Page 88 of Marked By the Mob

Blood. I’m bleeding.

Krystal’s scream cuts through the ringing in my ears. I see her drop to her knees beside me, her hands pressing against my shoulder. The pressure sends another wave of agony through me, and I gasp.

“Emma! Oh god, Emma, stay with me!”

I try to focus on her face, but everything is spinning. Another shot rings out, and the window behind us shatters.

Someone is shooting at us. At me.

My thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. I need to move. Need to find cover. Need to…

Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. Krystal’s voice grows distant and muffled, like she’s underwater.

The last thing I see before everything goes black is her terrified face hovering above mine, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Then nothing.

37

RURIK

I watch Emma through my binoculars from behind a cluster of trees. She sits at a table in the far back of the cafe, her dark hair pulled back in that practical braid she favors. Krystal arrives exactly on time, wearing a light blue dress that makes her look innocent and harmless. They talk quietly, heads close together.

My radio crackles. Eduard’s voice comes through low. “Movement on the east side. White sedan, tinted windows. Engine running.”

Fuck. My instincts scream a warning.

Artur’s voice follows. “Black SUV, north entrance. Two occupants.”

I’m about to signal Emma to abort when the shot cracks through the afternoon air.

Glass shatters and Emma jerks sideways off the chair. She hits the ground hard, her body crumpling and my heart stops beating.

Everything slows down. The world narrows to that single point where Emma lies motionless. Krystal drops to the floor next to her. Fear unlike anything I’ve ever known crashes through me, paralyzing every muscle in my body for one terrible heartbeat.

Then training kicks in.

I’m moving before conscious thought catches up, my legs eating up the distance between us. Eduard and Artur are running too, converging from different directions. My hand goes to the weapon concealed beneath my jacket, my eyes scanning for the shooter even as my entire focus remains locked on Emma’s still form.

Please be alive. Please be alive. Please be fucking alive.

Krystal is on her knees beside Emma, her hands pressed against Emma’s shoulder. Blood stains her light blue dress, bright red against the pale fabric. She’s screaming something I can’t hear over the roaring in my ears.

I reach them first, dropping to my knees beside Emma. My hands move automatically, checking for the wound, assessing the damage. Blood soaks through her sweater near her left shoulder, but she’s breathing. Her gray-green eyes are open, focused on my face.

“I’m fine,” she gasps, trying to sit up. “It’s just a graze.”

Relief floods through me so intense it makes my hands shake. Just a graze. Not a kill shot. Not a through-and-through that hit something vital. Just a fucking graze.

But someone shot at her. Someone tried to kill her. The fear transforms into rage so pure it burns.

Eduard reaches us seconds later, his gray eyes assessing the wound with practiced efficiency. “We need to move.”

Artur is already scanning the area, his weapon drawn, searching for threats. “Clear on the west side.”

I lift Emma into my arms, ignoring her protests. She’s light, too light, and the blood soaking through her sweater makes my stomach twist. Eduard and Artur position themselves on either side of us, their bodies forming a shield as we move quickly toward the SUV.

Krystal tries to follow, but one of my captains intercepts her. She struggles against his grip, her hazel eyes wide with panic.