Page 142 of Ruined By Blood
Something's wrong.
Evelyn will be coming up from the garage elevator any minute, walking right past this stranger without a clue that something's off.
I pull out my phone, checking the feeds from the cameras I've placed in the hallway outside her apartment. Nothing unusual there—yet.
I spot Evelyn through the lobby windows. She exits the elevator, violin case clutched in one hand, phone in the other, completely unaware.
Fuck waiting.
Fuck watching.
I'm halfway across the street when her scream cuts through the night. My blood turns to ice.
Through the glass, I see George sprawled behind the security desk, blood pooling beneath him. Evelyn's frozen in place, staring at his body, her phone and case dropped at her feet.
Three men materialize from different corners of the lobby. They move with precision, blocking exits, surrounding her. Black tactical gear, faces partially covered.
My training kicks in, assessing threats automatically. Two armed - bulges at their waistbands visible even from here. The third, largest of the bunch, carries something in his hand. Syringe? Taser? Either way, they're planning to take her, not kill her here.
I sprint the remaining distance, gun drawn. Through my rage, calculations run automatically - angles, positions,glass thickness. Three targets. Evelyn in the middle. Can't risk crossfire.
The first man grabs her arm. She fights back, landing a solid kick to his shin.
Good girl.
I sprint through the lobby doors, gun drawn.
"The boss wants her unharmed," one of them barks as they struggle with Evelyn. "Just fucking grab her!"
"Get your hands off me!" Evelyn's voice rings out, fierce and unbroken despite the terror in her eyes. She's fighting back, all fire and fury despite being outnumbered.
I move silently behind them. The first guy doesn't even hear me coming. I slam the butt of my gun against his temple, and he drops like a stone.
The second one turns, reaching for his weapon, but I'm faster. My fist connects with his throat, crushing his windpipe. He makes a wet, gurgling sound as he falls to his knees.
"Who the fuck—" The third man spins around, his eyes widening as he registers my presence.
He's smart, this one. Instead of fighting me, he lunges for Evelyn, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her in front of him like a shield. His gun is gone—must have dropped it in the scuffle—but he presses something against her neck. A knife.
"Back off or I'll open her up," he growls.
Evelyn's eyes lock with mine, recognition flashing across her face. The man I'd taken down first is stirring, reaching for his ankle holster. Without looking, I put a bullet in his head.
"I said back off!" The man with Evelyn shouts, pressing the blade harder against her skin.
Evelyn doesn't wait for me to save her. She drives herheel down hard on his instep and jams her elbow back into his solar plexus. The move creates just enough space between them for her to twist away, but as she turns, his hand flies out, catching her across the face with a vicious backhand.
The sound of his hand connecting with her cheek echoes through the lobby. Her head snaps back, and she crumples to the floor, unconscious.
Everything goes red.
I don't remember crossing the distance between us. One moment I'm standing there, the next my hands are around his throat. I slam him into the marble wall so hard I hear something crack. His skull or the stone, I don't care which.
"Who sent you?" I growl, pressing my forearm against his windpipe.
He tries to spit in my face, but I increase the pressure, cutting off his air.
"V-Volkov," he chokes out. "Ivan Volkov."
