Page 138 of Inked in Devotion

“Pfft, always under construction,” Dimitri scoffed, voicing my concerns. It was illegal to fly a drone in the city. We depended on hacked surveillance cameras.

The words had barely left his mouth when a commercial truck backed out of a garage bay, swerved, and blocked our path.

I blasted the horn, jaw clenching when another truck blocked us behind Lev’s SUV.

“Get ready, Dima,” I said.

“Finally,” my cousin muttered. “Some action.”

“Chloe?”

“I’m ready.”

I hated how her voice shook on those two words. I couldn’t second-guess my decision to make the run for Marriage Ink.

The gates of the commercial vehicle lifted, and three men started firing their automatic weapons, spraying lead all over our vehicle.

The deafening roar drowned out our communication. The windshield of the Escalade spider-cracked at the onslaught.

Lev and the bratva soldiers were already firing back. Firing high.

I shoved open my door and used it as a shield just as the windshield shattered.

“Get her behind the car!” Dimitri yelled.

Bullets continued to fly. I unloaded at the assailant who appeared beside the truck before I opened Chloe’s door to drag her behind the SUV.

I quickly checked her over. “You all right?”

She managed a squeaked yes. Her pupils were dilated; her eyes were wide. Mouth trembling. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine; she was trying to be brave. I gripped her hands. “I’ve got you, baby. We have a block and a half.”

There was a momentary lull. Then a burst of brass.

“Petrov, tell your man to stop blasting at friendlies,” an annoyed shout echoed through the comms.

I peered behind the SUV. A man in a mask lifted his covering. Dom De Lucci.

Lev was still firing at the attackers who had cornered us from behind.

“Dimitri, they’re on our side.”

Firing from my cousin ceased, though a begrudging huff lifted and lowered his shoulders.

“Follow Dom and his team,” Trevor said. “They’ll be your escort to Margo’s building.”

I hauled Chloe up. “Stay behind me, okay? Dimitri.”

My cousin nodded and covered our backs.

We followed De Lucci’s team and crossed 2nd Avenue.

“FYI, you have three minutes before the cops show up,” Trevor warned.

“Fuck.” No one was going to throw the bunch of us in jail and prevent me from marrying Chloe. As the Marriage Ink entrance came into view, every cord of muscle tightened.

“Motorcycles,” Trevor informed us. “Three bikes, double riders in formation.”