Focus. Breathe. Don’t die.
Pep talk having a marginal impact, she blinked furiously to clear the blinding tears from her stinging eyes. Priority one? Regain her bearings. Ears ringing amidst the chaos of a hostile invasion, she craned her neck and glanced around before ducking her chin to avoid the cascade of bullets shredding the surface of the desk in front of her.
Knocked off by the impact of several high-velocity projectiles, one of her monitors flew through the air to land on the floor next to her head, the screen spider-webbed around two distinct bullet holes.
Holy shit! Move, Becca!
Instincts kicking in, she took a deep breath. Combined with the sour taste at the back of her throat, the acrid scent of burning ozone mixed with the metallic tang of gunpowder made her want to vomit as another wave of adrenaline surged.
Stomach pressed to the tiles and head tucked between her shoulders, she scrambled for cover, seeking non-existent refuge from the barrage of casings pinging off the surfaces around her.
Elbow after elbow, she inched her way toward the server room. If she could just reach the wall, somehow open the door without being shot, and get inside…
Nope. No go. A body dropped to the floor in front of her, blocking the path.
One of Volkov’s super soldiers.
She froze. Caught in the act by his vacant stare.
While his eyes had always been devoid of humanity, now they were simply the light brown irises of a dead man. A pity. And an inevitability. Nobody associated with Alexsandr lived to a ripe old age.
Herself included if she didn’t get her ass in gear.
About to chuck caution to the wind and make a mad dash for safety, she froze completely at the sight of the wide slick of blood creeping toward her from beneath the soldier. A steady flow of death and destruction reaching out to consume her.
Her vision warped, and transported back in time, she heard her sister’s mad ramblings. Saw the final flicker of life leave her father’s haunted eyes. Witnessed the last of her mother’s labored breaths.
Oh God! The blood.
Acres of red splattered across pristine white cupboards. Streaks of crimson running down stainless-steel appliances. Desperate handprints, inked in the violence of the moment, smeared across multiple surfaces.
And through it all, the smell of iron clashed with the warmth of freshly baked bread, gutting her senses as she lay in a pool of her own blood.
Eyes blown wide in terror and disbelief, she kept her fingers splayed over her abdomen in a futile attempt to protect the life inside. And numb with shock and disbelief, she swept her gaze around the room until it landed on her twin.
Smack-dab in the center of it all, her chest heaving from the physical exertion of wiping out her entire family, Maya’s blank expression showed no remorse.
No despair.
No concern for the heinous act she’d committed.
Emotionless and empty, she let the blood-slicked knife slip from her grasp. It hit the floor with a clatter, and helpless, Becca watched as the bloody soles of her sister’s Keds squeaked across the hardwood.
Each step closing the distance between them as her pulse slowed, her thoughts turned sluggish, and darkness tunneled in.
“Becca!” Jay shouted, leaping over the body of a fallen soldier to get to his girl. Unresponsive, she lay on her stomach, eyes closed, and his heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight of the blood pooling around her.
“Becca!” Terrified he’d found her only to lose her in the same breath, he pulled the mask from his face and dropped to his knees at her side. What if she’d been caught in the crossfire? What if one of the dozens of bullets fired had hit her? What if she was bleeding out, and he couldn’t save her?
Fuck, no! He couldn’t live another day without her. Couldn’t keep up the fight. Not on his own. Not anymore. “Doc!” In a panic, he tore his eyes away from her pale cheek only to find Jamie already at his side.
“Move over,” he ordered, kneeling beside Jay before running his hands gently under her body, then over her arms and legs. Assessment complete, he held his blood-free palms up to give Jay the reassurance he needed. “She hasn’t been hit.”
He pressed two fingers against her neck. “Rapid pulse. But weak. She’s in shock. Help me turn her over.” Jamie got a grip on her baggy sweatshirt, nodding at Jay when he was in position. “Watch her head. Nice and easy.” They rolled her together, ensuring her spine stayed aligned. “Rebecca? Can you hear me?”
“Wrong twin,” a clipped Russian accent replied. “That bitch is Maya Barrows.”
Cody huffed. “Shut the fuck up, asshole, and keep your nose pinned to the floor.”
