3. Dima.

**A crossfire***

 

 

Shuddering wails, screams and scampering feet rain in the now dark club room as people begin running to safety while my men and the assailants exchange bullets.

 

Gun shots blasts across the room. Bottles and glasses shattering across the floor while I wail and grunt as pains, accustomed pain to some extent, streams through me. This isn’t the first time I’ve received bullets nor the first time someone has daggered me.

 

Pain has become my second skin all my life which is why I laugh manically as this new pain course through me. Anger brews through me because I felt so reluctant about my security for the first time in years, all because I was promised a politician daughter’s pussy.

 

I should have watch out more. Be on high alert as always. Be security conscious, but today I failed miserably. My hands skids across my gun holster, aiming to make a purchase on my gun, but the freaking pains I feel at my side hampers the movements of my hand. Fruitless, I growl inside me.

 

I watch into the dark as the fire emits from the muzzle of my men’s guns and that of the assailants. Bullets flying in the air, piercing the ceiling, booths, chairs and tables littered in the club.

 

I release a bunch of profanities as I crouch-walk over to the back of the counter, trying to shield myself from the flying bullets. I can still hear people's screams coupled with loud thuds on the floor. And without doubt I already know those loud, distant thuds are bodies that are unluckily hit by the bullets.

 

Fuck! I curse.

 

This isn’t what I was expecting at least I’m accustomed to crossfire in Russia, but never in America.

 

Not here at all because the feds will take it upon themselves to look for me. This is a setup. A fucking setup but from who?

 

Benson warned me about the FBI wanting to shackle me but never warned about the assassination. Never! And this all but makes me boil with rage.

 

I tried to keep a low profile. I came into the states through a private airstrip, but now it dawns on me that someone knows I’m in the States. One of my foes. I chuckle at the bitter realization.

 

All hell will let lose if I survive this attack.

 

I hear Akim growl as his fires, and I already know he's holding his two Glock as he fires the assailants with bullets

 

I trust my Byki. I trust their skills in marksmanship because we train every fucking day in Russia. I train boys willing to fight for me and for themselves . I’ve them in battalion, and we always train. Myself included.

 

I hear distant yells from the entrance of the club as my men’s guns butchers the assailants.

 

I dab my hand at my side, raising it up, I feel the liquid dripping from the palm of my hand, and I already know it’s nothing but my blood. At the thought of that, my mind begins to feel hazy. I begin to feel weak as my breath and blood slowly evade my air tract and veins.

 

“Pakhan! Pakhan!” I hear Akim shouting my name as he fires his bullets. Sure enough, he's aiming to steady his eyes in the darkness and scour for me. I try to lift my lips and sprinkle some words, but all that can seep out are strangled grunts.

 

I hear footfall followed by a gun shot, a yell and a thud, and I know Akim must have fired an assailant close to the counter as he skitters towards it in search of me.

 

My strangled grunts aids him to find out where I am, and I can’t be thankful enough for his sharp mind and ability to observe things like I do.

 

The gun shots still rain in the room, and I can tell that Leonid is still firing as Akim comes to check on my status.

 

“Fuck!” Akim cuss as he leans down and dart his hands around to feel me amidst the darkness that shrouds us.

 

“Akim...” I bellow with a dark voice, harsh and sharp. Akim tries to scoop me up, but I grunt which proves to him I’m so badly in pains.

 

“Pakhan! How you do!?” He mutters his question in his incoherent English.

 

Among my men, Akim, lacks good English skills which negates me to send him as an emissary to my partners in various countries. Usually, Leonid works as an emissary for me. I love his sixth sense too. It’s aligns with mine.

 

Unable to hear my response, Akim switches to Russian, asking of what to do and how badly hurt I am. I shake my head, aiming to force the words out amid the zinging bullets.

 

“To the hospital, Akim. Take me to the hospital.” I gush in Russian, audible enough for him to hear. Without wasting a second, Akin hauls me up and connect his arm around my waist and I also nestle mine around his neck before we trudge outside the dark club room.

 

Behind, Leonid still fires, aiming to hold the assailants back for Akim to get me to safety. When we assemble outside through the back door of the club, I see bodies litter on the floor. Maybe those who couldn’t make it safely out of the club during the stampede. I try not to linger on the dead bodies rather on my safety.

 

Safely, Akim and I reach my Lincoln and he shove me inside with caution before hurtling to the driver’s side. Bringing the car alive, we dive into the street.

 

“Is it bad, Pakhan?” Akim questions in Russian. I doubt he knows the actual place where I was hit. I just nod, and with that he fire up more speed, driving straight to the nearest hospital.

 

In the next twelve minutes, we arrive at the hospital, and Akim alight from the drivers side and made it to mine instantly. Gliding me out of the car, he slam the door shut and hold me in the same position we were when we exited the club.

 

We climb into the entrance and into the lobby of the hospital where nurses and patients litter around. Considering the height of my situation, Akim didn’t bother to hide his gun in his holster and with the blood sprinkled on his face and my bleeding side, people regard us as criminals.

 

So on instinct, people begin to edge away from us. Regardless of the resentful and fearful looks thrown our way, Akim barks in Russian and conjured English for the nurses and doctors to come to my aid.

 

“Don’t stare! Come help. Fuck you if you don’t help.” He pleads and threatens all at once.

 

Glimpsing the seriousness on his face and the gun held tightly in his hands, the nurses rushes towards us with a crash cart, pull me onto it and hasten into the ER.

 

With a blurred vision, I see Akim shoving the muzzle of his gun on one of the nurses face because she refuse to let him inside  Akim is always ready to pounce on someone. Always willing to fight for me I trust my men. I trust the people that works for me. Just like they are willing to sacrifice for me. I’m also willing to sacrifice for them.

 

I vaguely register as the nurse wobbly allow him into the room and he hasten up to my side, watching intently as the nurses endeavor to rip the bullets from my ribs.

 

I feel a sting hit my wrist, and before I can register that it's a tranquilizer that I’m given, my already fogged mine gives up and at that, my eyes slam close, embracing the effects of the tranquilizer.