Page 28 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
As we roll to a stop at the curb, my phone buzzes. Not a message. A call. Lui’s name flashes on the screen, urgent. I almost let it go. Almost.
Instinct makes me answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “What is it?”
Lui’s voice is pure adrenaline, crackling with panic. “He knows, Markian! Chris fucking knows! He’s armed and waiting for you. Somebody tipped him!”
Everything inside me goes cold. Chris knows. My plans, my soldiers—useless if we walk into a trap.
Alexei looks at me sharply, reading the danger in my face. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t have time to answer. I slam a fist against the dash. “Abort! Pull back, now.”
It’s already too late.
Muzzle flashes stutter in the alley beside the club, bursts of light bright enough to blind. The first round hammers into the hood of our lead SUV, metal screaming as it’s torn apart. Another round blows out the side window, showering Alexei and me with glass.
“Down!” I bark, grabbing Alexei and dragging him below the window. Shouts ring out from the front car. Oleg’s voice, Anton’s—gunfire. The bouncers scatter, ducking behind cars as figures in black pour from the club’s side doors, rifles raised.
I wrench my own gun from its holster, pressing my back to the door. The engine roars as our driver floors it in reverse, tires squealing on the wet asphalt, but more shots slam into the rear windshield, webbing the glass with cracks. “Go, go, go!” I shout, but chaos is blooming everywhere.
Alexei’s face is white, jaw set. “We’re boxed in. There’s two cars coming up behind.”
I peek up, ducking another bullet, and see them—black sedans sliding out of the shadows, blocking our escape. The alleyglitters with broken glass and spent shells. My men spill from the last SUV, returning fire, trying to push through.
For a second, all I hear is gunfire—the world reduced to the sharp snap of rifles, the thunder of pistols, the whine of ricochets. Chris’s men have the advantage; they knew we were coming. They’re dug in, fighting for every inch.
“Lui!” I bark into my phone, voice ragged. “Where the fuck are you?”
He answers, gunfire in the background. “I’m on my way!”
“Hold position!” I snarl, head pounding. “We’re coming to you.”
Alexei is reloading, blood dripping down his sleeve from a cut I hadn’t seen. He meets my eyes, and for a moment, I see the calculation there. We might not walk out of this. Not all of us.
“Window’s our only chance,” he mutters, nodding toward the far end of the alley.
I nod. No time to second-guess. “On my mark, move.”
I throw open the SUV’s door, using it as a shield. Bullets tear through the panel, inches from my head. I squeeze off three shots, dropping one of Chris’s men before he can reload. “Now!” I bellow.
Alexei is out next, gun blazing. I cover him, firing in quick, controlled bursts, heart beating like a war drum. My men rally, pressing forward in a desperate push. We’re in the open now, targets painted on our backs.
Chris’s voice rings out from the club’s doorway, mocking, triumphant. “Didn’t expect this, did you, Sharov? Should’ve stayed home!”
I grit my teeth, fire again, rage burning through the fear. “You want me, come get me, you son of a bitch!”
Somewhere to my left, Oleg goes down hard, a cry lost in the chaos. Sirens begin to wail in the distance. Someone’s called the cops. We have seconds, maybe less.
I duck behind the shattered SUV, Alexei at my side, both of us reloading, breath ragged.
“We need to move!” he snarls.
“I know.” My mind races. No time for regret, no time for fear. We push forward again, every step a gamble, every second bought with blood.
Bullets rip through the night, spitting sparks and fire across the slick pavement. Glass shatters overhead, raining diamonds into the back seat as the armored SUV jerks and spins under the impact.
Men scream and fall.
The sharp metallic tang of blood mixes with the choking stench of burned fuel. Everything blurs—the strobing muzzle flashes, the echo of gunfire hammering off the walls, the bone-rattling thud of grenades tossed into the kill zone.
