Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Dimitri
Screams, gunfire—my family is dying out there, and I’m in a closet with the woman who betrayed me. My hands loosen around her throat. I’ve got to get out there. I’ve got to protect…who?
“Stop,” the voice hisses in the darkness.
Katya.
I need to protect her.
God, what was I doing? How did I ever think I could possibly hurt her? Releasing her throat completely, I shift to pull her away from the door. Even this feels wrong. She should be attacking me. My little river otter would fight back. But instead, her hands are searching my body—my back, my pants.
“You don’t have a gun?” she whispers.
“No. I left it behind.” I don’t know why. I normally travel with it. Tonight I wanted to feel invincible, but intentionally didn’t bring my gun. Why?
The screams and gunfire creep closer.
“They’re still in the ballroom,” she whispers. “We need to get out of here.”
Doors open, followed by gunfire, probably still three doors away.
“Listen to me.” Her voice commands attention. She pulls me away from the door and presses me to the far-left side of the closet. The gunshots grow louder.
“One door away. When the door opens, you stay completely still. Understand?”
No. I need to protect her. What is happening?
The doorknob turns, and light fills the small space. There’s a crash, followed by a grunt and two rapid-fire shots. Two blurs of motion—one falling to the ground, the other stepping into the light. Another two rapid shots.
I blink as my brain buffers, trying to translate what it’s seeing. There’s a body in a black suit on the ground, blood pooling beneath it. Katya bends down in the doorway, hunched over. No—she’s hurt.
But her arm whips back, and she hands me a gun.
“Here.”
A second body lies in a heap in the hallway. Katya stands with blood speckled across her face. She takes a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m a liar.” She checks the chamber of the gun, takes another breath, assesses the situation. “But I sure as hell haven’t been trying to keep you and your family alive just to screw it up after you dumped that conniving bitch.”
What?
“Stay close, and I’ll get you out of here.”
What? What the hell is happening?
The hallway is a dead end. The only way out is back through the ballroom. She moves quickly and silently, with her hand on my arm. Before we enter the room, she whips around and puts both hands on my cheeks, her gun still hot against my skull.
“Do not look at the bodies. You’re going to focus on me and getting out. Do you understand?”
I nod.
She drops her hands and presses her ear. “Blackbird, under attack, send backup.” She freezes, waiting for a response, but flinches. “Fuck.” She presses her ear again. “Markus, where are you?”
For the first time, her voice wavers.
“Anyone?”
She closes her eyes, and her chest rises and falls as she collects her thoughts.
“I’m going to try to save as many guests as I can.”
She starts to turn the corner but her hand slams into my chest. Its the universal sign for stop right the fuck where you are.
“Change of plans. I’m getting both of us the hell out of here. There’s a clear path to the glass door leading to the balcony.”
Once I step out, I see why she changed her plan. Bodies are everywhere. On the far side of the room, two men fire at a man pinned to the wall. Katya curses and fires her gun. One of the men drops instantly. The other turns in our direction.
She’s faster. The bang goes off, and the other man stumbles back.
That’s when I see my father’s corpse, pinned against the wall, before gravity wins and he slides to the ground.
“Go!” she commands, and we run.
Hazy smoke fills the air and the floor is littered with bodies—my father’s associates, family friends, and the staff. Their moans and cries of agony reach out for help. Why can’t we stop and help them? Then I realize they’ll never make it. We’re too far removed from society. Help will never reach us in time.
The isolation that was supposed to make us safe is what will kill us all.
We rush to the balcony, bullets ripping around us as the roaring pops of Katya’s gun clear a path. The glass door is already open. It gives me hope others had the same idea.
A man with his back to us points his gun at a body on the ground. He fires at the same time Katya does. He stumbles and falls to the side.
The body is my brother.
Red spreads across his white shirt. His chest is open, but it’s his neck—he’s bleeding more from there.
More bullets fire, hitting the wall behind me. Katya pulls me to the ground, and I crawl toward my brother.
A woman rushes past us and falls to the ground.
“They’ve got a sniper in the woods,” Katya says.
But I don’t care.
My brother coughs, blood splattering like water droplets when you run through a puddle. He pants, gasping for air that will never come. I press my hand to his chest, hoping the pressure will stop the bleeding. Even as the warm liquid covers my hand, I know it’s not doing any good.
“Di…” He says my name.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Katya grabs a rifle from the man who shot my brother. She fires two rounds, and the hail of gunfire showering us stops.
Another coughing attack seizes Damien’s body—until it stops, and the light in my brother’s eyes vanishes.
He holds his phone in one hand. I’m not sure why, but I grab it and slip it in my pocket.
Katya squeezes my shoulder, trying to keep the moment as sacred as possible, but another hail of bullets interrupts my goodbyes. “I’m so sorry, but we have to go.”
She pulls me away, but I don’t know if I can move. My body moves automatically as my mind blanks out. The smell of burning wood and gunsmoke overwhelms my senses.
“We need to get to the garage,” Katya says as she leads me to the balcony stairs.
There are already bodies scattered from guests trying to escape. A searing pain spreads through my shoulder as we sprint for the stairs. Katya is like a demon, spitting bullets at everyone. Another man hits the ground. But he’s not wearing a suit. None of the gunmen are. How did it take me so long to notice this?
Probably because being shot at and watching my family die is enough to make me miss a few details.
Like the fire burning the roof and the walls of my family’s home. Thick purple smoke clouds the evening sky.
“This way!” Katya yells, but pins me against the wall as a car comes zooming out of the garage.
The windshield shatters, and the driver slumps over, crashing into the stairs we were just standing on.
“Listen to me. Go get the GX-67. It’s armored and has a self-driving function. It should work with your fingerprints. Go!” she yells and pushes me toward the garage.
My father loves that car—why would the door unlock for me?
“Shoot everyone who moves at you.”
Her directive gets my feet moving. Run. Get to the garage. Shoot on sight.
Screeching tires and echoing screams dull out the ringing in my ears. The body of someone who tried to take the GX lays below the driver’s side door, their blood smeared along the door handle. Am I going to suffer the same fate? Shot down from behind as I frantically pull on a piece of chrome that was never meant to afford me entry?
But as soon as I put my hands on the door, it opens, and the car starts. I’ve waited my whole life to drive this car.
Sliding in behind the wheel feels like some morbid right of passage. Shifting it into gear, the tires screech as the vehicle rockets forward.
Suddenly, the whole area shakes and explodes. The ceiling rains down on the hood of the car, and just as I pull out of the garage, the roof collapses.
But that’s not the only thing. The balcony stairs have crumbled, and the car that crashed into them is now speeding down the driveway.
Katya bangs on the passenger window, and I let her in.
“What happened to the other car?”
“Autodrive. It’s going to clear a path for us.”
And like a tank, it slams through every obstacle ahead.
In the rearview mirror, my home crumbles. Its last gasps of air are choked with smoke.
I have nothing.
My family is gone.
And the only person I have left is a stranger I thought I loved.