Anton reaches me as I stumble into his arms. His free hand grabs my waist, pulling me against his chest as he fires one more time.
"Are you hurt?" His voice is rough against my ear, clinical and desperate at the same time.
I try to answer, but can't find my voice. Everything feels distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.
No more gunfire. No more shouting. Just the distant hum of traffic and my ragged breathing against Anton's chest.
I pull back, scanning the service road. Five bodies sprawl across the concrete in unnatural positions, dark pools spreading beneath them. All dead. Anton killed them all while I ran barefoot in a coral dress.
Cillian slumps against the brick wall, his white shirt now completely crimson.
Shane hasn't moved. His body lies on the concrete, motionless.
I start patting down my body, searching for bullet holes, for blood, for pain that should be there but isn't. My hands shake as I check my arms, my torso, my legs.
Nothing. No wounds. No blood.
Anton's hands catch mine, stilling my frantic search. His touch is gentle, careful.
His voice drops to barely above a whisper, softer than I've ever heard it. "We need to move. Police will be here in minutes."
Reality crashes back. Sirens. Questions. Bodies. Evidence.
"My guards." The words tear from my throat. I look toward Cillian, toward Shane's still form. "I can't leave them."
"You're not." Anton's arm tightens around my waist, guiding me toward the Camaro. "Get in the car. I'll handle this."
He opens the passenger door, his movements careful with me.
Anton's hand brushes my cheek, drawing my attention back to his face. His gray eyes search mine with intensity, with concern.
"Stay in the car. Keep the doors locked. I'll be right back."
The engine purrs beneath me as he closes my door. The automatic locks engage with a soft click, sealing me inside. The windows are tinted dark enough that I feel hidden and protected, yet I can still see everything outside.
Anton moves toward Cillian first, his gun still drawn but lowered. He crouches beside Cillian, saying something I can't hear through the glass. Cillian nods, wincing with the movement.
A blur of dark clothing cuts through my peripheral vision, sprinting past the Camaro. I recognize the movement instantly, Yuri.
He reaches Cillian in seconds, dropping into a crouch beside Anton. Their voices are low, urgent, but the glass muffles everything into incomprehensible murmurs. Anton's posture shifts slightly as he speaks, his shoulders tense with authority.
Together, they help Cillian to his feet. My guard's face contorts with pain, but he manages to stay upright, one hand pressed firmly against the spreading crimson on his chest. They move slowly, Yuri supporting most of Cillian's weight as they approach the Camaro.
Cillian looks directly at me through the windshield. His face is pale, sweat beading across his forehead, but his eyes are alert. Focused.
I hit the window button, lowering it just enough for him to see me clearly.
"Ms. Quinn." His voice is strained but steady. A professional to the end, even bleeding out in an alley.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate for a man who took a bullet meant for me.
He nods once. His jaw tightens, and he presses harder against the wound, blood seeping between his fingers. He keeps walking past my car, with Yuri helping him.
I turn in my seat to watch them go toward a black SUV behind us. Yuri helps Cillian get into the front passenger seat.
I watch Anton run back toward Shane and crouch beside him. My stomach clenches. Shane hasn't moved since he fell. His body lies at an unnatural angle, limbs splayed across concrete stained dark with his blood.
Is he breathing? I can't tell from this distance.
