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“Fuck.” Flipping it around, he gave it to me by the handle. “If you shoot me, I’m gonna be pissed. Now go.”

I ignored him and bent at the waist. “Hey, Prudence. I’m Special Agent Alaina Biggs with the FBI. You can call me Lanie. This is gonna suck, especially since I know you’re hurting, but we need to move, and we need to do it before your boyfriend starts shooting up the place.”

My pulse skyrocketed as Zakhar began yelling in Russian. They were escalating. We needed to move.

“He’s my boss, not my boyfriend.”

“Not for long, honey. Can you walk?”

“My leg is pretty sore, but I’ll do my best. And it’s Pru.”

I noticed the damage when I undid the ropes. Both legs had a series of cuts along the shin, knife-made if I had to guess, but the right leg was swollen and bright red. It was a worry for another time, hopefully, in the not too distant future when my team showed up to save our asses.

“Put your arm around my shoulder. I’ll help you.” She sucked in a sharp breath, leaning heavily against me as she stood. “I’ve got a bottle of champagne with your name on it when we get out of here, Pru.”

“Why. Champagne?” She panted in between each pain-filled step we took.

“It makes my brain foggy and I figured after today, you’d want the same.”

“I’m gonna need two bottles.”

“I’ll buy you a case.”

The first gunshot rang out when we were still a hundred yards from the nearest exit. It was followed immediately by a barrage of others. I didn’t think, just reacted. Spinning, I fired off two rounds, the first hitting Michail in the shoulder while dragging a shell-shocked Pru behind a nearby concrete pillar. It was the only thing, other than a stack of crates along the far wall, to hide behind. Shoving her to the ground, I raised the gun to take another shot when I saw Zak and Machail facing off. The rest of Zak’s men had fallen back, essentially forming a wall of protection between us and the gunfire.

“Fuck you, Vlaschenko. I should have killed you when I killed your parents,” Machail yelled, then pulled the trigger.

Zakhar and I returned fire at the same time, one of the bullets hitting Bolotov between the eyes. Then I heard the best words of my life.

“FBI. Drop your weapons!”

Noah

Five federal agents and a local Huntington detective take on twelve Russian Bratva members.

Sounded like a headline for the six o’clock news or a really bad punchline. In reality it was worse. So much worse. Bullets were flying, blood was spilling, and my Lanie was in the middle of it all, gun in hand. My relief at seeingher alive and unharmed was short-lived, considering World War III was happening around her.

“FBI. Drop your weapons!” Duncan yelled.

Her hazel eyes locked with mine, then flicked to the five men working their way toward the exit. “Those are Machail’s men.” She pointed.

No sooner had the words left her mouth, when an explosion rocked the opposite side of the warehouse, sending shards of glass and other debris flying through the air. The gunfire ceased, only to be replaced by coughing as thick black smoke quickly filled the room. I could barely see shit, but I ran toward where I’d seen her last.

“Lanie,” I yelled.

“Here.”

She grabbed my hand, tugging me down to a crouch. The air was clear enough closer to the floor to see her face, though not much else.

“Fuck. Are you hurt?” I ran my fingers up and down her body, feeling for any injuries.

“I’m fine.”

Keaton approached; the rest of our team with him as Koen used the flashlight on his phone to guide their way.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” Waverly said.

“Pru can’t walk any farther.” Lanie turned and that’s when I noticed the petite woman curled up on the floor next to her. “Someone needs to carry her.”