“Okay. Grab whatever you can and get out. Go to that address. As I said, they know you’re coming. Call me when you get there.”
The call disconnects and I take a deep breath, adjusting the bag of groceries biting into my arm and praying her husband doesn’t come home early.
I send the woman at the shelter a text to let her know my client is coming. I’ve already forwarded her the information to fast-track her intake.
It’s true I want to get back at Samson, but this is the real reason I’m taking money from Matvei. Because if I can open my own law firm, one that doesn’t exist on charity, I can hire a full-time staff to protect my clients. The Russian bear that is Evgeny comes to mind, and I wonder if I’ll be able to entice any of Matvei’s men into my service. All above board, of course. I’m not taking charity from the Russian mob that will come back to bite me in the ass someday.
But I can’t think of anyone better to protect my clients.
I vet the people who volunteer with us as best I can, but I don’t have the kind of connections Matvei does.
I text my boss to let him know my client is on her way to the shelter, nearly dropping my groceries when a sharp crack splits the air, shattering the window next to where I’m standing.
My feet are in motion before my mind catches up.
Screams erupt all around—mine included—as people scramble to get out of the way. Another shot rings out, and more glass shatters behind me. Someone runs into me and I go flying, landing hard and skinning my knees, probably shredding my skirt along with my skin. Apples and a bottle of salad dressing scatter across the pavement.
Get up! I scream at myself internally.Get up, get up, get up.My purse is on the ground, but I leave it as I struggle to get up, the grocery bag knocking painfully into my thigh. I spot a nearby trashcan and duck behind it for cover.
Another shot rings out and hits the brick above my head, sending debris flying.
Suddenly, arms wrap around my waist and pull me up. I scream, thrash, and claw, but I am no match for the man who’s grabbed me.
“Knock it off!” a voice snaps in my ear. “I’m trying to save you.”
The voice is familiar enough that I stop struggling for a moment. I glance back to find myself in Evgeny’s grasp.
The big man shields me and rushes me down the sidewalk to a waiting car. Matvei is standing next to it, his expression so cold it could’ve been carved from ice. I’m not sure what I’m more terrified of—the fact that someone is shooting or the implacable expression devoid of humanity on Matvei’s face.
Everyone has disappeared from the sidewalk, and the police sirens grow closer by the second. All three of us turn at the sound of running feet as someone dressed all in black darts outfrom the shadows of an alley, running full tilt in the opposite direction.
I watch in horror as Matvei raises his arm, aiming a gun with a silencer, and pulls the trigger. I hear a small sound before a spray of blood and brain matter explodes from the back of the man’s head. He drops to the cold concrete, dead instantly.
I can’t scream. I can’t move, I can’t even breathe. I can only stand there staring at the blood and gore on the sidewalk, at the way the back of the man’s skull was blown away by Matvei’s unerring aim and direct hit.
Matvei curls his hand around my arm, pulling me toward the car. “Get in,” he snarls as he shoves me inside. He gets in after me and slams the door shut.
Evgeny slides into the front seat, gunning the engine and speeding away so fast I fall against the door and bang my forehead. The wheels squeal as he turns a wild corner, causing me to fall the other way, right against Matvei. His arm automatically goes around me, holding me steady, as he talks in rapid Russian to Evgeny.
There’s too much going on, the dark streets passing by the window in a blur, and I can still hear the shots ringing through my head. But all I can think about is my phone.
“Wait! I need my phone! Where’s my phone?”
The Russian stops instantly. Matvei turns to me, an incredulous expression on his face. “Your phone?”
“My client has to be able to get a hold of me! I have to find my phone!” I say in a panic-stricken state, near tears.
His eyes are enormous, the pupils dilated so much they’re almost black. “You’re worrying about a client when someone is trying to kill you?”
“Kill me?” I choke.
“Don’t you get it?Youwere the target.” Matvei’s snarl is as savage as the look in his eyes.
Bile suddenly rises, and I grab for my bag of groceries, heaving up everything I’ve eaten all day until my throat is raw.
Evgeny mutters something in Russian from the front seat.
“He says he has your phone and your purse.” Though the words are clipped with frustration, Matvei is oddly gentle as he takes my handbag and purse from Evgeny before reaching around and buckling me in. I’m grateful for the gesture, no longer pitching back and forth as the sedan flies down the street. The rest of the drive is silent.
