Drawing my gun, I sprint behind Yulian and tap his shoulder. “I’ll cover you.”
His gaze shifts back toward me as he stops, his muscles bulging against the jacket as he breathes harshly, then forces out a grin. “No need. I have to find Alya. You should go to your parents.”
“They’ll be fine. They’re both snipers, ex-spetsnaz, and shoot way better than I do, so they don’t need me.”But you do.
I stop myself before I say the last bit.
It doesn’t matter whether or not my parents need me. Part of our protocol in case of emergency is to gather at emergency exit five, which is where I should be heading.
But I can’t just walk away from Yulian.
Not now.
He had this terrified expression when the gunshots first echoed around us. I know for a fact that he’s not afraid of attacks. I saw him being detached to the point of recklessness when he was bleeding on that mountain while shooting people left and right.
But now with his sister involved, his composure falters.
Yulian slows down and stares at me, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, probably thinking about the best way to make me leave.
He releases his lip. “You should still go.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.” I hit my shoulder against his as I bypass him. “You do the covering.”
“Mishka…” He falls in step beside me. “You must have some sort of an emergency protocol. If you don’t go, your parents will be worried.”
I purse my lips, but I don’t acknowledge his words. “Follow me. I memorized the layout of this place. The musicians’ dressing room should be on the eastern side. We have to go through the event hall to access it.”
He releases a long sigh. “You’re so damn stubborn.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I flash him a smile.
His lips part before he clears his throat and turns around so that he’s facing the other way, his gun pointed toward any threat that might appear behind us.
As we reach the main hall, the sharp cracks intensify, muffled by the heavy velvet drapes and the noises of chaos.
They get louder and louder, echoing off the high coffered ceiling, drawing a ripple through the crowd—gasps, scraping chairs, champagne flutes shattering against marble.
It’s full-blown chaos.
The choreographed elegance I left not long ago has unraveled into something primal. Screams pierce the orchestral silence, and bodies jolt into motion, scattering in every direction.
My instincts kick in before my mind does—my eyes sweeping the space, tracking exits, estimating shooter positions from sound, motion, and the direction of broken glass.
A strong hand wraps around my shoulder, and Yulian pulls me with him behind a towering marble sculpture.
I stare at his hand on my shoulder, feeling the weight and getting overwhelmed by his scent. It sears through me—his smell, his touch, the way he acts so familiar even when he was mad at me not long ago.
Another bullet whistles past, splintering a pillar inches to our right. He crouches beside me, his breathing rapid but his eyes sharp, his suit rumpled and damp with sweat. The edge of his sleeve is darkened?—
I grab on to his arm, where the jacket is slashed, and a line of red appears. “You’re hit.”
He glances down, shrugs, and flashes me that maddening grin. “It’s just a scratch. You good?”
I nod, but the tension in my shoulders intensifies and my jaw clenches.
My chest is so tight, I’m not sure what the fuck is wrong with me.
But again, I don’t have time to think about it.
