Page 69 of Sin Wager
I pull the knife from my boot and drive its butt through the passenger window. Glass fragments float away in slow motion, creating an exit barely wide enough for human passage. Then I turn and reach toward her with the knife, which easily slices through the stubborn seatbelt.
I grab Vera's hand and pull her through the opening. We kick upward through green water, lungs burning, while the car disappears into deeper darkness below. My coat drags like an anchor, so I shrug it off and let the current carry it away. My gun is lost somewhere in the chaos, but Vera's hand is locked on mine and I'm not letting go.
We break the surface gasping, clinging to each other while water streams from our hair. Above us, the black sedan idles on the embankment, its occupants leaning over the broken guardrail.
A muzzle flash winks from the passenger window. The bullet snaps water two feet from Vera's head, close enough to spray her face with displaced river.
"Under!" I drag her down again, using the embankment's shadow to mask our movements.
We swim downstream, staying submerged as long as our lungs allow, surfacing only when unconsciousness threatens. The current carries us past concrete pylons and rusted industrial debris, natural cover that conceals our escape. Hypothermia threatens, but I push us harder.
Eventually, a collapsed culvert offers shelter and we crawl through the opening into a concrete tube filled with stagnant water and urban decay. It's not comfortable, but it’s invisible from the road above where Sonya's men are likely still stalking us.
Vera shivers against me, body heat leaching away through wet clothes. Shock and hypothermia make dangerous combinations, especially for pregnant women whose systems already operate under additional stress.
I cradle her face between my palms, searching her eyes. "Are you hurt?" My hands skim her shoulders and arms, checking for injuries I cannot see in the darkness.
She shakes her head, teeth chattering. "No. Cold, but not hurt." Her voice is steady despite the tremor in her body. Then her hand drifts protectively to her stomach. "The baby?"
I pull her closer, pressing my forehead to hers. "Too early to tell. We need medical attention, but not until we reach safety."
Her eyes flick toward the river mouth. "The van—did you see where it went?"
Through the culvert's mouth, I glimpse the river's far shore where a private dock extends into deeper water. A cabin cruiser sits moored there, engines running, while figures move cargo from vehicle to boat. I nod at them and her eyes follow my line of sight.
"Can we stop them?"
"Not alone. Not from here." I pull out my phone, grateful for waterproof casing that keeps electronics functional despite river immersion. "But we can call in support."
Rolan's number connects immediately, his voice cutting in before the second ring.
"What happened?"
I press the phone tight to my ear, watching Vera curl against the wall of the culvert, arms wrapped around herself for warmth."Ambush on Flotskaya. Timur and a sedan forced us off the road. Car went into the river. We made it out, but barely."
There is a pause, and then his tone turns to cold steel in his tone. "And Vera?"
"She's alive. Shaken, freezing. We need extraction before hypothermia takes hold. They're moving money by boat right now. I can see the transfer happening from here."
Rolan exhales slowly. "Radich bastards think they can drown my blood… Timur will wish he died today."
"I can't engage alone," I tell him. My teeth chatter, but I keep my words as level as I can. "We need men. Weapons. Transport. If you want proof of their network, the dock is crawling with it. But if we wait too long, the cash sails out of Moscow."
"Hold your position," Rolan orders. "I'll divert a crew from the northern district. They'll come in heavy. Twenty minutes."
I glance at Vera—her lips blue, her body trembling hard. "We don't have twenty. We need warmth now. Somewhere to put her until your men arrive. Ro, Vera's pregnant."
There is another silence, and then Rolan speaks again, his voice softer but no less grim. "There's an old maintenance shack half a klick downstream, red door, rusted roof. Get her inside and cover the windows. My people will find you there."
"Understood."
"And, Uncle." His voice drops to a growl. "Keep yourself alive, get what you can from that dock, and make sure no one traces this back to me."
The line goes dead, leaving only the echo of threats and promises in my ear.
27
VERA
