Page 3

Before he could so much as kick his horse’s flank to spur her forward, three more figures poured from the forest to block his path, dressed in similar fashion to the two approaching from behind.

Instinctively, he reached for the pistol he kept at his waist.

Dread filled his chest.

His waist lay bare of his holster belt.

Careless, Mikhail. Careless.

His mare whinnied uneasily, stomping a hoof against the dirt. She sidestepped as the five men on horseback surrounded them. Two lifted pistols, aiming for his head and chest. The remaining three unsheathed lethal blades that glinted in the obscured fiery glow of the setting sun.

He gauged his options. He couldn’t face the five alone, not without a weapon. He’d surely die. He was too far from town, and he couldn’t risk leading danger back to his home.

The horsemen approached at an eerily easy pace. Their masks most likely hid victorious smiles.

He eyed his two possible escape routes. Both were intothe forest. To the left, he’d hit a treacherous incline alongside the mountain. To the right, the wide expanse of river that would leave him open to a bullet.

His mare snapped her head to the side.

One chance. I must survive.

In a single fluid motion, he tugged the reins right, spurred his mare, ducked, and sent her bolting into the forest.

Shots rang out, and missed. Shouts and commands filled the forest at his back. He concentrated on weaving his horse wildly through the trees, making a clean shot at his back impossible. Branches and brambles tore into his pants and whipped against his face, but he spurred harder, pushed harder, rode harder. He angled his escape toward town, but there would be no avoiding the river—

Wood splintered as he and the mare whizzed past a tree. His heartbeat shot into double-time.

“Come on, girl. Come on,” he urged his mare, ducking low to her neck.

They descended a short hill.

Another bullet struck a nearby tree.

His horse startled, stumbled.

“No!” he barked.

His mare didn’t listen. She banked left, against his lead.

And pitched forward when she loped into a ditch.

He flew from the saddle, landing hard on the rock-and-leaf covered ground, breath punched from his lungs, his mind stunned. As he rolled onto his back and stared up through the canopy of leaves, struggling to breathe and ears ringing with pain, he barely heard the footsteps approach.

Barely heard the struggle of his mare jerking to her feet and abandoning him.

His vision tunneled the longer his lungs refused to open toair. He rolled onto his side and weakly pressed to his hands and knees, panic setting in.

Something hard struck him in the gut, splaying him across the ground. He swore he heard bones crack. The agony exploding through his side with each breath confirmed his suspicions.

“Bastard,” a man hissed, followed by another merciless kick to his side. This time, there was no doubting the snap of his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into himself in an attempt to protect his injured torso from further assault. “You come here, take our business, take ourwomen.”

A series of kicks to his back, stomach, and head left him clinging to consciousness. Warmth slithered along his face, traced his lips until the tangy taste of blood oozed into his gaping mouth. Agony cut through any logical thoughts, the relentless pounding and throbbing unbearable.

Somewhere amidst the storm of rushing blood through his head, he heard pistols engage, prepared to fire.

Slowly, he peeled open his eyes, swallowing back the bile that ebbed and flowed in his throat. Blood filled his mouth. When he coughed, a splattering of crimson covered the dead leaves next to his head.

Fingers fisted in his hair and snapped his head back, exposing his throat. One of the assaulters crouched beside him, turning a shiny steel blade over and over in front of his face. Dark eyes glinted maliciously, murder lancing the man’s gaze.