Jesus. She was so not fine.
She listened, mumbling, “Just need a shower. That’s all. See ya soon.” She hung up.
When it rang again, she groaned, and dropped it on the ground, pushing herself up with her good arm, and sat on her knees. Ember teetered back and forth. She put her hand behind her back, and suddenly, there was a knife stabbed through the phone, embedded into the wooden floor. The phone stopped ringing.
Ember grinned.
Scary. As. Fuck.
“Ember…come…here…” Grigori murmured into the quiet, sans the ringing—now dead—phone.
Ember blinked and teetered more. Her head turned to where he lay behind the couch, and she lifted her obviously good arm and blinked at it, then down at her shirt, pulling it off her skin where it had suctioned.
She stared at the soaking material, stating, “Now’s probably not the best time, Grigori.”
“Ember!” Grigori ordered in a hoarse shout.
“Grigori,” she muttered in a deep voice, imitating him. She swayed, stating in a strong voice, “I’m good. No biggie. I’ll take care of myself once Zane gets you guys going.” She slumped, and barely caught herself. “I don’t know how well everyone’s searching the house. There were a lot of those motherfuckers. Can’t leave you unattended.”
She blinked, her head tilting up, looking behind us. “Speak of the devil.”
Rapidly, she reached behind her back and aimed a gun over our heads. Firing, and shouting at the same time, as her body flew back from a second shot fired from behind us. I saw it in slow motion as she fell, blood flying out behind her, looking like she got hit in the same bum arm, before she toppled on it, shrieking.
Unable to do anything, I watched as a redheaded brute stumbled past us. He cursed her, holding his right arm as blood rolled down it. He stood over her, switching the gun to his left hand. She moaned under him, rolling.
A shot fired.
The back of his head—God, she loved heads—exploded out, splattering all over Artur and one of the bodyguards. The dead man teetered and fell directly on top of her, and she screamed as his weight landed.
A rush of employees ran into the room, Ember’s gun somehow making it out from under the huge man’s body, pointing directly at them. She dropped it on the ground, evidently seeing who it was. She cried out, in obvious pain, “Get him the fuck off me!”
They rushed over and dragged him off.
Ember rolled, kneeling again with her head back on the ground, ordering whoever, “Hand me the fucking gun.” She sounded ready to pass out. An employee I didn’t know grabbed it and placed in her outstretched palm. “Go check that staircase back there.”
And they did as Zane raced back in the room with an armful of small white cases.
Ember’s head tilted to the side, her cheek planted on the floor. “Grigori’s behind that couch.” She motioned with her gun where he was. “Dose him first. Give him half a dose more than what Stash said. He’s big enough. He can take it.”
Zane hesitated, and then nodded quickly, racing behind said couch.
I just stared at Ember. My eyes glued to her as she fell on her side, eyes trained on the door, gun aimed. Her eyes kept closing then would snap back open, her gun beginning to tremble in her hand. She was my new damn hero.
Zane moved on after Grigori, going to Daniil next, taking a needle out of one of the small white boxes, tapping it, and squirting some. “Stash said it’ll take a half hour to work.” Yeah, as if we all hadn’t been listening avidly to that. I was sure all of us wanted to be able to fucking move again after being glued to a couch during that slaughter.
After injecting Daniil, he moved to me, obviously going through the chain of command within this household. He stuck me pretty damn expertly before altering on his knees to a bodyguard lying on the ground at my feet…when we all heard the deep gasp that came from behind the couch.
“Fuck!” Grigori shouted.
Ember flinched, but her gaze stayed on the doorway.
Zane paused with the needle against the bodyguard’s arm as Grigori stumbled out from behind the couch, pounding on his chest and shaking his head hard. Guess that extra little bit most definitely sped up the process. He stood there for a few seconds breathing in great gulps of air, flexing his hands, his head thrown back. He looked like a man on speed, which he probably was right now.
His head snapped down, and his wide eyes darted all over the room, unnervingly landing on the blood-soaked woman in the middle of the floor, watching the door. He started shouting in Russian, so quickly that I couldn’t keep up—I’m good, but not that good—as he raced over to her, dropping to his knees. He was pointing right in her face and shouting in what seemed like fury.
Ember mumbled, “English, Grigori.” Slowly, she rolled onto her back, blinking up at him.
He sighed heavily and said—in English—in the calmest shout I had ever heard, “I’m. Going. To. Kick. Your. Fucking. Ass.”
