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CHAPTER 1
VASILISA
Artur’s hands were bandaged, there was a gauze pad on his neck, and his entire face was purple, but there was no mistaking his voice or the oily way he looked at me. The same way Olivier had looked at me. Like I was an object, not a person.
I backed up a step in the supermarket aisle, my breathing resuming in a shattered rush, each inhale sharp and shallow. “You can’t be here.”
I was supposed to be safe. What was my brother doing here?
I expected Artur to throw a taunt or a smirk, but instead he lifted his arm in a jerky movement. I locked my body in place, trying to stop the tremble in my hands, braced for impact. It was second nature, an instinct I couldn’t override even if I wanted to shove him to the floor, reach for my guard, and run.
But Artur hadn’t moved to hit me. I didn’t realise what had happened until noise tore through the air in three successiveexplosions. It snapped me out of my frozen state, and I threw my hands over my ears with a shriek.
Memories ripped through my mind. Gunshots, one after the other after the other. A gentle voice saying,they’re all dead. No one’s going to touch you, and no one will ever hurt you again.
I needed to get back to Damien.
That instinct overrode all others and I stumbled forward a step before a horrified shout left my throat.
Pasta fell first, raining freely to the supermarket floor in tiny clattering pops, and then whole bags of it dropped from Lionel’s arms. They landed with dull thuds on the floor and then—blood. So much blood, pouring from Lionel’s chest, from his shoulder, from his arm.
Oh, god.
I screamed and rushed for my guard, catching him before he fell. But he was so heavy that he tore from my arms and hit the ground with a grunt. I followed him down, shaking hands fluttering over him, frantic to help. Blood poured from multiple wounds in his chest and shoulder. I couldn’t choke down a breath.
Lionel didn’t scream or cry. He just grabbed my arm with a blood-smeared hand and growled, “Run.”
Tears burned my eyes. I shook hard. “I can’t leave you!”
But Artur still had his gun lifted. He didn’t fire it again, but he stalked closer, one hand outstretched to grab me.
I shot up to my feet in a rush, sickness in the pit of my stomach.
People screamed and fled the supermarket; others crept closer, calculating the situation.
“Not the—first time I’ve been—shot,” Lionel said between gritted teeth, his eyes flinty. “Go, Vasilisa!”
It was the first time he’d called me anything other than Mrs. Marshall. It startled me out of my stupor and I backed up three steps, blood smearing under my shoes.
While Artur’s attention was on me, Lionel produced a gun from under his jacket and levelled it at my brother, shooting his kneecap before he could take another step.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
My head spun, filling with static and screams when I saw the rage in Artur’s eyes.Rage,not pain.
He looked like Dad. He looked exactly like him.
“Go!”
Lionel’s shout startled me into movement and I ran before I could think, before I could realise that leaving him could mean his death. I bolted out of the sliding glass doors and stumbled across the pavement with blood-stained shoes. I had to shove my way through the panicked crowd that had gathered outside Sainsburys, their eyes greedy for any glimpse of the gunman inside, arms and elbows pushing against me, claustrophobic, oppressive—and then I was through.
Every breath was a wheeze. I could no longer feel my legs as I broke into a sprint.
I had to get to Damien. I couldn’t stop running until I found him. Artur was probably right behind me, even if Lionel shot his knee. I saw that rage in his eyes. Iknewthat look. That was the look that broke my wrist and made me scream in agony.
My heart pounded an erratic, messy rhythm and sobs escaped as I raced as fast as I could, barging past people I’d normally avoid the path of. I barrelled into the rope barriers around Caffe Concerto’s outdoor seating, a desperate sob breaking free as I hauled myself back to my feet, my palms grazed, and ran without even putting back the chairs I knocked over.
I didn’t hear the blaring of car horns or the thunderous engines of double-decker buses, the shouts of people I bumped into soundless as blood roared in my ears and fear grew large enough to swallow me.
