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From myself.
“We have to go,” I tell her. “Now. Can you stand?”
Her hand flops into her lap. Onto her phone. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me something or if that’s all the movement she’s capable of, but there isn’t time to figure it out. I pocket her phone and scoop her into my arms.
Her head is heavy on my shoulder as I carry her out of the bathroom and through an emergency exit.
The door opens into a dark alley between buildings. There should be a guard positioned here, but the alley is empty. The fact Yasha hasn’t called to ask what the fuck I’m doing breaking down the bakery’s bathroom door is also a bad sign.
Right now, Cora needs me to get her out of here. She needs me to stay focused.
Which is getting harder with every raspy exhale I feel against my neck.
Her hand is swaying limply at her side, her body jostling with every step. I have no idea what she was given. I don’t know how much longer she has to—
“No.”
I say it out loud to myself. To Cora’s fluttering lashes and parted lips.
She won’t die. I won’t allow it.
Slowly, I slide her body down mine and set her on her feet. She manages to lock her knees enough that I can hold her up with one hand around her waist.
“Ivan,” she moans. “Am I—”
“Let me get you out of here. We’ll talk then.”
It doesn’t end here. It can’t. There will be a later.
I pull out my phone and dial Yasha’s number, but the call doesn’t go through. There’s no service. If there was any doubt at all about whether this is an attack or not, it’s gone now.
We’re being targeted.
Which means we have to get out of here before—
“Don’t fucking move,” a voice growls from behind me.
At the same time, I feel a gun press against the back of my head.
52
CORA
The next time I open my eyes, I’m outside.
A cool breeze whispers across my overheated skin. I feel marginally more coherent. Coherent enough to recognize the strong arm around my waist, at least.
“Ivan.” It takes real effort to say his name. I try to stand on my own feet, but I fall more firmly into the hard cliff of his chest. “Am I—”
“Let me get you out of here.” He pats my waist, his hand spread across my ribs like armor. “We’ll talk then.”
He seems to think there will be a “later.” That whatever is happening to me isn’t permanent. That’s nice. I let his confidence seep into me, ebbing away the panic my weak body is trying to muster.
Then I feel him stiffen. A voice I don’t recognize echoes through the alley. “Don’t fucking move.”
I turn my head. The world in front of me swirls like watercolors before crystallizing into shape. When it does, I frown.
A man in black. A mask pulled over his face. Standing behind Ivan. With a gun to his head.
