Then Desya aims his rifle at Yulian, and the lie shatters.
My heart stops.
No. No, no, no…
It can’t end like this.
Please, please?—
Then a body hits the ground. Not Yulian’s—thank God—but a body nonetheless.
And I decide enough is enough.
“Mia!” Yulian roars when he sees me fly out of my hiding place. “What the hell are you?—”
But I’m already kneeling by Zhenya.
Her eyes are glassy, her breathing shallow. A gaping hole stares at me from her stomach, where Desya’s bullet struck true. Her thigh is wounded, too, shot clean through, probably in the mayhem earlier. There’s blood pooling under her body, a growing stain seeping into the Goldenrod’s plush carpet. Red on red.
“Yulian!” Maksim shouts from the balustrade. “Desya’s getting away!”
Yulian stops midway to me. He’s conflicted, I can tell, but I can’t spare the attention right now. He’s unharmed—that’s what matters.
But Zhenya isn’t. She needs my help.
“Go,” I tell Yulian. “I’ve got things here.”
“You need to get back to?—”
“Please.” I turn to face him. “Trust me.”
He hesitates. One second, two.
Then he’s taking off after Desya.
Kallie rushes to my side. “What do you need?”
“A tourniquet,” I tell her. “Water. Clean towels. And a bottle of whiskey.”
“Got it.” She rushes to grab what I’ve asked, already in battlefield mode. When you’ve worked side by side as long as we have, you barely need to speak to each other: you’re in perfect sync. “You,” she snaps at the nearest guy, who happens to be Kazimir. “Give me your belt.”
“M-My?—?”
“Yes.Now.”
With a sigh, Kazimir obliges. “I’ve been shot, too, if anyone cares.”
Right. His foot.It’s not as urgent as Zhenya, but that needs care, too. “Kallie, go to him. I’ve got this. Has anyone called 911 yet?”
“I did,” Maksim says. He looks ruffled by the gunfight, but no worse for the wear than usual. “They’re on their way.”
“Sestra!” Anton wails at Zhenya’s side. “Hang on. I’m here.”
“Sir, I need you to step back.”
He ignores me and grabs her hands. “I’ll make thatmudakpay! I’ll?—”
“SIR!”
