And leverage is dangerous.
I tighten my grip on the leather armrest.
No one touches what’s mine.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
The sedan ahead swerves slightly, its movements precise, but panicked.
Good. Fear makes mistakes.
I glance at Sergei, reading the tension in his posture. “Stay behind. Don’t let them know we’re on to them. Give them time.”
He nods, hands steady on the wheel.
I’m right.
The car turns sharply into an industrial district—abandoned warehouses, cracked asphalt, flickering streetlights. Bad choice.
I nod at Sergei. “Now!”
He slams the SUV into the side of their sedan.
Metal screeches. Tires spin. The black car careens, slamming into a light pole. Glass shatters. Sparks fly.
The engine dies.
Perfect.
Before the men can fully recover, I’m out. Gun in hand. Every step calculated.
The first man stumbles from the driver’s seat. I don’t hesitate.
One shot. Between the eyes. Clean. Instant.
He drops like a ragdoll. Silence, except for the wind and distant city hum.
The second man moves faster.
He reaches for Ellie, crumpled in the backseat. Clothes wrinkled, hair messy, eyes wide and disoriented.
My blood boils.
Ellie is the most organized person I know. Clothes always perfectly pressed. Hair always neatly styled. Chin always up. Always precise.
And now? She’s terrified.
These men stressed her. Pushed her into chaos.
As the second guy grabs her wrist, I snap it backward without hesitation.
A sharp crack fills the air.
He screams and drops to the pavement, clutching it like a child.
A third man moves to flee.
