Chapter 33
CASSANDRA
Every cell in my body goes on high alert as the blade nearly kisses my skin.
My hand slides to the small curve of my belly on instinct. The world shrinks to the glint of steel, the assailant’s eyes, and Damien’s hand moving inside his coat.
The startling sound of a shot rings out. The man hits the pavement, the knife clattering near my boot. A small dark halo of crimson forms under his head and spreads. He’s not getting back up. It’s as simple and awful as that.
It goes strangely quiet for a beat. The snow keeps falling. I’m on all fours, palms scraped, lungs burning, staring at a dead man who wanted to hurt my baby.
The other three don’t run. Testosterone and bad ideas seem to be a team sport.
One rushes in from the right, swinging something short and heavy, while another scrambles up from the ground with murder in his eyes.
A third cuts in from the left, his knife raised, like he’s going to finish what his friend started.
Damien steps toward them. POP, POP, POP.
Center mass on the one with the knife. He falls back hard on the pavement.
The E-bike guy gets a shot to the shoulder and falls into the brick wall, his skull bouncing off of it.
Damien pistol whips the last one, sending teeth scattering across asphalt. Efficient violence, nothing wasted.
When he turns and holsters his weapon, I swear his whole body changes gears within a breath. Killer to keeper. It should scare me more than it does.
He’s on his knees in front of me.
“Cassandra. Look at me.”
I do. The world swims into focus around his face.
“Are you cut?” His eyes scan my throat, my hands, my belly.
He picks up my wrist like it’s glass and checks for blood.
The stinging at my palms burns, but I shake my head.
He exhales sharply before placing his hand over my coat where my baby is.
Despite everything that just happened, the gesture makes me feel safe.
“You’re okay. The baby’s okay.”
A humorless laugh escapes. “You just—” I can’t even finish the sentence. He knows what I just watched him do.
“I did,” he says. “And I’ll do it again to protect you and our baby if I have to. Breathe.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He mirrors me, in and out, for several beats. His thumb strokes the back of my neck, grounding me. My heart finds a steady rhythm as I begin to calm down.
He picks up his phone and dials. “Nikolai.” The way he says his name is both a command and a request at the same time.
“Two dead, two badly wounded. Side street off Madison. Half construction, half empty. No eyes except mine.” A beat.
“Bring the car from the east. Quiet. I want my uniforms, not theirs. Bags for the hardware. The E-bike stays.”
He looks at me as he listens. “Good. Ten minutes is five too long.” Another beat. “And Nikolai—make sure whoever owns the traffic camera on the corner has a software update tonight.” He hangs up. No thank you, no goodbye. His hand finds mine again.
I can’t stop staring. Two men are dead. The other two are barely breathing, one semiconscious and the other holding his face in shock and bewilderment.
It doesn’t seem real. But it’s very real.
“Up,” Damien says.
He stands and pulls me up, then angles us down the block, away from the scene, into a pocket of shadow underneath scaffolding. With his arm tight around me, I walk steady, still in a haze.
“Most of this block is a construction site.” He looks up at the dark windows. “Nobody saw anything.”
I look back, still in disbelief. When Damien puts his hand on the small of my back, my focus snaps forward like a magnet finding north.
Sirens come low and slow—two cars, no lights, a polite kind of urgency. They nose in from opposite ends of the block. Three men step out; two in uniform I’ve never seen before, and one in plain clothes I know down to the posture.
Alex is driving an unmarked car. He steps out and squares his shoulders, doing a quick sweep before heading toward us. The other two uniformed officers head for the groaning duo on the sidewalk. They knew exactly what they were coming to collect.
“You good?” Alex asks me. His eyes flick to my belly and back.
“I’m… I will be. Maybe.” It’s the most honest answer I can give.
He nods once and turns to Damien.
“Two ambulances,” Alex calls over his shoulder without looking.
“Keep the lights off until you clear the corner.” The semiconscious man is hauled up unceremoniously by the armpits, patted down, cuffed, and walked to the second cruiser.
The broken-face one gets the same treatment.
I catch a glimpse of his eyes as they take him away.
There’s fear in them, but not the kind that learns lessons.
My gaze slides to the two bodies again. I can’t help it. Their faces are already getting covered by the snow. My stomach flips hard. I swallow it down. That man would have cut my throat. He would have… no. I erase the thought before it can fully form.
Damien feels the shift in me and moves a fraction closer; his arm wrapped firmly around my waist. “Eyes here,” he says, and taps his chest.
“Two down. They don’t need a ride,” he tells Alex. “Use the back route for the other two. No booking photos. I want them close.”
Alex doesn’t write anything down. “Understood,” he says. “We’ll keep this block quiet.” He glances at me again, a look that falls somewhere between concern and an apology. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
We move to where Orlov has parked, the SUV humming like it’s been there all along.
“Seat’s warm,” he says. It sounds like care, not small talk. Rare for him. He’s paid not to show emotion.
I pause before getting in, looking back down the block one more time.
Damien leans in and says something to Alex, something I don’t catch. Alex’s jaw sets and he nods once. It’s the nod of a man aligning his compass with someone else’s north.
A realization slides cold into my chest and sits there.
Those men in the back seat aren’t going to the station. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.