I fire.
The bullet tears through his hand, flesh and bone bursting red. The pistol clatters to the ground, skidding across the gravel. Timofey staggers back, howling, clutching the ruin of his fingers.
“Run!” I bark.
Mary stumbles toward me, breath hitching. She’s maybe fifteen feet away, close enough I can see the tears streaking down her cheeks. I’m already moving—fast, hard strides toward her—when Timofey lunges.
His boots scrape gravel. He dives for the fallen gun.
“Bitch!”
Time shatters. He rolls, wild-eyed, bleeding and grinning all the same, the barrel swinging up from the dirt. He looks at me. Then at her. That cruel little smirk splits his blood-slicked face.
“Got you,” he hisses.
I don’t think. I grab her and turn, wrapping my body around hers as the shot cracks the air.
It slams into my side—just beneath the ribs—and burns, but the pain doesn’t register yet. All I know is she’s still breathing. Still in my arms.
Her scream tears the night open. “Anton… no…”
Another shot.
This one punches through my shoulder, jerking me forward. My knees give. The ground rushes up and I’m on it, breath knocked from my chest, warmth spilling beneath me.
Timofey’s gun clicks empty. He stares at it, then at us, eyes wild with rage and disbelief.
Something shifts in Mary. I see it even through the blur—the terror draining from her face, leaving something colder in its place.
She crawls toward the ground, fingers shaking but steady as they close around the weight of my Glock.
“Mary—” My voice breaks. I don’t know if she hears me.
She rises, slow but sure, the barrel locked on him.
Timofey laughs, blood running from his hand. “You don’t have the guts.”
The first shot hits his chest.
The second buries itself between his eyes.
His body drops, limp and final, the dirt swallowing the last of his breath.
For a second, there’s only silence, the ringing echo of gunfire still humming in the dark.
Then headlights flood the yard. Tires screech. Voices shout.
Mary drops beside me, her hands on my face, her sobs shaking against my skin.
“Anton! Anton, stay with me! Please—”
My vision tunnels, edges closing in. Her voice is the only thing anchoring me now.
“Anton… please… Don’t you dare—”
Her screams rip through the night again and again, my name breaking apart on her lips as the world tilts and goes dark.
37
