Sloane sways, her knees dipping, and I would tear apart heaven and hell to get her off that fucking stage right now.
“One million,” the emcee calls. “Do I hear one point one?”
My gaze returns to the idiot who apparently wants to die tonight. “One point five.”
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.
“Last chance,” I tell him. “You should stop now. It’s in your best interest.”
His paddle lowers a fraction, his eyes sliding back to Sloane, taking in the way she’s shaking, the way her chest rises and falls too fast.
I almost think he might listen.
I’m wrong.
“Two million,” he calls, and the edges of my vision darken.
“I warned you.”
The room goes silent, and my hand is inside my jacket before anyone understands what’s happening.
Until the shot cracks through the room, bouncing off the walls.
His head snaps back as the bullet hits between his eyes, mask shattering as his body drops bonelessly to the floor. The woman beside him screams as blood sprays across her face, chairs scraping and panic rippling through the crowd as voices rise all around us.
But I ignore all of that, moving toward Sloane, who’s barely able to stand upright, swaying like her body hasn’t caught up to what just happened. She gapes down at the man bleeding out, then lifts her gaze to me, eyes wide and horrified even through the mask.
Then Aleksei appears, clasping my back as he laughs. “You’re even crazier than me.”
I push off of him, heading for the stage. He calls after me over the chaos.
“Konstantin will hate this mess! You know that, right?”
“Ask me if I give a shit.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SLOANE
He found me.
Hope floods my system at the knowledge that there’s no way he’ll let me go home with anyone else.
Minutes crawl by while I stand under the lights, every second stretching thin, my body locked tight as I wait for it to be over.
When the man in the blue mask calls two million, my vision tilts. I wait for Kirill to bid higher. I need him to. But he doesn’t lift his paddle. Instead, his hand slides into his jacket.
“I warned you,” he says.
The room freezes around his words. Even the music seems farther away, like it’s muffled.
Right before the gun goes off. The sound splits the room and goes straight through me. I jerk back on instinct, feet skidding, and my stomach drops as the man collapses.
For a second, my mind won’t accept it, even as the blood spreads and the man lies there without moving. My stomach lurches, my skin going cold all at once, like my body is trying to pull away from what my eyes are forcing me to see.
He’s…he’s dead.
Oh my God. Kirill just killed someone. In front of everybody. Without a second of hesitation or regret.
