They stare at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
The first man lifts empty palms. “We're not here to hurt him. Move aside.”
Footsteps thrum down the hall. A door slams. The woman checks the corridor. “We've no time for this. We need to get the fuck outta here.”
“No.” The lamp base bites into my skin. I can't breathe, but I don't move. “You're not taking him anywhere.”
“We move now.” The man levels a gun at my face. The black circle of the barrel is the only thing I can see. It's steady. Unblinking. One of them crouches and works the chain free from Viktor’s waist. It hits the floor with a heavy thud, finally letting him go. “If you don't do as I say, we'll all be dead. We're not here to hurt Viktor.”
I glare at him, but my confidence is a lie. I don't know who to trust. Not the guards. Not them. But they have guns and I have a lamp.
I lower the base.
They lift Viktor from the bed. His drugged body sways as they force him through the door. He groans when his side pulls, his frame curling instinctively. I reach out to steady him, my hand catching the crook of his elbow. He’s so hot he feels like he’s melting.
“Easy. We’ve got you.”
His head tips toward my shoulder when they straighten. His eyes drag open, the effort costing him everything. They lock on me.
“Jonah,” he whispers. “Come.”
“I’m right here.” My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. “I’m right here.” I turn to the closest guard. “If you try anything, I’ll scream the whole house down.”
He almost smiles. A flicker that vanishes. He angles us toward the door. “Good. Make noise later. Now we move.”
We spill into the hallway, which is a knot of bodies and frantic breath. The cameras in the corners are dark, wires torn loose. On the far end of the corridor, a body lies crumpled near the stairwell. One of Sergei’s guards. His head is at a wrong angle. I don't look away. I can't afford to. The reality of the blood on the floor should make me sick, but my only thought is getting Viktor past it.
“Clear.”
Viktor coughs, a rough sound that yanks my focus. I cinch my arm around his back and keep pace, my fingers digging into his shirt, trying to hold him upright. We’re getting out of here. I have to believe that.
His hand finds mine blindly. I lace our fingers together, gripping until my knuckles ache.
We burst through a steel door into the night. The cold air is a physical blow, stinging my lungs after the stagnant heat of the room. A black SUV idles on the gravel. Exhaust drifts in the dark. A man stands by the rear door, gun at his hip. He lifts his phone. “We’ve got him. Go.”
They load Viktor first. He tries to fight it—some stubborn muscle memory trying to wake up—but the drugs drag him back down. “Leave me. Take him.”
“No. You go first, Pakhan.”
Viktor’s shoulders relax at the word. His eyes flutter closed. I climb in after him, wedging myself between his body and the door. His weight leans into me, his head slumping against my chest. His breath is hot and uneven against my throat. I wrap an arm around him. I am the only thing keeping him from shattering.
The door slams. The car shivers. “Drive.”
The SUV lunges. Gravel spits. We jolt through the gate and out onto the street. The driver guns the engine, tearing away from the mansion. Adrenaline spikes, sharp and metallic in my mouth.
Streetlights flash through the glass, washing over Viktor’s face. He looks like a corpse. The thought makes my heart stop. I should be thinking about the guns, or the car chasing us, or the fact that I’m caught in the middle of a war I don't understand. But I can't. I can only think about the weight of his head on my chest and the terrifying possibility of a world where he isn't breathing.
“Shake the fuckers off.”
“How the hell did they know we were acting tonight?”
“I don't know, but we better lose them.” The guard is on his phone. “He’s on his way.”
Who is? I’m too scared to ask. I clutch Viktor’s hand as we rip through the streets. We barrel along a paved drive of a private estate. Lights flare on, white and blinding.
“Down!”
I drop into the footwell, my knees slamming into the floorboards. The driver slams the brakes. Tires scream. The door is wrenched open. Shots crack into the windshield. Gunfire erupts behind us. The sound is deafening, a series of sharp, rhythmic pops that tear through the air. The SUV skids to a halt, bullets hammering the metal before it lurches backward.
