Fuck!
There’s another exchange of rapid fire and shouts, and I peer around the column to see the Antonov men exchanging fire with the guards. One guard is already on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The other looks like he’s bleeding from his arm, but he’s still standing, still firing back. I use the distraction to take out one of the Antonov men with a shot to the chest. He hits the ground like a dead weight. I don’t wait to see what the other one does before I help lever Iliya to his feet.
Another shot rings out, another cry of pain that falls eerily silent as Iliya and I move from our cover as quickly as we can and head for the cab. A shot rings out and hits the cement of another column just behind us, but I keep going, remaining a moving target instead of a still one.
More shots strike the bricks and pavement around us, and we’re almost to the cab as one buries itself in a wall to my right. I yank the door open, and Iliya all but tumbles inside. I’m about to follow when I hear someone shout behind me. I know it’s one of my traitorous men. I turn to find his gun trained directly on me in a way I can’t escape.
“I’m going to get a huge reward when I bring you both in,” the man grins as he aims.
The shot rings out, and I jerk, expecting pain. The other man wavers on his feet before pitching forward, blood already seeping out of a hole in his chest. Iliya is leaning out of the cab, a gun in his hand.
“Let’s go,” he gasps and disappears back into the cab’s interior, his face a creased mask of pain. As I get in and slam the door, I see the blood seeping through the bandage on his side.
“Go!” I roar, police sirens growing closer, the aftermath of our escape sliding past us as the terrified cab driver peels out, barreling toward the address I’ve given him.
27
LEAH
Achilling sensation is growing in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why. We’re with Marius. I have no reason not to trust him, but my gut tells me something is wrong. I don’t know if it’s the way Marius seems tense, or that we’re headed back to the city in a direction I don’t recognize. I don’t know if it’s the way the normally talkative man is quiet and keeps looking around him at the road we’re on, especially when we stop at lights. I keep reasoning with myself—it’s because he’s looking for whoever shot Iliya. Because he knows there are people after us. Because he’s worried about us and wants to keep us safe.
But that feeling in the pit of my stomach won’t go away.
“Can I call Viktor?” I ask. “I just want him to know we’re okay. I want to know what we’re supposed to do next.”
“Uncle’s busy right now,” Marius replies quickly in a monotone that seems at odds with the man I knew before. “He knows you’re safe because I texted him. He’s trusting me to take care of you, so you should trust me too.”
That imperative— “you should trust me”—gives me an uneasy feeling. Not “You know you can trust me.” Not “I’ll let you call when we get to our destination.” Not “Of course, you can call him. I know you want to hear his voice.”
I shift, looking at Suzie. My best friend is gazing out the window, one hand absently stroking Benji’s head. The big dog is lying across our feet, his head on Eliza’s lap. For some reason, even he looks uneasy. It must be the fact that we’re in this situation that has us all on edge.
None of us knows if Iliya is okay, if he’s dead or alive. I know that’s what Suzie’s thinking about. I can see the worry lines around her mouth, her eyes. She may be worried about us, about this whole situation, but I know she’s also concerned about Iliya. Part of me feels bad about taking her away, but she would be dead right now, too, and I can’t be without my best friend. I think Iliya would agree, whether he’s still with us or looking down on us.
“Where are we going?” I ask Marius, looking for something to ease my stomach.
“The safe house.”
A safe house?I ask myself, but not out loud, as I don’t want to scare Eliza.
I look around at the area we’ve driven into and realize I know this road. My grandpa used to work down here, and I know what it’s like. It’s a commercial district without houses. Nobody lives here, unless there’s been an urban renewal project in the years that have passed. It’s a possibility, but I don’t see anything resembling a house.
It becomes less of a possibility the farther we go because I see it hasn’t changed. No warehouses have become million-dollar lofts, no apartments in the boarded-up stores that were failing even when I was a kid. No artists in residence occupy the old warehouses, most of which appear to be vacant.
Suzie must be noticing the same thing I am, because she slyly looks over at me, frowning, her blue eyes questioning.
“Can we pick up a few things for Eliza to do when we’re at the safe house?” I ask Marius.
“She’ll be fine.” His response is short, clipped, and devoid of emotion. It cuts off any possible conversation, and I shut my mouth.
What is going on?Suzie mouths to me, and I shake my head slightly because I know Marius can see us in the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking up to us every so often.
The pit in the center of my stomach is growing into anxiety that twists into nausea, sweaty palms, and an urge to start screaming.
Would anyone hear us? There are still cars around, of course; we’re in New York, but would any of them stop to help us? When we pull up to the next light, I try the door handle, pulling on it quietly and gently, only to find the child lock is on. I can’t get out, nor can I roll down the window.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I casually put my arm around Eliza’s shoulders. She’s been silent and still the entire drive. I’m worried about what she saw. It’s hard enough for me, much less my seven-year-old, who’s been through enough.
