Page 119 of Gunnar

I hear Gunnar say my name, but he didn’t speak aloud. It’s like his voice was inside my head.

Yes?

I imagine the word vividly.

Are you okay?

I’m fine, I reply in my head. Just trust me.

I do.

I take another step.

The man’s smile broadens.

“I told you I would find you.” His accent is thick, the words heavy.

I lift my chin. “Well, surprise—I found you first.”

His smile falters.

Then he moves.

He lunges for me, arms locking around my waist, dragging me in.

“Pashli!” he snaps.

I yelp as he hauls me off my feet, pulling me toward the car.

Orson moves before anyone else does. He slams into him, grabbing for his arm, trying to wrench me free. “Let her go!”

I feel my abductor go still. Then he snorts out a laugh.

He snaps something—Razberites s nim.

I don’t need to speak Russian to grasp his meaning: deal with him.

There’s a shot.

Orson’s body jolts like he’s been yanked on a wire.

He staggers, then his grip slips and he drops, hitting the ground hard.

For a split second, everything freezes.

I don’t think.

I twist, wrench one arm free.

My hand comes up from my side⁠—

Holding the gun.

I fire at one of the henchmen.

The shot blows the man’s head back.

He drops.