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She knows I'm lying.
Something could be wrong with my baby... the idea haunts me, the cold claws of death playing with my mind. As we leave the room, I run my hand anxiously in circles over my belly, over the spot the pain occurred. Each step tugs at my innards. Never mind running, walking is a challenge. But I have to push the agony aside.
Arsen risked his life to save me.
If he needs me to run...
I'll run.
44
ARSEN
Night has become day from the fires of the chattering rifles. Each time a muzzle flashes I can see the face of the man firing it. Whether an enemy or one of my own boeviki, they all have the same feral expression.
Everyone is fighting for their life.
Including me.
"This way," I urge Galina, holding her by her wrist. We wasted enough time hovering inside the front door of Yevgeniy's hideaway. I had to get my bearings, but I know we can't linger. As helpful as this chaos is, someone is bound to come and check on Yevgeniy.
Not every one of his men is a corrupt cop, some are as loyal to him as my own brigadiers.
Galina tugs backwards. "Wait!"
"No time," I argue, stopping on the front step. She's gawking at the fighting behind me. Her eyes shine with flashes of guns going off, the sound loud in my skull. Katya and Ruslan crouch behind her. They're just as afraid. "If we stay here, we'll be found, and then?—"
The wood of the door-frame explodes next to my ear. Splinters stab into my temple and cheek. Grunting, I lurch away, ducking inside the house with my body shielding Galina.
"Look out!" I warn, eyeballing the fighting over my shoulder. I wait for another shot. When it doesn't come, I feel safe enough to breathe. "That wasn't someone aiming at us," I explain, "it was an accident."
Katya presses her lips together. She's pale to the point I'm wary she'll faint. "Who cares if it wasn't on purpose? A bullet is a bullet!"
"Mom is right," Galina agrees. "Is it even possible to run out there without getting hit?"
"I don't want to die," Ruslan says. He's not crying, his young face looks older, like what happened upstairs has aged him. There’s a twinge of guilt running through me. I had no intention of ruining his innocence, but Ruslan was always destined for this hard life. One way or another, he’s going to have to confront the reality of being born into the Bratva.
Gauging the fire-fight, I grit my teeth with a frustrated growl. We need to run, but dodging bullets is impossible! Holstering my gun—I refuse to let go of Galina with my other hand—I touch my earpiece.
"Mila, I've got them. All of them."
There's a static crackle. My pulse goes haywire the longer the silence stretches. Is she going to respond, or did something happen to her?
“Mila, come in.”
"I hear you," Mila finally says.
Exhaling loudly, I peer through the open doorway again. "We're coming out the front, I need you to clear us a path!"
"On it!"
Hoisting my rifle once again, I tighten my hold on Galina. "Everything will be okay." I don't know if I'm trying to convince her or myself.
She squeezes me back, her hand warm and welcome. "I trust you," she says earnestly.
Calming myself with a few breaths, I square up with the door. "Everyone, stay close to me. Don't slow down, don't hesitate. Got it?"
When I hear their murmurs of agreement, I bound forward. My first steps are patient and careful. The instant we're exposed to the crisp night air, the shelter of the building's walls gone, I start to run.
