“Yes. I knew you’d be back. When your car was in the shop, I put a tracker on it. I knew the moment you drove through the gate. All I needed was to get into position.”

Mikhail continued to pull her backward up the path, stumbling here and there on roots. His grip was on her throat, so she couldn’t let him drag her, or she’d end up strangled.

She looked for an opening, a way to slip from his grasp so Xavier could take a shot.

“Did you know I’m the one who shot you with the nail?”

The hand at her throat tightened. “I suspected.”

Audrey tried to keep her focus, even as her air was constricted. Her brain searched for ways to escape. He’d taken her bare-handed, which meant the hard object at the small of her back was probably a gun.

One of his hands left her neck, and she realized he might be reaching for it. She elbowed him in the ribs, a hard jab that triggered a surprised grunt.

The hand on her throat squeezed again, harder now. She went all in, elbows, heels, and a sharp head butt. She had four unrestrained limbs, and he was distracted by Xavier and his gun. Mikhail said something in Russian that she was certain was an insult.

She struggled to breathe while flailing, kicking, jabbing. He caught one arm, but couldn’t contain the other without releasing her throat. She worked her hand between their bodies and grabbed his balls and squeezed.

He released her neck, and she used the leverage from her hand on his junk to push off him, attempting to fling herself away, but he grabbed at her, pulling her back. She kicked him in the knee and dove to the side.

Mikhail caught her foot and shifted, crouching low to keep her between him and Xavier. She was on hands and knees, trying to get away while he dragged her back by the ankle.

She hung her head down, looking between her arms, trying to figure out how to kick with her free leg, when she saw him pull his gun.

His weapon had just cleared the holster when a shot rang out. He released her ankle, and she flopped flat on the ground while Mikhail stumbled backward.

A second shot sounded, and he dropped.

It was then that she’d noticed they’d backed all the way up to the storage pit. When he’d staggered back, he’d been on the cusp of the pit. The second shot had dropped him into the meter-deep hole.

She took in a ragged breath through her battered windpipe and glared at the body with a bullet to the heart and a second in the head. “Dammit,” she wheezed. “He collapsed another sidewall. More damage to the site.”

She wanted to laugh at her own terrible joke, but instead, she burst into tears.