve than you’re telling.”
    “What woman doesn’t?” she suggested vaguely. There was no way she was telling him everything. Not now. Maybe not ever.
    “Just get in the car,” Grigori told her. He opened the passenger door. “And keep your head down. You’re useless if you get it blown off.”
    “You’re just so romantic,” she said.
    She got into the vehicle, realizing in the process that it was actually a Jeep. So they were prepared to go off road a little. At least that’s what the big tires, aggressive grill, and roll bars suggested. That was good, because she was sure Teller wasn’t about to give up.
    Anson and Igor climbed in the back seat, and Grigori got in behind the wheel. He started the engine. The sound seemed deafening in the forest. In the glow of the dash lights she could see lines of worry on his face. So he knew what the stakes were here. Good.
    “Keep an eye out,” he told Anson and Igor. “And for pity’s sake, don’t accidentally shoot me in the back of the head.”
    “You got it, boss,” they muttered.
    Flynn was starting to feel the strain of the evening. Her arms were scratched from the cat, along with her cheek. The areas were throbbing. Hopefully she didn’t come down with rabies or cat scratch fever.
    “Are you all right?” Grigori glanced over at her. “You’ve had a long night.”
    She held onto the roll bar as they bounced over a rut to get back to the main road. “My face hurts.”
    “We’ll have a doctor look at that when we get home.”
    “Where the hell is home?” She yawned. How crazy was it to yawn at a time like this?
    He shrugged. “You don’t have a place. I do. Does it matter where it is?”
    “I guess not,” she murmured. “Do you see that?”
    He was already peering into the rearview mirror, so she knew he did. He pursed his lips, looking pissed off. “Anson, shoot the tires out of that thing when it’s in range.”
    “All right, boss.” Anson pulled a rifle out from under the seat and rested the barrel on the back of his seat.
    The shattering of the side view mirror right next to Flynn followed the echoing report of gunfire. She squeaked in surprise and leaned closer to the middle of the vehicle. Grigori gently touched her hand. She snatched it away. She didn’t want or need comfort right now. Did she?
    “They’re just looking for targets,” Grigori explained. Then his side view mirror shattered too. “See? Reflective things.”
    “Oh, I feel so much better,” she said as Anson returned fire.
    There was a muffled shot, and then the lights behind them twisted in a crazy arc as the pursuing vehicle flipped over and over.