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I turn on my heel, ready to dash out of the warehouse, but before I can take a step, the main guy grabs my arm tightly. "Where do you think you're going?" he growls, his grip like a vice around my wrist.
“I need to use the washroom,” I stammer.
He narrows his eyes. I stand my ground, pretending it’s nothing more.
“Nik here will take you,” he nods at a guy.
The guy nods. “Follow me,” he says.
Okay, now all I need to do is get to the washroom, find a window and get the hell out of here.
***
Nik leads me to the end of the aisle. We’re about to turn when suddenly, the warehouse door bursts open, and a group of armed men storm in, their guns raised and ready.
“Your guys stole our bloody shipment!" a burly man yells, pointing accusingly at the tattooed man who had brought me in.
“Fuck,” Nik shouts to some men on the right of us. “The Zolotovs found out.”
Who the hell are the Zolotovs?
Panic surges through me as I hear shots being fired. My uncle's colleagues scramble for cover, returning fire as I search desperately for an escape route.
"Get down!" someone shouts, yanking me behind a stack of crates. My heart pounds in my ears, and I can feel the blood roaring through my veins as the adrenaline kicks in.
I need to get out of here. I need to survive for Adam. I need to protect myself and my unborn child.
"Stay low and move fast if someone finds you," the man advises me, preparing to join his mates in the fight. "Don't look back."
With his gun raised, he disappears from view and leaves me alone. I hear a gunshot, followed by a body falling to the ground. Blood begins to seep down the curve toward me.
I scream and slam my hands over my mouth. No one can hear me hiding here. If they see me, they’ll think I’m one of these guys, and they might shoot. I crouch lower, trying to disappear into the shadows, my mind reeling from the chaos around me.
I sit there for a few minutes, which feels like hours. The fighting seems to be getting closer.
I swallow hard, my mouth dry as a desert, and take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind and focus on survival. I need to get out of here. I need to find a way to escape—to call for help—before it’s too late.
I stay low and crawl through the warehouse, edging closer to the back end, hoping against hope that I'll find some exit. Suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching, and I freeze. I don't dare move, my heart ice-cold with terror.
There's a lull in the gunfire, and I make a run for it, staying low and praying that I won't be spotted. I don’t look back, but just then, someone comes at me from the corner and grabs me in a chokehold.
I struggle against his weight, almost falling to my knees, but he grabs me by my arms and pulls me up.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man asks as he lets me find my balance. I hear the click of a trigger, and something cold presses against my forehead. “Don’t move,” he warns.
Then, from the corner of one of the aisles, another guy walks over with his neck craned to the right as he passes instructions to his crew.
I would recognize that voice anywhere.
But how can it be? I must be mistaken.
He turns to face me and the man with the gun to my head. “Nikolai, you got her secured?” he asks, barely looking at me.
“Yes, Boris.”
Boris. His name is Boris.
What the hell is he doing here?
