At the block’s edge, the gunfire fades, leaving only our ragged breaths and the hum of adrenaline. Three sleek, high-end cars gleam under the dim streetlights—obviously theirs. I yank Roxy’s arm, slowing as we approach. No way in hell am I climbing into a car with a Sovereign. Priest marches ahead, fishing his keys from his pocket.
The black sports car’s lights flash—and the world explodes.
Heat and sound rip through me, hurling me backward. The air is ripped from my lungs in a rush as something—someone—collides with me mid-air. My momentum twists, my back slamming into the pavement with enough force to jar every bone in my body.
Pain shoots up my spine, a bright, jagged bolt that leaves my nerves screaming. My head snaps back—but just as I brace for the skull-cracking impact, his hand catches me. Fingers press firmly against the back of my head, cushioning the blow.
For a moment, I’m dazed, my chest heaving, lungs refusing to cooperate.
The world shrinks to chaos and smoke, my ears ringing. Weight driving me deeper into the pavement.
An arm locks around my waist, the other hand cradling the back of my head. My face is buried against his chest, and he’s all I can smell. Smoke and sweat, the faint bite of leather and mint. His heartbeat slamming against mine.
For a fraction of a second, he feels…safe.
I don’t even realize I’m clinging to him until he shifts, his breath ghosting against my neck. I’m clutching his shirt in a death grip, my knuckles white and trembling.
His head lifts, and our eyes lock. Ice-blue, searing, and so close it feels invasive. His jaw tightens, his expressionunreadable. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, his hand moves to my face, his thumb dragging across my lower lip.
The gesture stops time. My breath catches, a mix of rage and confusion tangling in my chest. I should shove him off, knee him in the balls, but I’m frozen.
Then, like flipping a switch, his gaze hardens. Anger darkens his face as he pushes off me and forcefully yanks me up. “Get the fuck up. Now.”
I jerk my arm, but he doesn’t let go—at least not immediately. He stares at me for a fraction longer, his eyes scanning my face with a scrutiny that sets me on edge.
Finally, he releases me, shoving my arm away.
The wreckage around us is a vision straight out of hell. Flames devour the remains of the cars, the metal twisting and screeching.
“A!” Roxy stumbles through the smoke, coughing, her face streaked with scratches and tears.
I grab her shoulders, my hands moving frantically, scanning her for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“Raze! Get us a fucking car! Now!” Priest shouts.
“Already on it!” Raze yells back, sprinting toward the parking lot at the end of the block.
We can’t stay here. The sirens are closing in, their wailing screams slicing through the smoke and debris. Red and blue lights bleed across the scene, painting the wreckage in frantic, strobing colors.
Roxy’s wide, terrified eyes lock on mine.
I open my mouth to tell her to move—run—but then a white-hot burst of pain rips through my thigh.
I hit the pavement with a choked scream, fire tearing through my leg. Blood seeps between my fingers as I press down on the wound, but it won’t stop. My brain’s screamingget up, but my body’s gone limp.
“Roxy!” I force the words past the agony. “Run to the police! Go!”
She hesitates. Panic carved into her face. Her eyes dart between me and the storm of gunfire cracking through the street. I plead with her in Russian. That gets through. She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks as she bolts toward the flashing lights.
A bullet punches into the pavement inches from my shoulder and shards of concrete slice across my cheek. I flinch, trying to roll—but I can’t. I can’t fucking move.
“Of course you’d be deadweight.”
Rough hands grab me, and a second later I’m yanked off the ground like a rag doll. Pain detonates in my leg as I’m thrown over his shoulder.
“Put me down,” I gasp.
“Shut the fuck up,” Priest grunts. “You can’t do anything right without bleeding all over the damn street.”
