one on him.
Though I was pretty sure Christopher wouldn't risk it. He had to know as well as I did that if he tried, I would be dead before he would be able to aim the gun.
Eyes closed, I heard the clamor of my nightstand hitting the floor.
"Look at me, you bitch," Atanas demanded, hot breath on my face.
Swallowing hard, my eyes fluttered open.
"You thought you had some power over me, yes?" he asked, pressing the gun a little harder into my temple. "Now I will show you who has the power. Get on your knees."
"That is not going to happen, Chernev," Christopher growled.
"It's not?" Atanas asked, cocking the gun, making my stomach lurch. One finger slip and I was dead. "I think it is."
They were both right.
And both wrong.
I would get on my knees. Hell, I was doing it even as I thought the words.
But I would bite off his cock before I'd do what he wanted me to do with it.
If he didn't think I was perfectly capable of that, he vastly underestimated my desire to never have a man use his power against me again.
My knees met the cold floor of my bedroom as I let my eyes glance around, trying to figure out my next move.
"It will all work out," I said.
Not to Atanas.
To Christopher.
It wasn't the reassurance it sounded like.
It was part of the code I had worked out with him two nights before, one I wanted him to share with his brother and his men in case anyone ever found themselves in a bad situation again, and needed to communicate very specific things.
I didn't think it would come in handy so soon.
And I was praying his memory was as good as I was banking on.
"It will all work out" was a phrase Smith had trained all of us to use to express that we were about to make a move. It was meant to be interpreted as "Are you ready?"
"It will," Christopher agreed, repeating the phase I'd taught him. It meant he was ready. If he said "I don't know about that" it meant there were too many variables, to wait it out, to be safe. If he said "I hope so," it meant there was already a plan in place, to wait it out.
"That's up to me to decide," Atanas declared.
He was too distracted by his sick fantasy, by his power trip to figure there was any way around things turning out exactly how he wanted them to.
I took a slow, steadying breath, raising my hand sup so he would think I was going to undo his slacks, so he wouldn't react to my arms lifting.
By the time he realized my intention, it was too late.
My head ducked to the side of his thigh as both my hands grabbed for his wrist, turning with every bit of strength I had, hearing a hiss, a curse, a crack.
The gun fell from his hand, clattering across the floor.
But it didn't matter.
Because it was out of his hands.
And Christopher was off the bed, plowing into Atanas as I scrambled away, my breath huffing out of me, trying to calm myself back down.
There was a crash as the men slammed into my dresser.
Christopher had the advantage. He was taller. Stronger. More fit.
But Atanas had his humiliation to fuel him.
My gaze moved around the floor, finding one of the guns, crawling my way over toward it, wanting to make sure Christopher and I kept the advantage.
There was a hiss and crash, Christopher hitting the ground just a foot or two from me.
Even as he gasped for breath, his wind knocked out, a hand closed around my ankle, pulling.
My arms shot out, my fingertips just barely managing to grab the handle of the gun as he continued to pull me.
For a split second, I saw the panic in Christopher's eyes as he moved to roll over, so he could gain his feet again.
He could save me, yes.
But I would never be a woman in need of saving.
I kicked one leg over the other, throwing myself onto my back, my ankle screaming at the motion, likely demanding a trip to the emergency room, but that was something to worry about later.
Back hitting the hard floor, I raised my arms, aimed, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Four times.
I wasn't the best shot.
But Smith taught me that if you put enough holes in someone, one of them was bound to kill him.
One hit him in the chest.
Two in the head.
One