Page 65 of The Stalking King

He grabs my mom and lowers her to the floor, looking over at me, smiling nervously when he sees that I’ve already done as he said. I crawl to Mom and drape my body over hers, practically hyperventilating, trying not to panic.

“I didn’t think he was capable,” Maksim growls under his breath. “Rat.”

More gunfire. Mom is babbling, asking what’s going on, her voice tearing with sobs. My heart breaks as I realize I brought this to her door. By standing up to that goon, by refusing to give him the phone – and by giving myself to the Bratva king – I made us a target.

Maksim moves to the door, his gun raised.

“We’re leaving by the back,” he yells, voice raised above the surrounding gunfire. “You’ll have to crawl. I’m sorry.”

“Mom—please.” I tug on her arm. “Mom.”

She looks at me as if waking from a dream, only to realize she’s emerged into a nightmare. “Uh, yes, yes.” She blinks up at Maksim. “Why does he have a gun?”

My stomach drops. This is where lies have got us.

“Move,” Maksim says. “Please. Quickly.”

Mom and I crawl through the hallway, Maksim walking ahead of us, spinning to check behind. In the kitchen, he walks toward the door. It suddenly bursts open, and a man comes rushing in. Maksim turns, grabbing the man’s arm and throwing him over his shoulder.

He lands with a crunch.

“Argh!” Maksim roars when the man fires a shot up at him. It hits him in the side. Maksim shoots, two quick shots. Bang, bang. And the man lies there, a mess of death.

He moves to the door, wincing. Mom stares wide-eyed at the corpse on her kitchen floor.

“Don’t look,” I whisper, trembling. My experiences in the ER have made me tough, but this is still a lot. “Mom, just close your eyes.”

She does what I say, quivering.

“Boss,” a man with a Russian accent grunts, rushing into the room. “These bastards.”

“Car, now,” Maksim snarls.

“It’s ready.”

“Take her.”

He must point to Mom. A moment later, Maksim is bending down to pick me up. When he winces, I find my feet. “You’re too hurt to carry me.”

“I’ll never be too hurt for that,” he growls.

“Maksim, let me walk!”

He reluctantly lets me go, but keeps one hand wrapped around mine. The other man throws Mom over his shoulder, and we rush through the backyard. Maksim pushes me into the back of a large SUV, then climbs in after me. Mom climbs inside. The man slams the door, and the driver immediately pulls away.

I turn to Mom, checking she isn’t hit, then tear off strips of my clothes and apply pressure to Maksim’s wound. He stares out the window, his jaw tight.

“I think it grazed you,” I say.

“It’s fine,” he grunt.

“We need to keep the pressure on,” I tell him. “And I’ll need a first-aid kit.”

He turns to me with a smirk on his face.

“What are you smiling at?” I demand.

“It’s good, Lia,” he says, his voice breathy as if he might pass out from blood loss.