At the door, I slip the broken edge of the hook under one of the screws, put my foot against the wall for leverage, and pull with all my strength. At first, nothing, but then… something cracks.
“Yes!”
The hinge starts to loosen. I pull and pull, wood splintering, and finally it comes off, wood shrapnel flying along with it. The door opens just a bit, enough to wedge my body in and press. That does it. One more hinge splits, then the last. The door comes out of the frame and lands with athud.
I’m free.
A little victory yelp bursts from me, but more gunfire from above reminds me this is far from over.
I run up the stairs, heart hammering, gun smoke stinging my eyes. The sound of gunfire is deafening now. I make my way to the second floor of the warehouse, positioning myself to see the battle.
Roman’s men move with precision while Garin’s guys scatter in panic. Orange muzzle flashes light up everywhere. It’s hardly a war—Roman’s men are destroying them.
I finally see him amongst the others. His black suit is torn at the shoulder, a bulletproof vest worn underneath, rifle in hand. He’s flanked by two of his men, the three of them taking cover behind a stack of metal crates. He appears calm. Almost terrifyingly so.
As if he can sense my presence, Roman’s head snaps in my direction. Surprise, then relief, then anger flicker across his face.
“Amalie! Get back!”
Garin bursts from cover on the opposite side of the room, eyes wild, face slick with sweat. He sees me and grins like a cornered animal ready to do as much damage as he can on the way out.
“There you are,” he says. He raises his gun at me.
Time stops. I hear myself scream. A shot cracks through the air. I flinch, waiting for pain that never comes.
I open my eyes slowly to see Garin staggering, his face ashen, eyes staring straight ahead. Roman stands nearby, smoke swirling from the end of his rifle. Garin drops to his knees and lands face-first onto the cold concrete floor, gun falling from his hand.
Silence falls across the warehouse.
Moments later, sirens sound out, blue and red lights flashing through the shattered windows. The rest of Garin’s men throw down their weapons and try to flee. I have a feeling they won’t get far.
Roman rushes toward me and pulls me into his arms.
“Thank God. You are alive.”
“So are you.”
We’re both shaking. He pulls back, hands on my face, checking, searching, breathing me in like he’s trying to prove to himself I’m really alright.
“I thought,” he says, his voice breaking just a bit. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never.”
Over his shoulder I spot a familiar face: Max. He’s on the edge of the chaos, pale, panicked, and trying to slip away while everyone else is focused on Garin’s body. He breaks out into a run.
Kyle barrels in seconds later, uniformed officers at his side, weapons raised. We lock eyes, relief washing over him.
“Jesus, Am,”he mutters as he approaches.
I don’t let go of Roman.
“It’s over,” Kyle says, taking in the scene.
I look up at Roman, searching his face. “Sasha?”
He exhales. “He’s safe. Andrei has him. Back at the mansion.”
My legs give out.
