Up to Me - By M. Leighton Page 0,54

Even saying the words makes me furious - at them, at myself, at my father. My pulse pounds in my ears and my hands shake with the desire to tear into this guy.

His upper lip twitches.

"Give me books and video or she's dead."

"No deal. It's my way or you'll never get what you want."

"No, it's my way or she dies." He takes another step toward me, only this one isn't slow. It's aggressive. I've made him angry. "And, just for the aggravation, I'll make it slow. I might even let some of these boys have fun with her before I kill her."

A blinding combination of fear and rage drops down over me. I can't think past the vision his words conjures and the fury and panic it inspires.

Before I can give the wisdom of it a second thought, my fist is flying through the air toward the big Bratva. It connects with his steely jaw and I hear a crunch. Whether his jaw or my hand, I can't be sure. I'm numb to any pain that I might otherwise be feeling.

He's so taken off guard by someone willing to actually touch him, he stumbles back two steps, giving me a momentary advantage. And I jump on it.

I come across with my left elbow, smashing it into his face as hard as I can. I push my position and keep pounding away at him - left, right, left, right, fist, fist, elbow, fist.

I barely hear the sound of the motorcycle approaching and I barely feel the arm that wraps around my neck from behind and starts to squeeze. It's only when my air is cut off that I pause in my assault on the Russian. Duffy has me in a pretty tight choke hold.

Before I can throw him off, the big Russian plants one fist in my stomach, doubling me over. His knee meets my cheekbone next, knocking me to one side as light explodes behind my eye.

Blood is buzzing in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath. I'm gasping, staring at the ground, and I see the Russian's wing tips retreat one step. My head is getting fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the only thing I can think of is that no one wears wing tips with a track suit.

My vision starts to blur when I hear the sound of a gun slide being drawn back to jack a round into the chamber. It's an ominous sound, but Nash's voice is even more so.

"Let him go or I'll put a bullet in your skull."

I know both of these guys have guns. My attack on the big one and the subsequent involvement of the little one served as the perfect distraction for Nash to move in and get the upper hand.

The grip around my neck eases enough that I can catch my breath. I inhale and straighten, expanding my lungs and gulping in air. After two deep breaths, my vision clears and I see the Russian glaring at me. His eyes aren't cold anymore. They're furious. And deadly.

"You boys, you make big mistake," the big one says, wiping blood from his dripping nose and mouth with the back of his hand. Then, never taking his eyes off mine, he spits at my feet. "We don't bargain."

"That's funny because I was under the impression you brought me here today to bargain."

"I brought you here today to kill you," he says, deadpan.

"Not much of a negotiator, are you?"

"With one phone call, she'll be dead. Also, if I don't call with instructions within the hour, she'll be dead. No matter what you do, she'll be dead." My heart freezes inside my chest at the prospect. "Unless you give me what I want."

"You just said you don't bargain."

The Russian's sneer is nothing short of evil. "No matter. If you leave here today, I'll find you tomorrow. And her. And him," he says, tipping his head at Nash behind me. "You can't run far enough."

"I'd run that by your boss before you make any rash decisions. There's more than one copy of the video. Something happens to anyone I know and it goes straight to the police, along with some really helpful tips about the trigger man. And his associates."

A muscle in the Russian's jaw ticks as he listens