Chapter 20 #2
"Shh, baby, I know." I hold her tight, stroking her hair like when she was little and had nightmares. "Listen to me. We're going to get out of this."
"How?" She pulls back to look at me. The terror in her eyes breaks my heart. "There are guards everywhere. And what about you? Roman said you're going to—that Volkov will—" She can't finish the sentence.
I can't either. Can't think about what Volkov will do without wanting to vomit.
"We fight." I stand, pulling her up with me. "We find a way to fight."
I look around the room desperately. Plain furniture. The window is too high and probably reinforced. The door is solid, locked from outside.
But there has to be something.
I start searching—pulling open drawers, checking under furniture, looking for anything we could use as a weapon.
"What are you doing?" Anya watches me, hope and fear warring in her expression.
"Looking for options."
There is a single wooden chair in the room. I grab it and smash it against the floor several times.
I smash the chair against the floor until one of the legs breaks free. The wood splinters, leaving a jagged edge that could do damage if I get close enough.
"Here." I hand the makeshift weapon to Anya. "When they come for you, you go for the eyes or the throat. Don't hesitate."
"Kira, I can't—"
"You can." I grip her shoulders. "You're my sister. You have steel in you, even if you don't know it yet."
She takes the wooden leg with shaking hands. "What about you?"
I grab another piece of the broken chair—shorter, but with a sharp edge. "I'll manage."
The odds are laughable.
But we're not going down without a fight.
"What's the plan?" Anya asks.
"When they come to take you to the chapel, we fight. Hit them fast, hit them hard, and run. Poke them in the eyes. Jab that stick into their balls. Make them bleed, Anya. Do you hear me? Don’t play nice. Be violent."
"Run where?" Her voice is small. "The compound is huge. There are guards everywhere."
"I don't know yet. But anywhere is better than that chapel."
She nods, trying to be brave.
I've failed her. But I can still fight beside her.
We position ourselves on either side of the door. Waiting. Weapons ready.
Minutes tick by. Or hours. Time has lost meaning.
Then—gunfire.
The sound is distant but unmistakable. Automatic weapons. Multiple shooters.
Anya grabs my arm, her eyes wide with terror. "What's happening?"
"I don't know." But hope flickers in my chest for the first time since they dragged me from Maksim's arms.
The chaos outside means someone is fighting back. Someone with enough firepower to challenge Roman's security. I have zero hope it’s Maksim, but maybe someone is still loyal to me.
Or maybe it’s one of Roman’s enemies and they’re coming to kill me and Anya. A wife means heirs and none of the rival families want Roman to have an heir.
More gunfire. Closer now. Shouting. Running footsteps in the hallway outside.
"Get ready," I whisper to Anya. "When that door opens—"
"Kira!"
My heart stops.
That voice. I know that voice.
"Maksim," I breathe. I look at Anya. “Did you hear him?”
Anya nods. “I hear him.”
"We're in here!" I call out. “Maksim! Here!”
“Get back!” I hear someone shout.
I grab Anya and pull her away, wrapping my arms around her from behind and do my best to shield her body.
There’s a pause. Then the door explodes inward—literally explodes, the lock shattering as someone kicks it with brutal force.
Maksim stands in the doorway.
He's bloodied and battered, his shoulder bleeding but he's alive.
I don’t know how he’s here, but he is. I can’t breathe. He’s here. And alive.
"Are you hurt?" He's already moving toward me, his hands framing my face, checking for injuries with desperate gentleness.
"We're okay." I can barely speak through the relief flooding through me. "But Roman—"
"I know." His thumb brushes my cheek. "We need to go. Now. His men are regrouping and this place is about to become a slaughter."
Semyon steps into the room, his weapon drawn. His eyes find Anya, still frozen by the wall in her wedding dress.
"Can you run, little one?" His voice is surprisingly gentle.
Anya nods mutely. Semyon moves to help her, his hand steady on her arm.
Maksim wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
"Stay close," he commands, his eyes meeting mine. "No matter what happens, stay with me."
