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71
LUNA
I don’t consciously decide to run down the stairs—I just blink and find myself at the base of them, staring through the front door onto the dark lawn beyond.
The lights that line the driveway aren’t working. The only illumination comes from the windows of the guard shack—strange, because they are usually locked up tight. A red light pulses against the glass.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Then I see Mariya.
She’s halfway between the house and the gates, crouched into a ready position as three men surround her. I’m halfway out the door when she kicks the closest man in the kneecap. Even from this far, I hear the bone crack. The man groans and drops to the ground.
Mariya wasn’t kidding. She knows what she’s doing.
Everything in me wants to run out and help her, but I know there’s nothing I can do. I’ll be a distraction at best and a death sentence at worst.
Where the hell are the guards?
I keep waiting for backup to arrive, but no one is coming. The possibility that they’re all dead is too horrible to contemplate.
Mariya backs away from the group of men, never allowing them to encircle her. Any time one of them gets close, she lands a blow. A quick jab to the jaw, a kick to the ribs. She even manages to swipe one man’s legs out from under him. He ends up on his side in the grass.
It would almost be funny, the sight of this tiny teenage girl facing off with three burly men—if the reality that she can’t hold them off forever wasn’t hanging over my head.
I scan the road for headlights or any sign of Yakov and Nikandr racing back to the house. But the road is dark.
One of the men grabs Mariya’s arm and manages to pull her off balance. She stumbles, kicking out as she hits the ground. She lands a perfect shot to the man’s balls. He crumples, both hands folded over his groin.
That’s it. I can’t let her do this alone. I’m pregnant and untrained, but I have to be better than nothing.
I hope.
I look around the entryway for some kind of weapon. Anything I could use to defend myself. I’m about to reach for a ceramic vase on a side table when I hear a deep voice bark orders in Russian.
I don’t understand it, but Mariya must. Because she turns and runs towards the gates just as the last man standing reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.
Time slows and stretches as her arms and legs pump. Mariya’s dark hair whips from side to side as she sprints.
The gunshot must ring out, but I don’t hear it. All I hear is the strangled scream ripping out of my throat as Mariya jerks forward and crumples to the grass.
This isn’t happening.
This can’t be happening.
But Mariya isn’t moving and the three men around her are now walking towards the mansion.
Towards me.
Mariya needs help, but I can’t help her if I’m captured or dead. So I slam the front door closed, slide the bolt home, and run for the back patio. Hiding and waiting this attack out isn’t an option. I know that. If Yakov and Nikandr were coming, they’d be here by now. I can’t wait for them to save me.
I have to save myself.
I run towards the back doors on instinct. I want to get out of the mansion. The men in the front yard know I’m in here, so I want to be anywhere else. But there are more shadowy figures standing outside the glass doors.
I’m surrounded.
I pivot, ducking around the kitchen island and sliding into the pantry just as the front door bangs open. Deep voices fill the house. The men aren’t worried about being caught. They’re practically shouting. They’re speaking in Russian, so I can’t make heads or tails of their plan or what they’re here for. But I try to triangulate their voices.
