They grapple like two animals locked in a death struggle. Fists fly. I see the glint of a knife. Beast hisses as the blade slices his arm, blood beading along the vivid ink, but he barely flinches. He slams the man’s head into the wall so hard the plaster cracks. The Russian slumps, unmoving.
With his hand around the Russian’s throat, Beast looks back at me and tosses something in my direction. “Call Reaper. Let him know.”
I mentally fill in the rest that he leaves off when the Russian clocks Beast in the jaw.
I dive for the phone, my hands slick and shaking.
“Code! What’s the code?” I scream. Beast shouts the numbers as he catches another wild punch and sends another attacker spinning across the kitchen island.
I fumble, dropping the phone when a hand closes around my ankle, yanking me off my feet. I land hard, gasping, and the world tilts. The same freaking Russian climbs on top of me, spit flying as he curses in Russian.
“For fuck’s sake, can’t you just stay down!” I roar with all my might.
I go feral. I gouge at his eyes, rake my nails down his cheek, grab anything I can and use it with all my strength. My fist connects with his nose, blood spurting hot and coppery over my hand. He draws a knife.
Shit.
I scream, bucking wildly. I wrench the gun from his holster as his blade rakes my thigh.
I fire. The bullet tears through his knee with a sickening pop. He screams, his weight crushing me until I shove him off, scrambling to my feet. I see Beast dispatching two more men, blood running down his arm, teeth bared in a savage snarl.
“Aim higher, baby!” he calls out as another Russian charges me, wild-eyed.
“Like, in the balls?” I shout, heart racing. My hands tremble, but I lift the gun and fire again. This time the bullet tears through his thigh, dropping him instantly. He howls and scrambles for his own weapon, and I stomp on his wrist, feeling the bones grind beneath my heel.
Oh, God! That is going to cost me in therapy. I just know it. My stomach curdles.
“Head would work better if you want them to stay down,” Beast grunts, elbowing a man in the face, sending teeth flying. He takes a punch to the ribs, grunts, but doesn’t slow. He’s a hurricane, every move efficient and lethal.
Glass shatters. A Russian with a knife corners me by the kitchen counter, blade slashing in a wild arc. I backpedal, fumbling for anything—a mug, a heavy frying pan. I snag on something that feels like cast iron and I hurl the object with all my might at his head. It glances off his temple, stunning him long enough for me to kick the gun across the floor and lunge for the knife. We grapple, sweat and terror, my bare feet slipping on blood-slick tiles. He’s stronger, but desperation fuels me.
His knife slices my arm, hot pain blooming, but I manage to grab his wrist, twist, and force the blade into his own side. He gasps, eyes wide, and topples.
I scurry off him. Disbelief washes over me and coils into sickness in the pit of my stomach.
Everywhere is chaos—bodies, broken furniture, blood. My lungs burn. My hands shake. I want to curl up and scream, but I keep moving. I grab a gun with one hand and snatch the phone again and dial Reaper with trembling fingers, yelling into the receiver. “We’re at the safe house! Russians everywhere. Beast is hurt. You gotta get here fast!”
“Hold on, Layla!” Reaper growls. “We’re coming.”
“Good!” But I know help is still minutes away. And we may not have that kind of time.
Suddenly, a booming shot roars through the darkness, louder and closer than the rest. The fighting stops. Silence blooms, thick and sudden through the entire loft.
With my chest heaving, I keep Reaper on the phone as Beast and I watch Veles move his large form into the entryway. His suit is perfect, and his hair immaculate. He’s let his men do all the dirty work of tiring us out. He raises a pistol at Beast’s head, his expression glacial.
Time seems to slow. I can hear Beast’s ragged breath, the thrum of my own pulse. The air smells of gunpowder, sweat, blood, and fear.
Veles steps forward, gun unwavering. “It’s over, Savage. You cost me money, men, and my product. You will pay for what you’ve done.”
Beast is bleeding from his arm and lip, shirt torn, eyes wild and fierce. He keeps himself between me and Veles, every muscle ready to lunge, to kill, to die if he has to. It’s written all over his stance. He’s ready to cash out if it means protecting me.
My soul aches at the thought of losing him.
Veles moves closer, his gun now inches from Beast’s face. “Step aside. The girl comes with me and the papers she stole from me.”
The papers. I almost forgot about them.
“No,” Beast growls. “You’ll have to kill me first.”
