Page 111 of Feral King

On FDR, being followed.

Just then, I hear a disruption on the other side of the room where Ethan had been hit. I look over to see multiple guards surrounding him, helping him to his feet.

Shocked, I rush over.

“I thought you were dead,” I tell him as tears sting my eyes. I’m relieved beyond belief.

“So did I,” he replies with a raspy voice and a chuckle that turns into a cough. The bodyguards hold him up by his arms, and I can see he is relying on their strength to stay upright.

He grins at me, then pulls down his shirt. “I remembered the Kevlar,” he says.

“You son of a bitch,” I reply with a wide grin of my own.

After making sure he is stable, I leave him with the bodyguards, giving them instructions to take him to the hospital to get checked out.

I step over debris and shell casings, moving through the narrow front corridor with caution until I’m outside.

The rain is coming down in sheets now. The Brighton Beach street is devoid of life. The Bratva is in pieces, half of the syndicate wiped out in mere moments.

But I don’t give a damn about any of it right now.

Lyra. The baby. Misha’s silence.That’s all I care about.

I’ve never been more afraid in my life.

I get in my car and drive.

CHAPTER 41

LYRA

Icome back to consciousness slowly and painfully, my head pounding, the world reassembling itself in fragments.

Everything is blurry. Everything aches. My shoulder, especially.

The concrete floor is cold and rough against my cheek. My wrists are bound behind my back with zip ties tight enough to bite into the skin. I struggle against them but quickly realize it’s no use.

I can taste blood along with a weird chemical tinge that reminds me of the smell of the airbag. And my shoulder… damn. I’m able to roll it, which means it’s not broken, but it aches like hell.

I try to remember the sequence of events, but everything is so goddamn hazy.

The gunshot. The horn blaring.

Misha.

I remember a gloved hand reaching in and grabbing him.

My stomach turns as I realize I have no idea if he’s alive or dead. Tears form in my eyes, and I force myself to breathe.

The baby.

Panic rises in me. I try to place my hand on my stomach, as I’ve done so many times before, but I can’t. I struggle against the ties again, desperate to see if I can somehow feel the baby inside of me, confirm that it’s still alive.

I moan in agony, sobbing.

My baby.

I don’t feel any pain in my stomach, but I don’t know if that means anything.