I purse my lips, but they twitch into a smile just as a bullet whizzes past us and Nova shouts at me to get down. She’s already pulled Ellery onto the ground and is covering them with her body. Ellery squirms under her, but isn’t able to get free. Probably because Nova is gigantic and has muscles, no average-sized person stands a chance.
“I really need to find Georgiy,” I tell them as I peer over the barrier and try to find a way out.
“You should wait it out,” Jax says, but I shake my head.
“What if he needs me? I can’t wait. What if this were Kit?”
Jax sighs and then says, “Go on. I’ll cover you.”
He doesn’t wait for my agreement, just stands up and fires several shots while I run forward and back into the house. It’s a mess. Plaster has fallen from the walls, pictures and glass scattered across the ground. But I don’t stop, even the cuts on the bottom of my feet don’t slow me down. I trail blood along the floors, but I know Agatha won’t be upset. It’s already all ruined. And honestly, what’s a little blood when Georgiy could be hurt?
No, I need to find him. He wasn’t anywhere I looked. So he must be below.
I find the nearest hidden passageway and run down the steps, my fingers trailing the dirt walls, my heart pumping. It’s dark, no lights flickering in the distance.
Something bumps into me, and my hands clasp an unfamiliar body.
“Who are you?”
I feel the mask, the body armor. I know this is not one of us.
“Who are you?” I scream, my body launching onto theirs. My legs wrap around their back as they struggle to get me off, my hands latching on to their head. My thumbs find their eye sockets, and I dig into them, feeling them start to burst as the man screams beneath me.
We fall to the ground, his hands trying to wrench me off, but I hold on, making him suffer. Making him bleed. He squirms, his fingers digging into my sides, his legs kicking up, but I don’t let up. Not until they’re entirely gone. Until he’s blind.
It’s only then that I find that artery on his neck and press on it, making him pass out.
Then I grab a rock from beneath me and smash his head until he’s properly unconscious. I’ll take care of him later, in my den, in the space that can make him feel the most pain.
I stumble up and rush forward until I see the flickering of light. I’m close. He has to be here. He has to be.
I skid to the right, my body flinging into the wall, and that’s when I see him.
He’s in his scrubs, neatly arranging a few tables, his surgical tools laid out before him.
Everything inside me stops, happiness and relief flooding through me. It’s so visceral that I find myself unable to breathe.
His head turns at my wheeze, and he arches an eyebrow.
“What happened to you?” His eyes rove over my body, taking in the blood and gore lining my clothes.
“Bad guys. Eyeballs,” I wheeze.
“Hm,” he cocks his head and then points to the table. “You’re hurt. Come here.”
I do as he says, limping toward him now, feeling the cuts on the bottom of my feet.
“I was worried about you,” I say as he places gloves on his hands and helps me onto the table.
“I was down here prepping for the torture. I’m not good with guns.”
“I know.”
I nearly swoon as he lifts my feet and sighs, “You cut them.”
“I didn’t have time for shoes.” He grabs something from his bag, a first-aid kit. “Do you have that in there for me?”
“Yes. My little troublemaker.”
