With a startled yelp, Freddy was gone. I turned in time to see him get slammed onto the hood of his own car by one very pissed off Russian. “Sasha!” I tried to shove him off, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He pinned Freddy to the car by his throat, completely unconcerned by the fact my friend was already turning purple under his large hand. “Get off him!” “Who the fuck is this?” The question was more of a growl, Sasha’s pupils narrowed to pinpricks. “None of your business!” “Should I kill him?” “No!”
