Page 141 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

Another shot cracks through the air wild and unfocused, a technique meant to intimidate us. Also good news. They're notwilling to charge in and sacrifice themselves to complete the mission.

That hesitation is their weakness. And our advantage.

I squeeze off a return shot toward the doorway, not expecting to hit anything but hoping to buy me a few seconds to think. The round hits a wall with a dull thud.

The bullets stop and there's only the sound of rapid breathing. I'm trying to figure out if I have any leverage for an attack, when a voice cuts through the quiet. It's deep, measured, entirely devoid of fear or urgency. It feels like having ice water injected directly into my veins.

"I guarantee we have more bullets than you."

That voice.

It's impossible…

I've heard it before, seen the man before, in a dimly lit Chicago warehouse, where I stood in the shadows pretending to be someone I wasn't. It's a voice that makes hardened criminals tremble and bite their tongues.

Victor.

I'm so shocked and confused I nearly lose my grip on my weapon. Victor is here?Here. In Manhattan. Personally overseeing whatever this is.

It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense. How does a Hollywood director connect to one of Chicago's most dangerous criminals? How does Londyn fit into any of this?

My gaze flicks to Londyn, whose face has gone ashen. Her eyes are wide with confusion; she doesn't recognize the voice. She has no idea what kind of evil son of a bitch is standing in her bedroom.

I wet my cracked lips. "I only need a few to hit my target," I call back, my voice steady so as not to reveal how much my heart is hammering.

The darkness in the apartment shifts, and I can sense rather than see more bodies positioning themselves. Multiple men are filling Londyn's bedroom.

Fuck, how do I get her out of this?

I glance at the bathroom window. It's no longer an option because it's directly across from the open doorway.

"You can take out my men, but I have more on standby." The voice doesn't rise, doesn't need to. It commands attention through its very stillness. "Regardless, I'd rather not waste resources. Training replacements is… inefficient. I'll give you a choice. We could come in there. You'll take out one, maybe twoof my men before we gun you both down. Messy. Wasteful." He pauses, letting the scenario sink in. "Or you can have a clean, quick death. Professional courtesy."

Another pause, weighted with absolute certainty.

"But you must know you won't escape."

My mind races, calculating angles, weapons, positions. We're in a box with one door, one tiny window. Even if I created a diversion, Londyn wouldn't make it through that window fast enough. And it sounds like there might be men waiting on the street below.

My phone is heavy in my pocket and I debate calling the police. I could possibly buy enough time for them to get here, but I know as soon as sirens cut the air, our attackers would rush in to finish us before disappearing into the city.

I glance at Londyn, expecting to see panic, but what I find is worse. Her eyes are wide but eerily clear, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Without a word, she sets the mace down on the edge of the sink with a soft, final click.

"Can we be together at the end?" she calls out.

No.

No, this isn't the end.

It can't be. I won't let it.

I shake my head as I realize what she's doing.

"Sure," comes the reply, Victor's tone almost bored. "But I have a meeting, so let's get this done."

I shake my head frantically, my free hand grabbing for her arm. But her eyes, those beautiful eyes that somehow became the center of my universe, are firm with resolve. I've seen that look before, in soldiers who've made peace with what comes next.

"Gun first," the voice commands.

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