Page 59 of Last Hand

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “He’s just sleeping.”

Fallon’s eyes meet mine over the girls’ heads. In that glance is years of unspoken pain, of choices made for survival rather than love. Of the life stolen from both of us. There’s something else, too. The same stubborn fire I’ve always seen in her, even as a child. She is my daughter, through and through.

We reach the laundry room, and I ease the door open, checking for movement outside. The yard is clear, the tree line perhaps thirty yards away. Beyond that lies the forest.

I shift Anya to my other hip and reach for the door handle. This is it. Once we step outside, there’s no turning back. If we’re caught now, Mikhail won’t simply punish us, he’ll kill me. If we make it…if we make it, we’ll be free.

I push the door open, and cool, damp air rushes in—smelling of earth and rain and possibility. My lungs burn from the smoke, each breath scraping like sandpaper against my throat. The forest looms around us, a maze of shadows and sunlight dappling through the canopy.

The cold air bites at my wet clothes, sending shivers racing down my spine. The sprinklers have left us all damp, but there’s no time to worry about comfort. The nearest neighbor is miles away, and Mikhail’s men patrol the perimeter regularly. We have minutes at most before someone raises the alarm.

“Stay close to the trees,” I whisper to Fallon. “The ground’s softer there—fewer tracks

She nods, adjusting Mila against her hip. The child has her face buried in Fallon’s neck, tiny fingers clutching her sister’s shirt with white-knuckled intensity. Anya walks beside me, one hand gripping mine, the other holding the strap of her backpack just as I instructed. Her face is set in a determined frown that breaks my heart, so young and already familiar with the need to be brave in the face of danger.

We reach the ridge near the hunting shed—a weathered wooden structure where Mikhail stores gear for his occasional hunting trips with associates. I’ve never been allowed inside; I’ve only observed it from a distance during my carefully supervised walks. It’s almost far enough. Just beyond the next copse of trees lies the creek that will guide us to safety, its winding path eventually leading to property that once belonged to my mother-in-law. Property that now, if my information is correct, belongs to Nathan still.

Fallon takes in the two guards on the forest edge, collapsed in awkward heaps where they fell. Her eyes widen momentarily before darting to me, a question in their depths.

“Tea,” I mouth silently. We skirt around the unconscious men, giving them a wide berth. Anya stares, her little body tensing beside me.

“Are they dead?” she whispers, voice barely audible.

“No, sweetheart. Just sleeping,” I assure her, squeezing her hand gently. “Like in Snow White.”

The comparison seems to satisfy her, though the reality is far darker than any fairy tale. These men aren’t innocent victims, and I’m certainly no prince with a kiss to wake them. They’re Mikhail’s dogs, and given the chance, they’d drag us back to their master by our hair.

The unmistakable sound of the back door slamming open. A roar splits the stillness, primal and furious. Igor.

I spin just in time to see him crashing down the steps, blood trickling down his temple where the fire extinguisher connected. His eyes are wild and murderous as he scans the yard, his massive frame silhouetted against the smoke still seeping from the house. The blow to his head wasn’t enough—he’s conscious and furious, and he’s spotted us.

“Go!” I hiss at Fallon, pushing her forward with one hand while still holding Anya with the other. “Take them and go!”

“I can’t—” Fallon starts, her voice catching. Mila begins to cry harder now, sensing the spike in tension.

“You can. Follow the path down to the creek. Don’t look back.” She goes to say something when I force Anya’s hand in hers.

“The creek leads to the back of your grandmother’s property,” I continue urgently, my eyes fixed on Igor as he runs toward us, moving with surprising speed despite his injury. “Wait there. Leone will come for you.”

The name falls between us like a stone in still water, ripples of recognition spreading across Fallon’s face. Her eyes dart between me and the approaching Igor. Anya clings to my leg,whimpering softly. Both girls are crying now, their small bodies trembling with fear and confusion.

Fallon’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the girl I left behind all those years ago. Only she’s older now. Hardened.

There are so many things I wish I could tell her. Like thank you for saving Emma and helping raise her when I couldn’t. For being a good daughter to her father.

Instead, all I say is, “I’ll be fine,” the lie bitter on my tongue. “Now go.”

Igor is closing the distance with each lumbering step. There’s no more time for goodbyes, for explanations, for the lifetime of conversations we should have had.

I give Anya a gentle push toward Fallon. “Go with Fallon, sweetheart. Run fast and quiet, just like we practiced.”

The little girl’s bottom lip trembles, but she nods and moves to her side. Fallon gives me one last look before she turns and flees deeper into the forest with the girls.

I watch them for one precious second, memorizing the sight of their retreating forms, before I turn to face Igor. He’s close now, close enough I can see the rage contorting his features, the blood matting his hair, the promise of violence in his eyes.

And I run straight at him.

We collide in the dirt, and it hurts, god, it hurts. He’s twice my size and full of rage so I use it. The impact jars every bone in my body, knocks the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh. Igor’s momentum carries us both to the ground, his weight crushing down on me.

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