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I pressed myself against the wall as hard as I could, hoping they didn’t look down.
A series of shots rang out.
One of the men fell, blood and chunks of hair splattering across the tile.
Between the smell of blood and gunpowder and my own fucking nerves, my stomach lurched. I covered my mouth and tried not to make a sound when all I wanted to do was retch.
The second gunman ducked behind a counter, exchanging shots with whoever was shooting from the hallway. When his opponent paused, he lunged to the side and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. He pulled the trigger again and once again it clicked.
A moment later, a figure launched themselves across the room and tackled the shooter. They wrestled on the other side of the table, over what I couldn’t see. Probably a gun. From the flash of dark hair and tattoos I spied between the costumes, I hoped it was Sasha.
A slicing sound was followed by a wet gurgle. The gunman stopped moving, except for the occasional twitch of his foot. His attacker stood slowly, wiping his bloody knife on his pant leg. When he turned, a surge of disappointment shot through me.
It still wasn’t Sasha.
It was Valery.
Someone barked something from the hallway in Russian and he answered, kicking the dead man’s boot.
But I knew that bark. I’d never loved that bark more in my entire life. Fuck Rule #2.
Shoving the costume rack to the side, I sprang to my feet. I suppose I should have been concerned Valery might shoot me, but it was honestly the last thing on my mind. My vision narrowed down to one thing and one thing only — Sasha.
Valery shouted something as I burst out of my hiding spot and sprinted toward the door.
Sasha was in the hallway, blood dripping down his right arm. His gun was in his left hand and it was equally bloody, like he’d bashed it against someone’s head. Repeatedly. I didn’t care. I launched myself at him and wrapped my arms around his neck. I would have climbed him like a fucking monkey if he wasn’t already injured.
He hugged me with his left arm, bloody gun and all, and exhaled. “Thank God.”
“What happened?” I pushed away so I could look at his right arm. The answer was obvious up close — he’d been shot. Blood oozed out of the front and back of his arm, leaving red streaks down his skin.
“It’s nothing.” He wrapped his left arm around my neck and pulled me against him, nuzzling the side of my neck. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
Valery said something behind us, but I couldn’t make out what it was. All I heard was ‘Sergei.’
Sasha picked his head up and snapped back in Russian, his arm tightening and pulling me even closer, if it was possible. I couldn’t see what sort of staring contest the two were having, but after a minute of it Valery stomped off in the other direction, leaving us alone.
“Who are these people?” I asked quietly. “What did they want?”
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, resting his forehead against mine. “They’re all dead.”
“That didn’t answer the question.”
“We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get out of here.”
“Did you find Ilya?” When he didn’t answer, I pulled back and frowned up at him.
He shook his head, leaving me with a cold feeling of dread. Did that mean he didn’t? Or did that mean he did, and Ilya was dead?
After he swapped the magazines in his gun, we made our way back toward the stage. Valery and a couple other guys I’d never seen before were there, dragging bodies into a pile. Bad guys and good guys alike.
Kelly, Feodor’s PA.
Michael, the head of set construction.
And Samuel.
They were all dead.
