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The cops have noticed me. Flashlight beams illuminate my chunk of brick wall, turning it from protection into a death trap. I can’t dodge here. Against one opponent, it would be a challenge; with so many, I’m fucked.
A bullet sinks into my left leg; the hot poker sensation saps my strength, dropping me to my knees. Touching my hand to the wound, it comes away bright red. I hold my gun up and out. It slips from my bloody hands; I recover, gripping it tighter.
If I’m going down, it won’t be quietly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
It’s a message meant for the woman who’ll never hear it.
There’s more shouting. The long shadows of cops with guns float closer, like fingers in the dark. They’re practically on top of me now. I shut my eyes, starting to smile and make peace. It’s the only reason that I’m not blinded temporarily when the closest cop car suddenly explodes in a blaze of red flames.
The roar of the fire competes with the shrieks of the people closest to the explosion. Everyone is shouting, and I open my eyes to see most of the cops are scattered across the ground. More than a few aren’t moving. Embers zip through the night air like snowflakes made of fire. One lands on my cheek, but I don’t feel the burn through the other pain.
“Arsen!” Mila limps toward me with the flames at her back. There’s blood on her chest, coming from a hole in her upper right shoulder. Her arm hangs loose. She’s not alone. Kostya is holding her up, his face half-hidden by the shadows caused by the blaze that backlights them.
His severe expression holds firm when he sees the blood soaking my pants. “Can you run, Arsen Kirilovich?” he asks.
“Not fast, but yes.” Grunting from the burst of pain that moving brings, I stumble forward. The car crackles, smoke pluming into the night sky. Men on both sides are stirring. In the distance, I catch the telltale shriek of fire engines. “Which way?”
Kostya leads us through the street, around the chaos. No one notices us. We pass multiple bodies in states of life and death. I recognize some of the faces. If not for Kostya, Mila and I would be joining them. I’ve been betrayed by many of the men I trusted.
Yet Kostya, someone who I always suspected hated my guts after how I humiliated him by breaking his fingers, wasn’t one of them.
If he’d planned to, this was the perfect time for it. I’d be dead, and he’d be getting rewarded by Yevgeniy.
Instead, he’s demonstrated his loyalty to me in the best possible way.
“You blew the car up, didn’t you?” I pant.
“Yes,” he replies. “I didn’t see another option.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d be?—”
“Don’t waste your energy, my pakhan.” Kostya stares straight ahead. I copy him, seeking solace in looking away from the blackened wreckage and corpses. Our mission was a failure.
But I’m going home to Galina.
19
ARSEN
Kostya’s car is sticky from blood. Mila is slumped against the passenger door, her eyes open but staring blankly into the ethers. “How did the cops know?” she whispers.
I don’t have an answer. My mind has been too tangled to puzzle it out yet.
We roll through the gates of my mansion. Every rocking motion of the car sends new waves of pain through my leg. I wiggle my toes to make sure my foot hasn’t gone numb.
Kostya jumps out of the driver’s seat. I see him through the window as he sprints to the front doors. I heard him on the phone as we sped here at top speed, so I’m not shocked when Ulyana, Dr. Helsan, and a few other staff and soldiers I left behind rush toward us.
I don’t look at any of them.
I only have eyes for Galina.
She runs faster than the rest, her hair whipping behind her like a kite. Even at a distance, I spot the red rims of her swollen eyes. She’s been crying. Her lips make the shape of a single word.
“Arsen!” she sobs, ripping the door open beside me. Carelessly, she leaps at me in the seat, hugging me as new tears dribble freely.
“I’m okay,” I insist, though I fight back a grimace. Her weight on me is making the bullet in my leg pull, digging into the muscle. The sharp pain had become a distant ache, but moving forces the gash to shift along with me.
