Читать книгу Death List - Don Pendleton - Страница 4

Bullets thudded into the crippled SUV.

“I smell gas,” Pierce said. “Do you smell gas?”

“Try not to think about it, and give me cover fire,” Bolan ordered. “I’ve got work to do.”

The little mobster began laying down a withering 00 Buck fusillade with his 12-gauge. Bolan lined up the iron sights on the AK-47, then drew a breath, and let out half of it.

He pressed the trigger.

One of the Toretto hardmen gasped as blood and brains suddenly coated the side of his face. Next to him, the shooter Bolan had targeted had a crater where his forehead had been. The Executioner took advantage of the startled gunman’s moment of paralysis to punch a round through his throat.

The deaths spurred the shooters to redouble their efforts. They poured whatever they had left into the SUV. Something beneath the truck sparked. A flame caught. Soon the underside of the truck glowed yellow with fire.

“Time to move, Pierce!”