Page 50 of Deceptive Vows
Thea was already moving—her arm whipped forward, sending her knife spinning end over end before burying itself in his shoulder with a meaty thunk. He howled, staggering back against a crate, and Twitchy bolted for the shelter of a forklift, barking rapid-fire Russian into a radio clipped to his collar.
“Time to go.” I grabbed her wrist as gunfire erupted from the far corner of the warehouse. A third man I hadn’t spotted—positioned near a side door—opened fire with a semi-automatic. Bullets pinged off the catwalk in a shower of sparks, the metal vibratingbeneath our feet.
I pushed Thea toward the emergency ladder at the catwalk’s end—fifteen feet of rusted rungs leading to the ground.
“Move!” Drawing my Makarov, I provided cover, firing twice.
Twitchy crumpled as my bullets found his leg. He writhed on the concrete, still clutching his radio.
Thea reached the ladder but ignored it. Instead, she vaulted over the railing, dropping ten feet onto a stack of wooden crates below. The wood creaked but held her weight. I followed her lead, the impact sending pain shooting up my ankles as I landed beside her.
Three more guards burst through a door on the far side of the warehouse, fifty yards of open space between us and the exit. I grabbed Thea’s arm, pulling her behind a forklift as bullets sparked against metal.
“On three,” I muttered, catching her eye. She nodded once, already understanding the plan without words. “One, two?—”
We sprinted across the concrete floor, weaving between machinery and crates as bullets chewed into metal and wood around us. The smell of gunpowder and hot metal filled the air.
“Left!” I shouted, spotting a corridor between tall shipping containers.
We ducked through it, boots echoing on the concrete. Behind us, footsteps pounded in pursuit—reinforcements, too many to count—and as we rounded the final corner toward the exit, I caught a glimpse of a tattooed arm through the chaos. A wolf’s head, jaws dripping red. There it was, undeniable confirmation of what we suspected.
We hit the exit door at full sprint, shouldering it open into the cold night air. Lex and Dimitris materialized from their position behind a dumpster twenty yards to our right, guns drawn, faces tight with questions.
My lungs burned with each rapid breath, tasting copper—adrenaline or blood, I couldn’t tell.
“Move! They’re right behind us!” Thea barked, already sprinting toward our SUV parked behind the loading dock.
I slid behind the wheel, jamming the key into the ignition as Lex and Dimitris dove into the back seat. Thea claimed shotgun, already turning in her seat to cover us. The engine roared to life, and I threw it into reverse, backing up until I couldmake a wide turn.
“Three o’clock!” Dimitris warned, and I spotted them—two black sedans bursting from the warehouse’s side lot, fifty yards away and closing fast.
I cranked the wheel hard and floored it, the SUV fishtailing. Buildings blurred past as I navigated the tight streets.
“Were they wolves?” Dimitris asked, his voice rough as he ejected his magazine to check his remaining rounds. The sedans had fallen behind momentarily but would find us soon.
“Da,” I said, jaw tight as I navigated the car. “Working with Marco. I think he’s staging a coup.”
Thea twisted in her seat, staring at me. “What?”
“That’s what the two guards were talking about. Wondering if Gabriele suspected anything.” I took a hard left that sent us fishtailing onto a side street. The sedans stuck close, their engines roaring, and a bullet shattered the back window, raining glass over Lex.
“Son of a—” He ducked, popping off two shots through the gap. One car swerved, tires squealing, but the other gained, a muzzle flashing from the passenger side.
Thea cursed, yanking a Glock from her waistband. She leaned out her window, hair whipping wild, and fired—a single, perfect shot that punched through the driver’s windshield. The sedan veered, slamming into a light pole with a crunch that echoed like thunder.
“Nice,” I muttered, adrenaline singing in my veins as the second car dropped back, peeling off into the dark. Even after years with Krysha, I rarely saw shooting that precise under pressure.
We didn’t stop until the warehouse district was a smear in the distance, the SUV idling in a deserted lot near the L tracks. Silence settled, broken only by the hum of the train overhead and Lex’s ragged breathing.
“That was too easy,” she muttered, eyes still scanning the street.
“Easy?” I glanced at the shattered window. “We walked into a warzone with a flashlight and a knife.”
Thea slipped the Glock back into her pants.
“The phone.” Her palm extended between us.
I placed it in her hand, our fingers brushing, a contact point that felt electric against the backdrop of violence we’d just escaped. Her focus as she worked through the call logwas absolute, the same intensity I’d seen when she fired that perfect shot minutes ago.
