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I take the moment to limp to another car, this one, fully intact.
I grip the handle just before more bullets slam into the window, missing me and turning the glass into a spiderweb of cracks. I hurriedly step back, narrowly evading being littered with shards of sharp glass. Ivan and several other men in my private detail fire relentlessly on our attackers.
Some of them yell. One or two simply fall.
Yet as quickly as some of them are hit, more just take their place.
“We need to take one of these cars!” Ivan shouts above the din.
I merely grunt, limping as I try to move faster. In a rush, the former soldier hurls his burly body in front of me, shielding me from another barrage of bullets, and pushes me against a cold, concrete wall.
I groan, holding my injured side.
“Ivan, get the fuck out of my way,” I hiss.
While it amazes me that my friend seems unfazed by the pain or imminent death, I can’t let him sacrifice himself.
Ivan struggles to keep up with me, but nothing will stop me from getting away from the gunfire. We’re playing a deadly game of chase, and I’m going to win, even if I’m terribly injured. My head’s thrumming with pain, the beginnings of a massive headache threatening to incapacitate my wits.
“Nikolai, what the fuck?” Ivan yells.
Despite the danger, I stop momentarily, giving him time to catch up to me.
“We should get in touch with the pilot,” I say. “We need the helicopter back. Now.”
“No, it’s too big of a target,” Ivan replies. “We should take a car and put some distance between us and the attackers.”
The only thing we have going for us is that the other men didn’t kill us yet. They seem hellbent on assassinating me.
“That one,” I grunt and start half-running, half-limping toward an old pickup truck.
I don’t have the time to check if Ivan is still with me. Judging by the sound of steps, he’s right behind, close enough for me to know he’s still okay.
I reach the car in record time.
As soon as my hands grab the door’s handle, my eyes catch a glimpse of the attackers. One of them meets my icy glare and ducks.
“Now,” Ivan yells and pushes me inside the cab.
A flock of gunshots blasts through the driver’s window. Taking a peek at our assailants, I reach over Ivan’s seat and grip the steering wheel. He fumbles with the the ignition. I aim my gun at the masked men and empty the barrel on them. Ivan uses the distraction to short-circuit the ignition wires, and the engine roars to life. He doesn’t bother putting on the safety belt before stepping on the gas.
Immediately, the car propels forward.
When my head hits the backrest, I let the adrenaline in my system do its job. It is the only thing keeping me sane in this situation, aside from making sure that I don’t lose consciousness.
When we are far away from the site, my body begins to relax. It also takes my mind to one particular thought that won’t let go in my head.
Someone is out for my blood.
“Let’s go home,” I tell Ivan, knowing that’s where I will find answers.
EIGHT
KATARINA
“My beautiful girl is all grown up,” my mother says with a fond smile. “You’re going to break a lot of hearts.”
I snort. “I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”
