36
IVAN
The explosion is bigger than I expected.
I peek over the concrete half-wall I took cover behind and see the double doors from the patio to the house are now blown out. Alexander McAllister is looking into his backyard to the smoldering motorcycle parts laying in his singed grass.
“Rooster really knows how to rig a bomb,” Yasha remarks.
“I hope he can fight half as well,” I add as McAllister’s security guards flood the backyard.
I catch a glimpse of white through the shattered door frame. Is that Cora? I don’t have time to find out before Yasha and I are surrounded by guards.
Yasha takes out a guard in front of him with a single shot to the head. Then he ducks, lands a blow to another guard’s stomach, and presses his gun to the man’s neck.
The men in front of me hesitate, wondering whether they should focus on me or help their colleagues. I quickly solve the dilemma for them. I fire two weapons at once, bringing both men to their knees.
“Keep moving. I’ll finish them,” Yasha barks.
So much for sneaking in and out without bloodshed.
We carve a path to the back of Alexander’s house. Rooster has a team watching the front of the house to make sure Mikhail can’t escape with Cora and I have my own contingent flanking the sides of the property.
My only goal is to get inside and find Cora.
But there are more guards than we bargained for and the going is slow. Luckily, they aren’t heavily armed. They probably didn’t expect much of a fight in the middle of the night.
That was their mistake.
I fire wildly to keep them at bay. One by one, they start to topple and die.
Distantly, I hear another loud boom. Rolling the motorcycle bomb into Alexander’s backyard had been Rooster’s idea. The man was practically giddy when he suggested it.
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to use my invention,” he said. “This is it. Let me try.”
When I agreed, his wife, Legs, rolled her eyes. “I swear, he won’t be happy until he dies in a fiery blaze.”
Based on the whoop of celebration I hear coming from the front of the house, she isn’t so far off.
A new wave of guards come sprinting around the side of the house. I hear Yasha curse behind me. This might really be it. We can’t fight all of these men alone.
Then I realize why they are running.
A motorcycle engine roars around the house, and I see Rooster driving while Legs sits behind him holding… holy shit, she’s throwing Molotov cocktails. Behind them, a guard is rolling in the grass to put out the flames engulfing his body.
“They are fucking crazy,” Yasha laughs. He’s panting and bloody, but he pushes me towards the patio. “Go get your girl. We’ve got it out here.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I sprint for the patio and then slow down as I approach the blown-out doors. We have the exterior handled, but what’s going on inside is a mystery. The maid I hired as a spy was fired for trying to gain access to the interior cameras. Mikhail could be holding Cora hostage. Maybe she’s already…
No.
I’m going to find her. Alive.
I step through the door gun first. Glass crunches under my boot. It’s wild how much quieter it is inside. I can still hear Legs screaming and the whine of the motorcycle, but it’s muffled and far away. My senses have narrowed in on the space in front of me. On the only goal that matters.
Then I see it.
A glimpse of white lace from behind the sofa.
“Cora.” I speak her name without thinking. It’s a reflex. She’s here. She’s moving.
She peeks around the back of the couch, eyes wide. “Ivan?”
It’s really her. She’s alive. She’s here. I have her.
Then her voice cracks. “Ivan, watch—”
A guard jumps in front of me with a battle cry, cutting off Cora’s warning.
He isn’t large or particularly skilled, but he has the advantage of surprise. I should have cleared the room first, but I was so set on getting to her.
Now, he is too close for me to safely take a shot. Especially with Cora in the room. I haven’t come this far just to let her get taken out by a stray bullet.
The man charges me back into the fireplace. The hard edge of the stone cuts into my spine.
I use the moment to holster my second gun, freeing up one hand. Then I launch myself at the mudak.
He focuses on securing my gun hand, holding it back above my head while I kick out at him. The heel of my boot connects with his ribs and I hear a satisfying crack. He cries out and twists my wrist. Pain flares, but I’m able to get out of his hold before anything is broken, spinning around so I can drive a knee into his stomach.
He groans and drapes a heavy arm around my back. We grapple with each other, jockeying for control. Twice, I could shoot him, but knowing Cora is right behind keeps my trigger finger steady. I won’t risk hurting her.
Not when we’re this fucking close to the end.
Finally, I get the man back on the couch, but he still has my body pinned in with his arm. I have the upper hand, but only barely. And if I don’t get Cora out of here soon, there’s no telling what could happen to the battle outside. More guards could be in this room any second and that would be it. Game over.
I roar and drive an elbow down into the man’s throat. He gasps and starts to choke, but his grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. He holds me harder, struggling for air.
Just as he starts to breathe normally again, an angel rises over his right shoulder. I don’t even have time to look up before there’s a flash of white… and then a wooden handle is protruding from the guard’s neck.
His eyes go wide. Then they go blank. Then, pulse by pulse, they close.
Blood pours from the wound, staining the beige sofa beneath him. When he finally lets me go, I’m not willing to take any chances. I press the gun to his forehead and pull the trigger to put this dog down forever.
Only when his eyes roll back in his head and his limbs go limp do I finally look up.
Cora is standing next to the couch, her hair falling around her face and blood splattered on her dress.
“Beautiful,” I breathe. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
She blinks and then looks down at herself. Her mouth tips into a half-smile that wobbles and disappears again. She’s proud, terrified, stunned—too many things at once. I cross the distance between us in one step and haul her into my arms.
I need her weight against my chest. Her breath against my neck. I need to hold her and convince myself that this is real. She is with me.
“Time to get you home.”
She can’t even speak. She just nestles her head into the side of my neck and nods.
So, with her bloodstained veil dragging on the floor behind us, I carry Cora out of Alexander McAllister’s house and into the night.