“Come with me,” the man says urgently. “Stay close. If I let you go, are you going to?—”
I twist in his grasp, hoping it’s loosened, and he lets out a frustrated growl.
“I’m trying to protect you, girl!” He shakes me again, pulling me with him as he backs out of the doorway, turning abruptly around as he raises his gun, scanning the hallway. “Come with me. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Who are—” I break off, my voice ending in a high-pitched sound of horror as I almost trip over a slender body in the hallway. Bright pink top, dusty blonde ponytail…it’s the other girl who came here with me, the one whose name I didn’t know. Another flare of guilt washes over me…I didn’t even ask.
The man is already dragging me down the hall with him. “Damian,” he says curtly, his voice sharp and abrupt, thickly accented. He’s Russian, I can tell that much, which makes sense if he works with Konstantin for the Bratva. “Damian Kutnezsov. Is that good enough for you?”
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I can’t think, can’t form words. I’ve never felt fear like this before—I thought I had, just a little bit ago, when I saw those five men, but I was wrong.
This, this is real fear. I’ve never before thought that I might die at any moment, but now I know what it feels like. Now…
Thecrackof Damian’s gun makes me jolt backwards, against his grasp as my ears ring, my nose burning with the scent of hot metal and blood. I hear a body hit the floor, and Damian drags me forward,shoving me against a wall as he blocks me with his broad, muscled body, looking around a corner. I see him aim, fire, hear thatthudof a body dropping again, and then we’re moving, Damian dragging me forward?—
I see the propped-open door of the warehouse. I see the dark outside, the rain still puddling at the opening, in that sickly glow of light. And then, I feel awhooshof air next to my head, and thepingof a bullet hitting metal as…
Damian swears in Russian, swinging me behind him as he aims, and I see one of the men who brought me here, one of those two men wearing jackets, aiming at both of us. There’s the sound of Damian firing again, and the other man drops. His blood gleams in the light, and I feel that nausea rising up again.
“Run!” Damian snaps, grabbing my elbow as he bolts for the door. He hauls me after him, but I’m running now too, trying to keep pace with his long strides as we rush out into the rainy darkness.
It’s warm rain, but it feels cold against my hot skin, pelting us in sheets as Damian runs through the parking lot with me. My ankle rolls, twisting in my high heel, and I feel myself toppling, about to fall to the gravel as pain shoots up my leg.
Before I can hit the ground, I feel strong arms go around me, and suddenly, Damian is carrying me, holding me against his chest with one hand as he runs. He twists around, firing once more, and I have a second to wonder how he knew someone was there before we reach a black Mercedes G-Wagon, and Damian yanks open the passenger side, shoving me in.
“Don’t you dare try to get out,” he growls, slamming the door shut in my face, and I see him sprint around the front of the car, leaping into the driver’s side as he shoves the key into the ignition.
The car growls to life. I stare at Damian, shaking all over, my teeth chattering together from fear and shock. “What’s going on?” I gasp. “What’s happening? Why?—”
“Don’t ask questions,” he snaps. His foot presses down onto the gas, and the car lurches forward, gravel spitting.
“But I—I don’t understand—” I can feel my shaking intensifying.I feel like I might pass out, or scream, or—I don’t know. All I know is that an hour ago, my life was one thing, and now it feels like something else altogether.
“You’re in danger.” Damian jerks the wheel to one side, pulling out onto the road. “Your life is in danger.” He looks over at me. “Do you understand?”
“No, I?—”
“Stop talking. Stop asking questions.” He grips the steering wheel with both hands, and the car speeds up, driving us faster into the darkness of the rain-drenched night.
2
DAMIAN
My phone rings as we drive, and I grab it, tucking it between my shoulder and my chin as I veer off onto an exit. The girl slides in her seat, grabbing at the door handle, and I hear the small, choked sound of fear that she makes.
She’s terrified, I can tell. And with good reason. No one who’s not a part of this sees something like that and isn’t afraid. I can’t fault her for trying to get away as we ran, but I need her to listen. To obey me. It’s the only way she’s going to survive this.
Konstantin’s voice comes over the line. “Damian. Update me. What’s going on?”
I speak in Russian, so as not to alarm the girl. Well, so as to alarm herless, at least. She’s going to be frightened that she can’t understand what I’m saying, but I’d rather that than have to answer her questions right now, or watch her have a panic attack here in the car. I need to get us to where we’re going, and in order to do that, I need to be able to focus.
“We killed as many as we could find,” I tell my boss. Konstantin Abramov,pakhanof the Abramov Bratva, now that his father has passed away. “But I doubt that’s all of them. If anyone survived, they’ll be heading back, regrouping.”
“I need you back here. As soon as possible.” Konstantin’s voice is gruff, sharp. “They’re not going to get away with this.”
“Of course not, boss.” I’m relieved to hear him angry, to hear that he’s planning on coming down hard on those responsible. Konstantin has different ideas from some of the other bosses in Miami, ideas that caused him and his father to clash, when Victor Abramov was still alive. He doesn’t like violence unless it’s necessary—he prefers to handle things diplomatically. Some call him soft. I did too, for a long time, but I’ve come to see that there can be wisdom in how he does things. The old ways aren’t always better, and though there’s been resistance among the families to Konstantin’s more modern ideas, I can see him making progress.
“I’ll be back soon.” I glance toward the girl, who is looking frantically out of the car window. She's pressed herself against the passenger door, as far from me as she can get in the confines of the car. Her strawberry-blonde hair is disheveled, and there's a smudge of dirt on her cheek. “I need to take care of some things. I won’t be long.”
