But he doesn’t let me fall.
His strength both terrifies and comforts me. The same hands capable of violence also ensure that I don’t stumble, slow, or die.
More gunfire erupts behind us, ripping into trash cans and shattering a window overhead.
Alexei navigates the narrow space with unerring precision, as if he’s done this a hundred times before.
Probably has.
His head is on a swivel, no doubt cataloguing threats and escape routes.
Up. Down. Behind. Ahead.
I’m just dead weight. A complication. Still, he adjusts for me without pause or complaint.
We burst out the other end of the alley into a small courtyard bordered by dumpsters. The shooting stops. The attackers must have lost their visual on us. The engine rumbles as they circle the block, hunting.
“Listen to me.” Alexei’s face is inches from mine, his eyes sharp and focused. “When I say run, you fucking run. Straight across to that doorway.” He nods toward a service entrance on the opposite side. “Don’t look back. Don’t stop.”
My throat clogs with fear. “They’re going to kill us.”
“No.” The absolute certainty in his voice gives me courage. “They’re not.”
He reaches in his waistband and draws his gun from its holster. The black metal gleams, deadly and beautiful. With practiced ease, he checks the weapon.
“Ready.” Not a question. A warning.
I nod anyway, muscles tensing in anticipation of the sprint.
The sedan materializes at the entrance to the alley we just exited. Headlights sweep the walls as our assailants close in.
Alexei’s hand tightens on my shoulder. “Now.”
I run.
My legs pump, and my lungs burn. I sprint across the space on feet that barely feel the ground. In front of me, the distance to the doorway stretches to an impossible length. Behind me, gunfire erupts again with two distinct sounds.
The heavy, rapid stutter from the sedan and the controlled shots coming from Alexei’s position.
He’s firing back.
Covering for me.
I throw myself at the door and yank on the handle. Locked.
Of fucking course.
I slam my palm against the barrier in desperation. “Dammit!”
Tossing a glance over my shoulder, I find Alexei crouched behind a dumpster, still exchanging fire with the sedan.
The vehicle lurches forward, tires screeching into the courtyard. More guns pop out of the windows. Bullets punch the metal dumpster, the brick wall near me, and the ground at Alexei’s feet.
He rolls to avoid the lethal spray of bullets, firing three more precise shots before zigzagging toward me.
After a short eternity, he reaches me, breath fast but controlled. “Door?”
Even in my terror, I find myself admiring the deadly grace of his movement. “Locked.”
