The man who hit me glares at him, nostrils flaring, but doesn’t push his luck. His face is red, breathing ragged.
They’re nervous now—it’s in the way their eyes flick to the windows, the way their hands fumble for weapons they already have.
“Yerik!Nyet,” the man closest to the window growls, shoving the first guy harder into his seat like he’s barely holding it together himself.
“Drive, Aleksei!” someone barks from the front.
My stomach lurches as the car rockets forward, tires screaming against asphalt. We take a corner too fast. My body slides across the cracked leather seat, shoulder slamming against the door hard enough to rattle my teeth.
The SUV jerks again, a wild, panicked swerve.
The men inside are twitchy—paranoid. Their heads keep snapping to the windows, shouting over each other.
“Suka blyad!” one of them curses, slamming a fist into the dashboard.
“She’s been tracked!” another snaps—in English this time, rough and sharp.
I am?
I twist against the zip tie, blood roaring in my ears.
Through the rear window—blurry and bouncing, I catch it—three black SUVs, tires screaming as they tear down the ramp behind us.
“Faster! Faster!” the driver shouts, pounding the wheel.
The man next to me—bigger, broader—curses low, breathing like he’s about to hyperventilate.
“Fuck. It’s him. It’s Belov.”
Panic thickens the air inside the car, bitter and sour.
Relief slams into me so hard my knees go weak, even bound as I am.
Konstantin’s coming.
He’s here.
I choke back a sob—barely—but a small, sharp sound still escapes me.
One of the men whips around, furious, and slams the butt of his gun into the seat next to my head.
“Shut up!” he barks.
But it’s too late.
I know they’re losing control.
Konstantin.
The thought of him hits me like another slap—harder, deeper. He knew, didn’t he?
He always knows. Those eyes see through every lie, every secret. He’d been watching me pace this morning, waiting for me to come clean. And I’d run instead.
Now look where I am.
The car jerks suddenly, violently, as the driver swears and swerves onto a narrower road. We’re somewhere along the coast now, a winding route that hugs the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. No traffic. No witnesses. Just steep drops on one side and rock face on the other.
Perfect for a chase. Terrible for survival odds.
