A bullet.
The soloist falls. Blood on his shoulder. Screaming from below.
A second shot hits the plaster by Roman’s head.
He’s already moving—body covering mine, gun in his hand, dragging me down behind the railing.
“Stay down.”
The door crashes open. It’s Luka, weapon drawn.
Another shot splinters the railing.
“Out. Now.”
Roman hauls me up, and we’re running through service corridors— red lights, the stale smell of industrial cleaner—and my legs aren’t working right, but I make them work anyway because I’m not going to let him carry me out of here, I’m not going to be that woman.
A service exit. Blast of cold air. A second car.
He tries to lift me into the backseat.
“I can walk.” I shove his hands away and climb in on my own, even though my legs are shaking and the device is still pulsing and I can barely see straight. “I can fucking walk.”
We’re moving before the door closes.
The device is still going. Still vibrating. Still driving me toward an edge I cannot fall over right now.
My stomach lurches.
“Stop the car. Stop thefuckingcar!”
We’re barely at the curb before I’m out, collapsing against a brick building, vomiting everything into a Moscow gutter.
Roman is there immediately, his hands gathering my hair back, holding it while I heave.
“The device.” I’m gasping. “Get it out. Please. I can’t—”
He doesn’t hesitate.
Right there in the alley—Luka’s men everywhere, sirens in the distance—his hand slides under my dress and pulls the device out in one swift motion. I’m soaked—from arousal, from everything—and I feel the wetness on his fingers, sliding down my thigh.
The relief is so intense I sag against the brick.
“Are you hurt?” His hands are on my face now, still wet with me, and his eyes are wild in a way I’ve never seen. “Anya. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Roman—”
He pulls me against his chest and his whole body is shaking.
“If that bullet had been three inches to the left—” His voice cracks. Actually cracks. “If I’d lost you—”
“You didn’t.”
“I’m going to find whoever did this.” He pulls back, his hands framing my face, smearing my own fluids on my cheeks. His eyes are burning with a violence that should terrify me. “And I’m going to take them apart. Slowly. I will burn this city to ash before I let them touch you.”
