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The corners of his mouth twitched as he pressed the handle into my palm. “Jab as hard as you fucking can.” Lucifer’s light touch bumped under my chin. “You’ve got this, Willa.”
It was the first time he’d said my name.
Before I could agree or otherwise, he drew a gun from behind his back and a second one from his ankle, and then he was on his feet. All I could make out from my vantage point was the speed with which he’d abandoned me, taking with him the electric current I’d felt crackle between us.
The church filled with a hailstorm of bullets accompanied by an onslaught of Russian profanity. I made out the words for fucker and devil. Someone was screaming something about the son of the Pakhan.
Shootouts were par for the course when married to the mob, but an attack in a church was a tactless move by any syndicate. Somewhere, there was an impious Pakhan who needed a refresher in gangster ethics.
I’d been frozen in place, but I quickly thawed when the pews around me were decimated to matchsticks.
Obeying Lucifer was no longer an option.
I kicked off my heels and took in my surroundings. If my memory served me correctly, at the end of the aisle was a door that would lead me to a hallway of rooms. The same rooms where I’d attended my catechism classes.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
The cries of men with mortal wounds echoed off the walls. My escape route was in sight. All I had to do was avoid being shot while I sprinted five yards, but my concern over the welfare of the devil held me hostage.
Lucifer was outnumbered. And though I was only armed with a single blade, I could help ensure we both made it out of this church alive.
I didn’t know what to do with that information.
My lids pressed shut, and I begged God to send me a sign.
A lull in gunfire exposed the distinct clip-clap of heavy feet. I watched as ankles I knew didn’t belong to my ally drew closer to me.
Sign received.
Transferring the knife to my mouth, I belly crawled until I was within striking distance. My blade sliced through his Achilles, drawing my first blood.
The Russian’s howl of pain fell on deaf ears.
In the time it took for my victim to drop to his knees, I’d already untucked myself from beneath the pew and scaled the seat until I was directly behind him. In perfect tandem, my left hand gripped his chin and lifted while my right hand moved into position. I slid the blade across his neck in one smooth motion.
I implored God to consider it an act of self-defense just as a large figure moved into my peripheral. My contrition had been sincere, but this timing was inconvenient.
I braced for a second round when the thug lunged in my direction.
“Devil’s suka!” His hands latched on to my throat.
I clawed at his arms, having lost my knife in the collision. I could taste the vodka on his breath, and black dots danced in my vision. But I hadn’t survived this long so I could die by the hands of a Russian goon.
In a last-ditch effort, I jammed my thumbs into his eyes. He screamed in agony, but his grip on my windpipe only tightened.
He dragged his thick tongue along my cheek. “What is it like to fuck the diavol, little shlyukha?”
The first shot landed in the Russian’s shoulder. It rocked him back and forced him to release me. The second was a bull’s-eye through the forehead.
I wiped the Russian matter from my face, and then dug my way out from under the heap of dead flesh.
Lucifer’s iron gaze landed on my rapidly swelling ankle. “Can you stand on it?”
I looked down, bypassing the sheer amount of blood and stuff that coated my clothing and skin. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
The room swayed.
“Willa.”
