Chapter 29 Nadya #2
He hesitates, just long enough for me to close distance.
He swings wildly, but I’m faster. I catch his wrist, twisting sharply until his gun clatters to the floor.
He struggles, snarling as I drive my knee upward into his gut, forcing air from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
But he recovers quickly—too quickly—reaching into his waistband for a blade, silver flashing coldly in his grip.
My pulse spikes. I dodge swiftly to the side, narrowly avoiding the first brutal slash. My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back, blood spraying from his lip. He staggers but recovers, eyes wild with fury and desperation.
“Don’t,” I warn him, raising my gun again, aiming it squarely at his chest, finger tightening slightly on the trigger. “Stay down.”
But he lunges once more, ignoring my warning, blade slicing forward. Reflexively, I sidestep, grabbing his arm, spinning him around and wrenching his wrist so violently that he cries out in agony, the knife clattering uselessly across the concrete.
He falls to his knees, breathing ragged, defeated, eyes finally meeting mine—and something inside me hesitates.
I see myself reflected in his face, the sudden awareness of his mortality, the vulnerability beneath the violence.
My finger freezes, muscles locked in uncertainty.
I’ve hurt people, yes—fought, survived, wounded—but killing outright, without mercy?
Something stalls in me, shivering, unsteady.
I pause just a fraction too long. He reaches for another weapon at his belt—this time a pistol.
Before I can react, Konstantin appears from nowhere, a brutal shadow looming behind him.
He doesn’t hesitate. His gunshot rings in my ears as he aims and shoots, and the man collapses instantly, a dull thud echoing as blood spreads beneath him.
My hands shake. I stare at the body—at what almost happened, at what did happen. My breathing is erratic, mind swimming with shock.
Konstantin turns to me, eyes blazing fiercely with adrenaline and protective anger, but also concern. “Nadya,” he says urgently, gripping my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I blink hard, forcing myself to steady. I nod quickly, swallowing past the bile rising in my throat. “Yes—I’m fine.”
He studies my face, not quite convinced, but there’s no time. More footsteps approach rapidly, echoing across the cavernous warehouse.
We duck behind an overturned metal rack, the echo of gunfire rattling the walls. Dust rains down from the ceiling with every shot that hits too close. My ears are ringing, my chest tight from the smoke and adrenaline.
“Where’s Levin?” I shout over the chaos.
Konstantin nods toward a row of stacked crates. “Last I saw, he was crouched behind those.”
Another burst of gunfire forces us down. When it pauses, we spring forward, weaving between shadows, dodging debris and broken crates. My heart pounds, my muscles burning, but I keep going. He’s just a civilian, I remind myself. He didn’t ask for this.
We find him huddled behind a pallet of chemical drums, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking slightly. His face is pale and shiny with sweat, and his lips are trembling.
“Levin,” I say, crouching down beside him. “It’s Nadya. We need to move.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps muttering something under his breath—numbers, maybe. A coping mechanism.
Konstantin slides in next to me, gripping Levin by the arm. “We’re getting you out of here,” he says roughly. “Now. Can you walk?”
“I—I don’t know…” Levin stammers, eyes wild. “I think…someone’s trying to kill me.”
“You’re not wrong,” Konstantin mutters. “But you’re coming with us.”
He hauls Levin to his feet and pushes him gently toward me. I loop an arm around his waist, supporting his weight, guiding him out from behind the crates. He’s shaking so badly I’m afraid he’ll collapse, but somehow he keeps moving, stumbling beside me like a newborn deer.
We round a corner and are immediately met by another figure—one of Dmitry’s men.
I shove Levin behind me as I raise my weapon. But I don’t need to fire—Konstantin moves faster. A single shot drops the man before he can lift his gun.
“Keep moving!” Konstantin barks.
We push forward again, this time hugging the inner walls, avoiding the larger open spaces of the warehouse. At one point, I look down and see blood on the floor—not ours, not Levin’s, but fresh and sticky.
Almost there. Just a little farther.
Konstantin throws open a side door, the emergency exit clanging against the brick. A streak of sunlight slashes across the ground outside—the rear lot, still untouched by the chaos inside. A black SUV is parked there, engine running. Lev stands beside it, waving urgently.
Levin sees him and chokes out a sob of relief.
“Go!” Konstantin urges.
I push Levin toward the car. He collapses into Lev’s arms, who quickly bundles him into the back seat.
“He’s safe,” Lev confirms, eyes narrowing as he glances back toward the warehouse. “But you two—”
A low rumble interrupts him. The explosion rips through the building behind us, blasting heat and fire into the sky. Konstantin and I hit the ground hard, shielding our heads as debris showers down.