Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“You need to get back in the car,” he shouts back, grabbing my elbow and dragging me back.
“No,” I scream, pulling my arm out of his grasp. “All of your men are going to die because of me.”
“Better them than you,” he answers, trying to force me back inside the SUV, but I don’t budge.
In his distraction, he doesn’t see the man approaching from the alleyway. He’s so focused on forcing me back into the car, he has his guard down. I push him out of the way of the shooter. He turns quickly and shoots the man in the head, but it’s too late.
I feel the heat blooming underneath my ribcage. I’ve been hit.
“Anya!” Viktor screams, and his face goes pale.
With each passing second, it’s harder and harder to focus on his voice. He screams something, but I can’t hear him anymore.
Then everything goes dark.
15
VIKTOR
The sound that comes out of her mouth isn’t a scream. It’s a short, strangled exhale, like her body is trying to pull air in and realizes it can’t. Her hand jerks toward her ribs, and for half a second she’s still upright, stubborn enough to pretend she can fight through anything.
Then her face drains. Her eyes lose focus. And she starts to fold.
“Anya!” I shout, and I don’t like the way my voice sounds.
She sways and I catch her, pulling her against me hard enough that her weight knocks the wind out of my chest. She’s warm and heavy in my arms. For a second my hand is pressed against her side, and I feel the blood under my palm.
The street is still a war zone. Horns blare. Glass crunches under boots. My men are shouting positions and firing in controlled bursts, but Mikhail’s crew is still moving, still searching the convoy for the car she’s in. They’ll wipe all of us out just to get to her.
Now that she’s down, she’s an easy target.
“I need cover,” I snap into the comm.
Static answers me for a fraction of a second, then Misha’s voice comes through. “On you.”
The gunfire shifts immediately. My men tighten around us. I don’t have to explain. They understand that this is an extraction. I drag her away from the SUV, using the vehicle as cover. She’s still conscious for a moment. Her eyes flick toward me, unfocused, jaw tight like she’s trying to keep herself present through sheer will. I hate that it’s not enough.
“Stay with me,” I tell her, and I keep moving.
Her fingers twitch against my shirt. Her breath comes shallow, uneven, like she can’t get enough air. Someone screams behind us. A body hits pavement. I don’t look. I can’t afford to lose focus for even a moment. That’s how she got shot in the first place.
The lead vehicle’s driver is slumped against the wheel, horn blaring continuously. The sound is shrill and constant, and it makes everything feel even more exposed. Sirens are wailing somewhere in the distance, getting closer.
The police will make this worse for everyone. None of us want the cops involved, but I know Mikhail’s men will retreat once it gets too hot. For that reason alone, I wish they’d hurry up and get here.
I scan the street and spot the last SUV in the convoy, farther back, intact, angled behind a delivery van. The driver was smart enough to fall back when he saw the chaos start to break out. No one’s in the car, but the lights are still on. It’s the only vehicle that hasn’t been hit. The only one that can get us out of here. I move toward it with Anya in my arms.
A man breaks from cover two cars down and starts sprinting toward us. He isn’t aiming at me. He’s aiming for her.
I raise my weapon and fire without slowing. He drops hard, skidding on the pavement. His gun clatters away. Another shooter tries to cover his advance. Bullets crack against the delivery van near my head.
I don’t stop. I don’t duck. I keep moving because every second she’s outside a vehicle is a second she can be taken. My men shift fire to give me a corridor. Their discipline is the only reason I’m not dropped from behind.
We reach the last SUV. I shove Anya inside carefully, then move to the driver’s seat and pull away before any of Mikhail’s men realize what’s happening. The SUV lurches forward, scraping past the delivery van by inches. Tires scream as we take the corner too fast. Another vehicle tries to cut us off at the end of the block. The driver jumps the curb and swings wide.
Behind us, gunfire continues for a few more seconds. It fades the further we get away from the fight.
I look at Anya in the rearview mirror. She’s pale and her lips are parting. Blood is pooling on her blouse, blooming in a dark pattern. Her eyes flutter open briefly. She tries to focus on me.