“Shit. There is a van parked near the hospital here, that’s where she said they were stationed. The men controlling the drones,” she rushes the words out.
“Pass that on to Enzo, now,” I order Conan.
“I need to go and help them,” I say, my voice rough. “I need to keep you all safe.”
The ground beneath us vibrates.
My head snaps up.
Conan is frozen in the doorway, listening.
A literal fucking bomb just dropped.
“We need to go,” I rush out.
“We’ve got an armored truck outside,” Conan says, already moving.
I cup Lily’s face and press my lips to hers, slow and deep and desperate. Like if I don’t, I won’t survive walking away.
“I love you, Lily,” I whisper.
She grabs my shirt, eyes burning.
“Come back to me. Please. Drago. I can’t do this on my own.”
She sobs against me, and I hold her tight. Trying to fucking breathe through the pain.
“I will,” I promise. I have to. “This is the last fucking time, lastochka. Then we’re free. Okay? Can you do that for me?”
She nods, swallowing another sob.
In my ear, Enzo’s voice snaps through the comms.
“Drago. You’ve got five approaching the gates on your side of the estate. Frankie and his men are holding it down. They need help.”
“Copy,” I bite out.
I guide Lily toward the hallway.
“Lily, let's go!” Conan shouts.
I lead her through the corridor and place her into the truck, my hands lingering on her hips like I can’t let go.
“Look after my girl,” I tell Conan as he gets in the driver’s seat.
“I will.”
As they pull out of the drive, I turn and run upstairs, trying to ignore the blood on the floor, trying to ignore the images clawing at my skull.
I head straight to the panic room. I grab a semi-automatic. Some knives. Extra mags.
I am not dying today.
“The Preacher is dead,” I tell Enzo through the earpiece, voice like stone.
As I head outside, it’s like stepping into an active warzone. Gunfire. Smoke. Men shouting. Explosions ripping through the air. Sirens blaring somewhere distant, useless.
“We’ve taken advantage,” Enzo says. “No more fucking drones will get through.”
