Page 21 of Vicious Doll

Killion's posture shifts subtly, combat-ready despite his casual appearance. "When did you last hear from Volkov?"

"Thirty minutes ago. He was securing the service corridor."

"And you didn't find it strange he hasn't checked in?"

Before I can answer, the first explosion rocks the building—distant enough to be muffled but strong enough to rattle crystal glasses along the bar. Guests look up in confusion, murmurs rippling through the room.

Killion's hand closes around my wrist, his grip iron. "We need to move. Now."

"What the hell was that?"

"That," he says grimly, "was the sound of Volkov burning bridges. I told you he couldn’t be trusted."

Another explosion, closer this time, followed by the scream of fire alarms. Smoke begins curling under the door from the lobby, thin tendrils becoming choking clouds. Chaos erupts—people pushing toward exits, security guards trying to maintain order as panic spreads like contagion.

Killion pulls me to my feet, his body automatically positioning itself between me and the nearest threat, the handler protecting his asset even now. "East stairwell. We've got maybe two minutes before this place is completely compromised."

"Volkov and Mikhail?—"

"Are either behind this or caught in it. Either way, they're not your concern right now." His eyes harden. "Survival first. Questions later."

My training kicks in, overriding confusion. I follow him through the thickening smoke, Sofia Petrov's heels abandoned for fleet-footed survival. The stairwell is already filling with fleeing guests—perfect cover, terrible bottleneck.

"This wasn't the plan," I say as we descend, staying close to the wall where the crush is thinnest. "Volkov wouldn't risk this kind of chaos unless?—"

"Unless he was desperate," Killion finishes. "Or unless this was the plan all along and you weren't privy to it."

The second option lands like lead in my stomach. Had I misjudged again? Trusted the wrong monster? The night in that broken-down safehouse, the raw connection I'd thought I'd found with two men as damaged as me—had it all been an act?

We hit the ground floor, pushing through emergency exits into the winter air where smoke billows black against gray sky. Police sirens wail in the distance, fire crews already responding. The street is chaos—hotel guests in various states of undress and panic, security attempting crowd control, onlookers with phones raised to capture the spectacle.

Perfect cover for an escape. Or an ambush.

Killion guides me through the crowd with practiced efficiency, one hand at the small of my back, eyes constantly scanning for threats. The touch is professional, impersonal, yet it burns through my clothes like a brand.

"My extraction team is three blocks north," he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. "We'll be wheels up within the hour, back in secure territory by nightfall."

"And if I don't want to go with you?"

He stops, fixing me with that penetrating stare that's always made me feel transparent. "Then walk away. Right now. But understand what you're walking towards. Volkov isn't your ally, Nova. He's using you to get to me, to get to Vahnya, to finish what he started in Budapest."

"And you're not using me?"

"I invested in you," he corrects. "There's a difference."

Something pricks at my consciousness —he keeps calling me Nova, not Landry. A tiny voice of intuition is whispering at the back of my skull that his reasoning matters.

Behind us, a third explosion rocks the Hotel Imperial, this one larger than the others. Glass shards rain onto the street as windows blow out, screams rising in harmony with wailing sirens. In the confusion, I could disappear—lose myself in the crowd, find my own way, trust no one but myself.

It would be the smart play. The safe play.

Instead, I find myself saying: "That phone. The one you wanted me to call Vahnya on. Give it to me."

His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes does—a flicker of what might be relief. He hands over the slim device, our fingers brushing in the exchange.

"One call," he says. "Then you decide."

I take the phone, stepping away from him for the illusion of privacy. The number is pre-dialed. All I have to do is press connect and find out if everything I've believed for the past week has been another elaborate lie.

---