43. Lila
Lila
I don’t think about what I’m doing; I just drive and hope I remember the way back. When it starts to look familiar, I scan the street until I spot several SUVs that I know belong to Maksim’s people.
I park two blocks out, the same way Sampson did hours ago, and go the rest of the way on foot.
I spot men moving through the shadows. I stay against the wall of a smaller building and wait for the right time to move.
When the first explosion splits the night, the percussion hits me in the chest. I stare in shock as the sky above the warehouse blooms orange. Another explosion. The ground shakes under my feet. Glass rains down. A car alarm screams in response.
My ears are ringing.
I crouch behind a rusty shipping container and watch the warehouse.
Men pour out of every opening, reminding me of the cockroaches that fled anytime we turned a light on in the trailer.
Dozens of them, shouting in Albanian and English.
Some shoot at shapes in the dark that I can barely make out.
Return fire comes from multiple directions.
More shadows move along the perimeter. Sergei brought an army. They hadn’t been in the house unless they filtered in after I’d been locked down.
There’s a second where I genuinely consider staying behind this container until it’s over.
A small, rational part of my brain points out that I have one gun, limited ammunition, and no training beyond what a now-dead woman taught me in a field in Arkansas.
These men do this for a living. I think they have this under control. I’ll get in the way.
Then, I see Nikolai.
He’s moving along the eastern wall of the warehouse with two men flanking him. He’s maybe forty feet from me. I don’t move or breathe. If he sees me, he’ll tell me to leave. I don’t want to distract him.
Then he goes down.
One second, he’s moving, and the next, his left leg gives out, and he drops to one knee.
His hand goes to his side. His two men close around him, but I can see from here that he’s been hit.
He’s still moving, trying to push to his feet.
The two men around him are focused on keeping him upright instead of covering the ground ahead.
I stop thinking and move.
I keep low and to the shadows along the fence line. I thought about my mom telling me what to do if she ever told me to run. Back then, I’d thought it was a game. Make yourself small. Don’t run. Running draws the eye. Walk like you’re supposed to be there, and walk fast.
A man comes around the corner of a truck parked in front of me.
Albanian. Not one of ours. His eyes widen when he sees me.
I don’t hesitate.
The gun comes up, I fire once, and he drops.
I don’t stop moving.
The main door to the warehouse is hanging off its hinges from the breach. Smoke pours out of it, making it difficult to see. I press myself against the exterior wall beside the door and listen.
Gunfire inside. Shouting. Something heavy hitting the floor.
The smoke is thick. The large outer room is a wreck. There are overturned crates, and two men lying in their own blood. I move toward the inner door, the one they pushed me through hours ago when they walked me in to face Arlind.
I hear voices and continue to creep along. I recognize Damien’s voice and feel some relief.
I step through the door and freeze. Maksim is in a chair, and a man with a knife is bent over him.
His face is a wreck, and his shirt is dark with blood. His head comes up when I come through the door. He looks at me with his one good eye.
My breath catches. One good eye. Just like my mother.
“Lila?”
“I’m here.”
He sags against his restraints, and his head drops. “You were supposed to leave.”
“Not without you.”
The man with the knife cuts the zip ties to free Maksim’s wrists. Maksim hisses when he pulls his arms free. He tries to stand, which is just the kind of stubborn, idiotic thing I knew he would do.
“Don’t.” I move to his side and get under his arm. “Let us help you.”
“I can walk.”
“You can barely see.” I look at his face, and it turns my stomach. I push the feeling down. I can fall apart later. “Lean on me.”
He doesn’t argue again. His arm comes over my shoulder, and he settles his weight against me. He’s heavy and badly favoring his left side. I tighten my grip around his waist. If I could throw him over my shoulder, I would do it.
Damien takes his other side, and we move.
The outer room is clearer now. The shooting outside has moved farther from the building. We make it through the main entrance and into the night air. Maksim tips his head back and breathes.
“Where’s Nikolai? Sergei?”
“I saw Nikolai get hit,” I tell him.
“Is he dead?” Maksim asks.
“He was moving.”
Damien is on his radio. I’m focused on keeping Maksim upright and moving while watching the shadows.
I sense danger. I turn my head, and there he is. Arlind. He’s dragging one foot, and his left arm is hanging at an odd angle. He’s covered in blood.
But the look in his eyes stops me in my tracks. We have to run, but I can’t move.
There’s a gun in his hand. His eyes are fixed on Maksim as he raises it.
He’s going to shoot him, and I still can’t move.
Everything slows down. Maksim feels me tense.
I have the gun in my left hand. My right arm is around him.
I’m a good shot with my right hand, but not my left.
I raise it, turning my body to block Maksim even though I don’t have the height to shield his head, where Arlind is aiming.
Maksim reaches over and pulls the gun from my hand.
It happens in less than two seconds. Maksim aims and pulls the trigger with zero hesitation.
Arlind stops walking.
He stands for a second, then folds. His knees buckle, and he falls face-first against the pavement.
“Let’s move,” Damien says.
Maksim’s breathing is labored against my shoulder. I feel the effort it costs him to stay upright.
I don’t have time to process the dead man on the ground.
Damien is moving us. I readjust my grip around Maksim’s waist, and we go. My legs are shaking, but I keep moving. One foot in front of the other, across the cracked asphalt, toward the lights of the waiting vehicles.
Sergei appears out of the dark ahead of us. He stops when he sees his brother. Relief and fury cross his face.
He steps forward and takes Maksim’s weight from me. Maksim lets him, and that’s when I see him slump. Sergei’s strong form is supporting the full weight of his younger brother.
Sergei says something in Russian close to Maksim’s ear. Maksim responds the same way. I don’t understand the words, but I pick up on the tone.
My legs are so heavy. It takes monumental force to get them to move. Someone is there, supporting me the way I supported Maksim.
I’m being put into the back of the SUV and stop.
“Nikolai,” I say.
“Already in a vehicle. He’s going to be fine.” A man I don’t recognize places a hand on my back, helping to steer me. “You did good.”
I have no idea who the man is, but I believe him.