“You’re worse.”
“Now, Sava.”We lock eyes.She hesitates long enough for me to see she’s weighing how bad I am, but then she moves to kneel at Lindy’s side.
“You’re going to be okay, Melinda,” she murmurs, slicing rope clear with a flick of her wrist.“I’m gonna carry you.”
Lindy’s head lifts, dazed.“Cassius.”
“I’m right here,” I grind out.“I’ll be right behind you.”It’s a lie.The weight dragging me down says I might not be behind anyone ever again.But if she believes it, she’ll fight, she’ll hold on.I’ve never needed anything more.
Shouts, deep, familiar voices.The Accord is back.Sava hauls Lindy up, cradles her like a baby.She’s gotta hate the fact that she can’t hold her weapon and Lindy, but Nikola, Dominic, and Marco will protect them.I let myself breathe once, shallow, sharp.Lindy’s getting out.I just have to survive long enough to follow.
Shadows flood the doorway behind Sava.Nikola first, the air itself makes way for him.Dmitry right on his heels.Marco’s men move low and precise, collecting everything that could lead us to the Spider’s center.We know her face now.Computers.Tablets.Radios and cellphones off the dead, all go with Marco’s men.Dominic storms back in with Havoc and Vex and helps load up Spider’s digital footprint.
Sava’s got Lindy halfway to the hall when a body lunges from the side.Havoc’s there first, grabbing the man by the jaw and snapping his neck without a word, like swatting a fly.
“Clear!”Dmitry calls, voice sharp.
Nikola’s eyes cut to me.He says something in Russian I can’t process past the ringing in my ears, then he’s at my side, knife flashing to my restraints.
“Get her out,” I choke, my voice barely more than a growl.
“She’s out,” Nikola says, cutting the last rope.My arms drop, dead weight, eyes locked on the end of the hall where Sava is shoving Lindy into Dominic’s waiting arms.He’s got her shielded against his chest.
“Your brothers are watching,” Dom says.“Adrian’s scrubbing the cameras.Atlas is okay.Hear me?He’s fine.Elsie’s at the hospital for you and your girl.Eland’s running interference with the cops.We’ve got you, brother.”He tightens his hold on Lindy and starts barking orders to clear a path.
“Up,” Nikola says, because he’d never lay hands on me while I’m conscious.I try.My legs don’t listen.Chest’s a furnace; every breath drags glass.
“On your feet,Machine.”
I plant a boot.The floor tilts.Black licks the edges of the room, then ebbs.I bite it back and push.Breathe in odd counts, like her.In three.Out five.In seven.My ribs feel wrong.Thigh’s fire.There’s a wet rattle high in my throat.
Nikola steps in, shoulder wedged under my armpit, belt fisted in his hand to haul me up.Pain detonates; my vision strobes white, then red.I hate the weight I put on Nikola.Hate needing it.Hate that he doesn’t even grunt.My knees fold, but he doesn’t let me hit the ground.
The black comes again, a tide I can’t hold.I fight it until my hands shake and the bullet heat in my chest goes cold at the edges.Just before it takes me, there’s a shape by the busted door.A man in a Bolo-Hat, tipped low, watching like he’s been waiting on me since the day I put my first body in the ground.
He touches two fingers to the brim in a slow salute.
“Not yet,” I tell him, or think I do.The last thing I see before they drag me out is Dmitry tossing black widow charms over the bodies like fucking confetti, the metal glinting red in the light.
twenty-eight
Sava’s shoulderslams into my ribs.
Air becomes knives.The floor and ceiling trade places.I’m moving.No, I’m being moved.Arms hooked over Sava’s neck, her grip a vise around my waist.She’s cradling my legs like a baby.Every step she takes punches heat through my side, then drains it away until the heat is gone.
The hallway blurs.Light.Shadow.Light again.Gunshots crack somewhere far off, then closer, then so close they’re thunder rattling my bones.It smells like metal and rain that never fell, oil and old dust, burned sugar.Someone shouts in Russian.Another voice barks back in Italian.Boots hit concrete like a breath I can’t catch.
“Stay with me, Melinda,” Sava says.“Keep your eyes open.”I try.My eyelids weigh a thousand pounds.Cassius taught me about the waves of pain.Don’t let it take you.Bite down.Breathe through it.Name five things you can feel.
One, Sava’s braid against my cheek.Two, the wet warmth slicking my palm where it’s pressed to my side.Three, the tremor in Sava’s breath as she pushes a door open with her shoulder.Four, the icy cold of my lips.Five, the pain.
“I did it Cassius,” I whisper.It doesn’t sound like me.“Five things.”
“He’s coming,” Sava says.“Keep your eyes open.”
The walls smear.The hall narrows to a tunnel and we’re a flicker running through it.The ghosts pace us like a shadow escort.We burst into a larger space and noise slams me.Bodies in the periphery; silhouettes scattering across the floor.Smoke grows thick until I can’t swallow my coughs.Shell casings roll, a bright metallic tinkle under the thunder.Havoc is here.Even with blurry vision, his broad frame is unmistakable.He’s dragging a man by the collar like he weighs nothing.Dominic’s voice slices the room.Someone must grab at Sava because she spins, and the pain from her tightening grip has tears trailing down my cheeks.Thank God she doesn’t drop me.
Sava pushes me into a huge chest in one practiced sweep.She’s already drawing, pivoting, two shots stitching the dark ahead.
