Saint shook his head.
“We haven’t seen them.” I spoke for him, listing forward to catch my breath. “Radio’s dead.”
“On purpose,” Alexei growled. “Butwho?”
I had no answer for him. I turned to Viktor. He reached for me, eyes wide with something that felt like concern, but the fucked-up hiss of silenced gunfire wrenched his gaze away a split second before he touched me.
It felt like the end of the world. Not the shots popping off in the distance, but his hand as it missed my skin by a fucking whisper. His touch. I needed it. In this moment. For whatever reason. Like I’d die without it.
But there was no time.
Alexei and Vik tapped into a higher level gangster mode and barked orders. We split and ran for the fight exploding in the distance, skirting around it to avoid stray bullets, creeping up on another building that was almost identical to the one behind. Theemptyone, according to Alexei. What the fuck was going on?
A bullet cracked the air too close for comfort. I ducked around a shipping container, my heart crying out for Viktor. He’d run hard to get to this point. Too hard. His hip?—
“Keep moving.”
Saint’s voice startled me. His hands on my shoulders felt like a dream. Then I was running again, trailing him into the chaotic mess of a building raid we hadn’t planned for.
Chaos suited me.
I was born for it.
But loving Viktor, maybe it had broken something in me. Severed the link between me and pandemonium for good. I obeyed orders. Fired my weapon. Fought some goon I didn’teven see. But I felt like I was swimming through treacle with my eyes closed, and I dropped my gun.
It clattered to the concrete. I heard it and it was too loud, as if my ears were too close to the ground.
A shout blasted through my awareness. Rough and Irish.
Cam.
I jerked my head up. A lone figure burst from the building, heading my way. One I recognised, but not because I gave a shit. No. I only cared about Vik and his face flashed into my mind, his voice.
“The cousin of the man who took me from the orphanage and the one who likely paid him to.”
I remembered asking why the cunt was still breathing. Couldn’t recall Viktor’s answer, but as the world spun around me, I didn’t need to.
This fucker was still alive cos I was gonna kill him.
I forced my body upright and snatched up my gun. My balance wavered, legs like a newborn giraffe, but I planted my boots, digging deep for the resilience that had kept me breathing since the day my pops had died.
The figure—couldn’t remember his name if I had ever known it—bore down on me, running for his life. Behind him, I saw why as Cam emerged from the building, mask gone, blood and grime on his face as he chased another fucker down and shot him point blank in the head.
Brutal.
Gruesome.
Necessary.
I was struggling to remember what day of the week it was, but the point Jake had rammed home over and over echoed in my head.
We must be fast. There is no time to feel.
My target was still running. I took aim when all I wanted was to take that fucker down and end him slowly, snapping a bone for every year of Vik’s life this faceless dude and his mates had stolen from him. I’d once sworn to myself that I’d never kill a man without looking him in the eye, but as my window to take the shot narrowed, I was all out of fucks.
I fired. Missed. Fired again and hit my mark. Dude went down. Still moving. I surged to finish him off, but Jake got there first, stepping out of the shadows to pull a move I’d seen from him before.
Two shots to the face.
