I shove off him and pat down his body, searching for weapons. The only thing I find is a knife strapped to his ankle. A pistol would have been much more helpful, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Dinara? Katya?”
I roll away, gasping. Praying like hell that they’re okay. That I’m not too late to save them from the war erupting around us.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
DINARA
I bracemyself for the worst when the lights die and the world goes pitch black. Everything stops. A beat of silence passes before gunfire erupts.
Muzzle flashes strobe through the darkness like a fucked-up lightning storm, illuminating bodies in brief snapshots. Shouting, boots pounding concrete, and the sharp crack of return fire come from multiple directions.
My heart slams against my ribs because I can’t see Kirill. I can’t tell if he’s safe or bleeding out on the floor.
I spit the wet, heavy cloth from my mouth, the metallic taste of blood and salt coating my tongue as I gasp for air.
“Katya?” I hiss into the darkness.
A choked sob answers me from a few feet away. She’s terrified, probably frozen in place, but we can’t stay here.
“Katya, knock your chair over.” I raise my voice enough to be heard. “Get on the ground. We need to stay low.”
I throw my weight sideways, tipping the chair hard. It crashes down and the impact rattles through my now throbbingshoulder, but at least now I’m horizontal, harder to hit if bullets start flying our direction.
My wrists are screaming where the ropes dig in, and my mouth tastes like copper, but I am trained for worse than this.
Another sob, then the clatter of wood hitting concrete tells me she followed suit.
The gunfire is relentless. This isn’t random chaos—it’s a coordinated attack. Either our savior or our demise.
I rock my body, using my core and shoulders to inch across the concrete toward where Katya’s breathing comes in sharp, panicked gasps. Every movement sends pain shooting through my shoulders but I don’t stop until my chair bumps hers.
“Listen to me,” I say, keeping my voice low despite the chaos. “Curl into yourself as small as you can. Keep your head tucked and don’t move unless I tell you to.”
She whimpers but I feel her body shift, pulling tighter.
The warehouse is a wall of noise: shouting, gunfire, and the thud of bodies dropping. I strain to pick out Kirill’s voice, some sign he’s still alive, but it’s impossible.
Smoke stings my eyes, and the metallic stench of blood coats the back of my throat as my panic spikes.
Then, through the madness, I hear, “Dinara? Katya?”
“Here! We’re here,” I shout back, breathless.
A few seconds later his hands are fumbling at my wrists, rough and shaking.
“Hold still,” he mutters. “I’m going to cut you free.”
I feel him sawing through the ropes. The moment my wrists come undone, I gasp, bringing my arms forward and flexing my fingers despite the pins-and-needles burn.
He releases my ankles next. Then his hands travel over me quickly, checking for injuries, patting down my sides and arms. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I rasp. “Are you?”
“Just dandy,” he husks out before his lips crash against mine, the kiss hard and desperate and brief.
