“I think we’re being followed.” He says in a low, easy tone, and it takes me a second to catch on to his meaning.
“By who?” I ask, but then I see it. A dark, nondescript car was following close behind us. When I glance through the rear-view mirror, I catch sight of a second one, hovering further back on the other side.
Ivan flies down the exit ramp as I search my bag for my phone, pulling it free.
“Shit, no service here,” I say, discomfort growing in my stomach.
“I figured,” he murmurs back, pulling the car into a tight, fast turn down a random neighborhood road. Just when I’m sure we must’ve lostthem, I hear the motor of cars racing behind us. They reemerge quickly, gaining speed.
“Shit,” Ivan whispers. Just as I look over to see what he’s reacting to, I realize exactly what’s going on. They’re boxing us in on either side.
And we’re headed straight for a dead end.
Fuck.
“Aim for tires.”
That’s all Ivan says before unstrapping the handgun from his thigh and dropping it into my lap.
For the briefest moment, I freeze, my brain not computing the insane situation.
But then my fingers wrap the familiar contours of the gun. Muscle memory alone has me clicking off the safety, and then I’m rolling down the window, aiming at the car behind us like I’ve successfully shot something other than the stationary practice dummy at the shooting range.
Take control, Cass.
My first few shots go wide.
I growl in frustration, bending further out the window.
Come on, Cass.
I take a breath, picturing Mikhail’s familiar hands wrapping around mine, guiding the shot. The barrel aligns with the front bumper. Then the wheel.
I exhale and squeeze the trigger.
Ivan makes a sharp turn, throwing me back into my seat, but not before I see the bumper of the car I aimed for sparking against the concrete, coming to a stop on the road.
“Hold on!” Ivan yells out seconds before we’re hit by the car on the left, violently jolting us to the side as Ivan spins the wheel to correct our path.
But then a third car rams us hard to the other side, and the wheels give out, our SUV skidding toward the nearby brick wall.
“Brace!” he says, throwing an arm protectively in front of my chest. All I can see is the brick wall closing in.
Closer and closer.
The first crack of the windshield.
And then my head smacks against something hard, and everything goes dark.
Mikhail
“Would you, by any chance, be missing a few of your belongings, Mikhail?”
The phone trembles in my shaking hand. Blowing up my warehouse was one thing, but if he’s saying what I think he’s saying?—
“You know, I really was surprised when I saw that you let the poor girl live through that night. Although I should’ve known you were too weak to properly deal with your own business. Poor, betrayed Mikhail Solokov. Orphaned and alone with no one left to trust.”
I glance over to Andrei, heart stuttering when he gives me a grave shake of the head. He can’t reach Ivan.
