As Mikhail lets out a low laugh.
And then he spits, and a metal ball shoots from his mouth with the glob of saliva, bouncing across the filthy floors. Every single fucking person turns to the small piece of metal, which I’m now realizing isn’t a ball at all. It’s a small, square shape, engraved with tiny circuits.
Mikhail smuggled in a tracker.
“That,” Mikhail says, snapping his wrists free from the restraints behind his back, “is checkmate.”
Cassandra
For half a second, everyone is completely still, not quite sure of what to do. Mikhail’s revelation sweeps the room, the shatter of gunshots in the distance punctuating the declaration.
And then, like a wave crashing ashore, everything goes to hell.
Mikhail tackles Cassio away from me with an angry roar. Men flood the staircase behind us, shooting at the small collection of Mafia men guarding the stairs. In the corner of my eye, I see Ivan use his entire body weight to pull the two guys holding him down to the cement, all three of them hitting the ground with a hardthud.
Yet, I remain standing still, hands strapped to my back in the middle of all the chaos.
I need to get the fuck out of these restraints.
I quickly scour the room, trying to see past all the violence and noise erupting like a bomb tossed into the basement. Shouts and shots fight for dominance in my ears, people dropping dead in every direction. My head sweeps to the other side, catching a glint in the corner.
There.
Lying on the floor, Cassio’s knife gleams in the soft light.
I dive toward the object, rolling to the ground to scoop it up with my palms behind me. The heat of a nearby shot sears the expanse of my neck, but I can’t think about the close miss, not when I’m so close to freeing my limbs. The cool smoothness of the metal handle meets my knuckles, and I grip my fingers, twisting so the edge of the knife lines up with the rope.
Slice after miserable slice, I saw at the restraint, huffing breaths out as the shots come closer, bodies toppling over the base of the stairs.I had no idea Cassio had so many men upstairs.They keep filing into the space, one after another.
Just a little bit more, I think, pushing past the cramp in my wrist as I contort to meet the face of the knife.
Finally, I can feel the last few strands pull tight, gripping onto each other—just before the rope finally snaps free.
The floor vibrates below at the brutal smack of something new hitting the ground, and I turn to find Ivan holding down a man’s head, landing fist after fist to his skull. Relief courses through me at the sight of Ivan upright.
I roll my sore wrists in stiff circles, watching Ivan land a killing blow to the man below him.
But I also see something else behind the savage scene.
Under the table, abandoned in the chaos of the fight, a gun lies tucked behind the wooden leg.
I’m moving before I can even think, diving between fighting bodies to the table and crawling beneath. My fingers meet the sweet contours and corners, index finger linking through the trigger…
A hand grasps my ankle, and suddenly I’m being yanked back.
No!
I grab onto the gun and flip to my back, coming face-to-face with one of the men who was holding Ivan. His fingers carve into my ankle, a bruising grip.
“Hand it over, you little?—”
He never finishes the sentence.
My finger squeezes the trigger, the barrel lined up with the looming target of his chest. Frozen in horror, I feel his grip relax on my leg as he topples to the floor, joining the large collection of bodies scattered around.
Red blooms on his chest like a drop of paint landing in a glass of water. The smell hits me too, metal and moisture seeping into my nostrils in the cruelest way. I have to force myself to look away. To refocus.To survive.
Mikhail’s sudden groan sounds out from the other side of the room, stealing my attention. I look up, spotting him collapsed on the floor, Cassio pounding his head with the butt of a gun. Each strike causes gashes to reopen on his perfect face, filling me with a deep void of rage.