"Always," I promise.
He’s leaning on me. I can tell it’s taking every ounce of his strength to stay upright. I don’t know how to help him, but I will do all that I can to fight. I understand what we’re fighting for—our lives. There is no one coming to save us. It’s the four of us against an army.
We move into the hallway, and chaos erupts around us. Gunfire echoes from multiple directions. Smoke drifts through the air. Roman's men are everywhere, but so are others. It’s not just the four of us. I recognize one of Roman’s guards take down another guard.
Mutiny. Revolt. Fucking finally.
"Kitchen exit," Maksim says, pulling me forward. “Go. We’ll find you.”
I don’t want to leave him. But it’s him or Anya and he has a gun.
I grab Anya’s hand and start pulling her.
Maksim and Semyon lay down covering fire while Anya and I sprint ahead. The wedding dress tangles around Anya's legs, and she stumbles. I catch her, both of us fighting fabric and fear.
"Almost there!" Semyon shouts.
More gunmen appear from a side corridor. Bullets chew chunks from the walls around us. Maksim returns fire, his shots precise despite his obvious pain.
I see him wince with each recoil, his shoulder bleeding fresh, but he doesn't slow down.
"Go!" He pushes me forward. "Don't stop!"
Anya trips on her dress, and I haul her up. We're so close—the kitchen door is just ahead…
An explosion behind us. The concussion wave throws us forward. I hit the ground hard, Anya beneath me. My ears ring. Smoke and debris fill the air.
I feel paralyzed. Nothing moves. It’s like a video game and we’ve all been paused. I don’t know how long I lie there. Seconds? Minutes?
And then I feel someone touching me. Strong hands pull me up. Maksim, his face set in determined lines.
I try to focus on his face, but my vision is blurry.
“Are you hurt?”
I feel like he’s talking to me from a hundred miles away.
I blink.
“Kira!”
I nod, letting him know I hear him.
"Can you run?" he asks.
"Yes."
I lean down and grab at Anya. “Anya!”
She groans and gets to her hands and knees.
“Let’s go!” I tell her. “Get up.”
It’s harsh, but it’s necessary.
I grab Anya's arm and haul her to her feet. The white dress is gray with dust and torn at the hem, but she's moving. That's all that matters.
"Kitchen!" Semyon points. We stumble forward through the smoke.
My lungs burn. Every breath tastes like ash and cordite. Behind us, more shouting. More gunfire. The compound is tearing itself apart.
We burst through the kitchen door. The staff scattered long ago—abandoned pots still bubble on stoves, food burning. The acrid smell mixes with the smoke, making my eyes water.
"Back exit!" Maksim moves ahead, checking corners despite the way he's swaying on his feet.
He shouldn't even be standing. The blood soaking through his shoulder bandage has spread down his entire left side. His face is gray beneath the dirt and blood. But he keeps moving, keeps fighting.
For me. For Anya.
We reach the back door, and Semyon kicks it open. Cold air hits my face. We all inhale the fresh air. Our lungs desperate for clean oxygen. The compound's rear gardens spread before us. Beyond that, the outer wall. Freedom.
"Go!" Maksim pushes us through. "Don't stop until you're over that wall!"
I pull Anya forward. A guard steps in front of us, his gun aimed directly at Anya. I throw myself in front of her, knocking her to the ground as a shot rings out. I wait for the pain.
We hit the ground, knocking the air from our lungs.
And then I’m looking into the dead eyes of the man who tried to kill me. There’s a black hole directly in the center of his head.
More gunfire erupts behind us. I roll over to see Maksim and Semyon returning fire at pursuers I can't see.
"Maksim!" I scream his name, terror clawing at my throat.
"Keep going!" He doesn't look at me, focused on the threat. "Get her out!"
I want to go back. Want to fight beside him. But Anya's hand is in mine, and she needs me more. We scramble to our feet once again. I pull her along, trying to make it to the wall but it feels impossible. There are so many guards. So many guns.
But I would rather die trying than die at Roman’s hands.