Neither do I.
CHAPTER 43
CASSANDRA
BANG.
The sound tears through the warehouse, so loud it feels like it happened inside my skull. My body jerks, my eyes slam shut. I wait for the impact, the nothingness, the end.
But it doesn’t come.
Air burns in my lungs. My heart hammers. I open my eyes to see Ivan still there at the end of the corridor, gun raised. His face isn’t calm anymore. His brow is furrowed, his mouth twisted into an ugly frown. He’s confused.
Another bang rips through the dark, closer this time, a gunshot that doesn’t come from him. Ivan flinches, shoulders snapping back, then bares his teeth like a wolf.
Then comes the BOOM. A deep and heavy sound that shakes the rafters, causing a cloud of dust to drift down like gray snow. The light sways back and forth. Metal groans. My ears ring so badly I can hardly think.
Ivan snarls, the words tearing out of him. “What the fuck?”
I watch him crack in real time. For the first time since he stepped from the shadows, he’s not in control. He’s rattled.
I take my chance. My hand scrabbles at the floor and finds a chunk of cement, fist-sized, jagged, and rough. My skin tears as I close around it, but I don’t care. I whip it with every ounce of strength left in me.
It smashes into his face with a sick crack. Blood sprays, black in the flickering light. His head snaps sideways, the unexpected attack causing his finger to jerk the trigger. The bullet screams wide, sparks flaring as it ricochets off a pipe.
“Bitch!” he roars, stumbling back, one hand clamped over his cheek.
I’m already running. My legs burn, my shoes slapping against the concrete, every step agony and freedom at once. The corridor stretches forever until I spot a hole at the base of the wall, jagged where concrete has broken away. I throw myself down, hands first, scraping my arms and knees raw as I crawl inside.
It’s narrow. Too narrow for him. I wriggle through, stomach pressed to grit, shoulders scraping. Behind me, Ivan’s boots pound. His curses echo, ugly and wild, but he can’t follow. Not here.
Gunfire erupts, sharp, fast, and close enough that my skin prickles. Shouts in Russian sound out, harsh and desperate. Another burst of shots, then screams that end quickly. The whole warehouse is alive with war.
I keep crawling until the dark breaks into a stairwell. Rust chews the rail and the steps creak, but they hold. I grab and climb, breath ragged, ribs aching. My knees shake, but I don’t stop. Up is the only direction that makes sense.
At the top, I push through a warped door and spill onto a catwalk. The view below steals my breath.
The warehouse floor is fire and thunder. Men shoot from behind crates and broken machines, bullets tearing holes in the walls, sparks showering. Voices shout orders that drown under the roar of automatic gunfire. The air reeks of powder and blood.
I grip the railing, knuckles white, eyes wide.
Suddenly, the main doors explode inward. Smoke rolls, gunfire pauses for half a beat, and through the haze they come, hard and fast, armed men, moving with precision.
At the center, broad shoulders, eyes hard as ice, stands Damien.
He walks like he’s carved from the same steel as the beams above us. His men flank him, relentless and brutal, but it’s him I can’t look away from.
My lips part. Something hot and sharp wells up in my chest, relief so fierce I fear I might break in two. My lips curl into a smile, trembling but genuine.
He came.
He came for me.
And the warehouse, for all its horror, doesn’t feel so hopeless anymore.
CHAPTER 44
DAMIEN
