Chapter 51
AMALIE
Iknow what the room is for the second they drag me into it.
Concrete floor, a drain in the center. Hooks on the wall. One bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
My wrists aren’t bound anymore, but the guards have me in their grip. My pulse is loud in my ears, but my mind is weirdly calm, like just before a car accident where everything slows and sharpens at the same time.
“Alright, let’s do this quick,” one of them says.
The other takes out his pistol. He clicks off the safety and raises the gun.
Automatic gunfire like what I heard at the gala erupts. It’s coming from all different directions up above.
“Shit,” one of the men mutters. “That’s got to be him.”
Roman!
Another burst of shots. Closer now. Shouts. Orders barked in Russian.
The man with the gun hesitates. “If that’s Barinov and he finds out we’re the ones who killed his woman…”
The other nods, taking off his beanie and running his hand through thinning hair. “Yeah.” He takes a moment to think.
“You should listen to your friend,” I say. “I’ve seen what he can do when he’s got someone alone in a room like this.”
I’m not lying. It’s a fact that I hate I know, but it’s the truth.
“He’s got all sorts of tools on the wall, too,” I continue. “And if he had the guys who killed his girl in front of him? I bet he’d take his time, use them all.”
The men look like they’ve seen a ghost.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” The man with thinning hair turns and starts to pace. “She’s right. We can’t do her now. Barinov would disembowel us.”
“Then what do we do?” the other asks.
Thinning hair guy looks around. “Leave her here. Lock the door. We’ll come back and finish the job after the battle, assuming we’re still alive.”
No hesitation from the other guy. “Good call.” He turns to me. “Wait here, lady.”
Without another word, the guys leave. They shut the door behind them and lock it.
Idiots.
More shots crack overhead. Something heavy falls. More shouting.
I want to sob with relief, but there’s no time for that. Roman’s coming for me, but I’m not about to wait patiently to be rescued.
I look around. I know the door is locked, but it’s not solid steel like the doors at Roman’s house. It’s cheap wood with exposed hinge screws. I glance at the hooks on the wall and see that one is broken, barely hanging in place.
A closer inspection reveals it’s brittle enough to pull off. The hook feels solid, but the broken end is sharp. I yank it from the wall.
At the door, I slip the broken edge of the hook under one of the screws, put my foot against the wall for leverage, and pull with all my strength. At first, nothing, but then… something cracks.
“Yes!”
The hinge starts to loosen. I pull and pull, wood splintering, and finally it comes off, wood shrapnel flying along with it. The door opens just a bit, enough to wedge my body in and press. That does it. One more hinge splits, then the last. The door comes out of the frame and lands with a thud.
I’m free.
A little victory yelp bursts from me, but more gunfire from above reminds me this is far from over.
I run up the stairs, heart hammering, gun smoke stinging my eyes. The sound of gunfire is deafening now. I make my way to the second floor of the warehouse, positioning myself to see the battle.
Roman’s men move with precision while Garin’s guys scatter in panic. Orange muzzle flashes light up everywhere. It’s hardly a war—Roman’s men are destroying them.
I finally see him amongst the others. His black suit is torn at the shoulder, a bulletproof vest worn underneath, rifle in hand. He’s flanked by two of his men, the three of them taking cover behind a stack of metal crates. He appears calm. Almost terrifyingly so.
As if he can sense my presence, Roman’s head snaps in my direction. Surprise, then relief, then anger flicker across his face.
“Amalie! Get back!”
Garin bursts from cover on the opposite side of the room, eyes wild, face slick with sweat. He sees me and grins like a cornered animal ready to do as much damage as he can on the way out.
“There you are,” he says. He raises his gun at me.
Time stops. I hear myself scream. A shot cracks through the air. I flinch, waiting for pain that never comes.
I open my eyes slowly to see Garin staggering, his face ashen, eyes staring straight ahead. Roman stands nearby, smoke swirling from the end of his rifle. Garin drops to his knees and lands face-first onto the cold concrete floor, gun falling from his hand.
Silence falls across the warehouse.
Moments later, sirens sound out, blue and red lights flashing through the shattered windows. The rest of Garin’s men throw down their weapons and try to flee. I have a feeling they won’t get far.
Roman rushes toward me and pulls me into his arms.
“Thank God. You are alive.”
“So are you.”
We’re both shaking. He pulls back, hands on my face, checking, searching, breathing me in like he’s trying to prove to himself I’m really alright.
“I thought,” he says, his voice breaking just a bit. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never.”
Over his shoulder I spot a familiar face: Max. He’s on the edge of the chaos, pale, panicked, and trying to slip away while everyone else is focused on Garin’s body. He breaks out into a run.
Kyle barrels in seconds later, uniformed officers at his side, weapons raised. We lock eyes, relief washing over him.
“Jesus, Am,” he mutters as he approaches.
I don’t let go of Roman.
“It’s over,” Kyle says, taking in the scene.
I look up at Roman, searching his face. “Sasha?”
He exhales. “He’s safe. Andrei has him. Back at the mansion.”
My legs give out.
Roman catches me, holding me to his chest.