Chapter 15
Kolya
I shove Chloe flat against the floor, pinning her with my weight.
She’s breathing fast. Shallow, panicked breaths that saw through the air. The desire in her wide eyes rapidly gives way to fear. “What the he—”
Another crack.
This time, the bullet punches through the window, shattering the glass before burying itself with precision in the same patch of wall as the first one. “Stay down.”
The sniper has discipline. He’s not spraying bullets or taking wild shots. He’s waiting for a clean hit, for the perfect angle on his target.
The couch sits in front of the windows, creating an ideal kill box.
Whoever’s shooting has a clear sight line into this room and can probably see the outline of our bodies despite the dim lighting.
Beyond the impact, the shots are virtually silent.
No gunfire. No echo. Just cracking glass and holes appearing in windows and walls as if by magic.
Suppressor. Professional.
We need to flee. Now.
I grip Chloe’s arm tightly enough to bruise. She winces but doesn’t cry out.
Good girl.
With my other hand, I yank my pants up, not bothering with the belt. I cram my feet in my shoes and reach for my gun, thankful this woman didn’t get me out of my shirt and jacket. The cool metal in my palm centers me. “Back door.” I drop into a crouch beside her. “Crawl.”
She mutters, “Is that a gun?” but obeys without question, snatching her pants as she goes. I keep one hand on the back of her neck in a reminder to stay low as we scramble across the living room.
The world condenses into immediate threats and escape routes. The cheerful yellow walls and bright decorations of her home blur into smears of color as we progress.
Her house isn’t a fortress. It’s a dollhouse with papier-maché walls that were never going to protect her.
Another bullet slams through the window as we reach the kitchen. The shooter is patient, waiting for me to screw up.
But I’ve been hunted before and know how to stay alive.
Chloe hesitates in the doorway, her face pale, sweat forming along with goosebumps.
“Keep going. Almost there.”
She nods, but her movements grow clumsier as fear and adrenaline flood her system. Shirt in hand, she yanks the fabric over her head while we continue to crawl.
Remaining low, I guide her around the kitchen island. The back door is just ahead, and I reach it first.
In a quick motion, I peek out the window.
The backyard is dark. No obvious motion.
But dark doesn’t mean safe.
Gripping my gun tighter, I push the door open.
Clear.
I pull Chloe out into the shock of cool night air.
Behind us, another bullet pierces through glass.
They’re trying to provoke me into acting impulsively. If I hadn’t shifted to kiss Chloe’s collarbone at the exact moment that first shot came through…
The thought chills my bones. Not for my own safety, but for hers.
She’s collateral damage in someone else’s vendetta against me.
The small, fenced backyard provides minimal cover. A maze of suburban property lines that could either trap or hide us stretches beyond it. I scan our options, quickly processing.
We can’t use the cars, with mine parked on the street in front of her house, hers in the driveway, and both in the shooter’s potential line of sight.
The events from the craft store replay in my mind.
The men we encountered in Hobby Hut weren’t random. Someone’s on my tail and has been for at least a day. Maybe longer.
They know my car. They might’ve already planted a tracker. Using either vehicle would be suicide.
My only guess is they’re after me because of the diamonds.
“What’s happening?” Chloe’s still clutching her pants in one hand, the other anchored on my arm. “Who’s shooting at us?”
“Not now.” I drag her toward the back fence. “We need to move.”
I help her over the wooden slats, her body clumsy with shock and fear, her jeans still bunched in her fist.
She’s a mess. A terrified, disheveled mess who has no place in my world of violence and calculated kills.
Yet she’s stumbling alongside me as I haul her into the deep shadows of the neighboring yard. Her breaths come in sharp, fearful gasps, but she doesn’t freeze in panic or break down.
Bravery? Stupidity?
Or blind faith in me?
My heart flatlines. I’ve spent my life protecting the Kozlov Bratva, Roman’s family, the organization.
Now, for reasons I can’t fully understand, I’m protecting her. This bright, innocent woman who doesn’t belong in my life.
And I’ll kill anyone who tries to steal her from me.