The world fades into the background—the shouting, the gunfire in the distance, my men securing the building.
None of it matters right now.
I focus only on her.
She’s alive.
That’s the only fact that matters.
“She’s gone.”
Timofey’s voice cuts through the haze as he steps into the room, scanning the aftermath of the fight.
“It seems there’s a hidden passage she used to escape,” he continues, frustration sharp in his tone. “We can’t find her. I—” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to my side. “Fuck. You’ve been shot.”
He moves toward me quickly, already reaching for the wound.
I lift a hand weakly and shove his arm away.
“Don’t worry about me,” I mutter.
“Mike—”
“Take care of Ellie,” I cut in, my voice rough but firm. “Get her in the car. Now.”
Ellie stiffens beside me.
“I’m not getting into the car without you,” she snaps immediately.
Her hand tightens around mine.
“You need a hospital, Mike,” she insists, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Timofey hesitates, clearly torn.
I try to push myself up, but the world tilts violently.
Darkness flickers at the edges of my vision.
“Mike,” Timofey says quietly. “We’re moving. Now.”
Strong arms lift me before I can argue.
The room spins as my men carry me out of the warehouse.
I barely register the cold night air hitting my face.
Barely hear the doors of the vehicles opening.
Someone is shouting orders.
Someone else is calling ahead, telling the family doctor I’ve been shot and he should head to the estate now.
Everything feels distant.
Blurred.
I’m lowered into the backseat of a car.
