Page 137 of Bratva Bidder
“Get up!” I snap, crossing the room in two quick strides and hauling him upright by his sleeve. “We’re compromised. We need to leave now.”
He stumbles behind me, gasping incoherently, fear radiating from every jerky movement he makes. I lead him back toward the stairs, gun raised, eyes scanning the floor below. Konstantin’s nowhere visible, but through the shifting haze of smoke, I see movement—figures darting between cover, advancing cautiously toward our position.
I flatten myself and Levin against the wall just as the deafening staccato of gunfire rings out, bullets pinging off metal with chilling clarity.
“Keep your head down,” I hiss at Levin. His breath is ragged, shaking beside me.
Below, Konstantin returns fire, his movements precise, lethal, bullets finding their marks through smoke and chaos. He fights like a man born for war, but even he can’t hold them off forever.
I tug Levin toward the narrow hallway that leads to the rear exit, heart thundering. We slip down the stairs, emerging behind a row of stacked crates. Gunshots and shouts echo in the wide space around us, but the shadowed aisle offers temporary cover. My instincts are sharper now, every sense dialed to maximum clarity.
One of Dmitry’s men steps into view ahead, his back partially turned. Before he sees us, I move on instinct—stepping forward swiftly, pressing the gun barrel against his neck. He freezes, gasping, but I give him no chance to act. A quick movement of my elbow, and he drops heavily at my feet, unconscious.
Levin stares, stunned. “You…you knocked him out.”
“I didn’t have time for a conversation,” I snap.
We move faster, slipping toward the exit door, Levin stumbling and panting behind me. Konstantin appears suddenly, sprinting toward us through the smoke, his face smeared with soot and blood, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“They’ve sealed off the east exit,” he rasps. “We have to reroute. The basement tunnel.”
“The tunnel’s compromised?” I ask.
“No choice. It’s our only way out.”
I nod, swallowing hard. He’s right. Levin’s panicked breathing echoes loudly, too loud. Konstantin takes the lead, and we follow swiftly, darting through scattered debris and acrid smoke to reach a rusted metal door set into the floor. Konstantin heaves it open, revealing a narrow ladder descending into darkness.
“Go,” he orders Levin. “Now.”
Levin scrambles down, breathing hard, trembling. As I follow, Konstantin pauses at the edge, firing behind us into the shadows, keeping our pursuers at bay. When he finally slips down after me, he bolts the hatch shut, plunging us into near darkness.
The tunnel smells of earth and old metal. We hurry forward, shoulders brushing against damp concrete walls. Our footsteps splash through shallow puddles of stagnant water, echoes ricocheting like a taunt. Each breath feels too loud, each heartbeat pounding violently.
We reach the ladder that leads up to the alleyway. Konstantin climbs first, shoving aside the heavy grate above, moonlight spilling down on us.
When we emerge, we’re at the far end of the warehouse lot, hidden between two sagging buildings. In the distance, sirens wail, but they feel too far, too late.
Konstantin scans the perimeter, his stance alert, gun raised. “Lev should be here soon,” he says tightly, glancing at me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, catching my breath. Levin leans against the wall, pale, eyes unfocused. “Are you injured?”
He shakes his head mutely, clutching his chest. Konstantin grabs him roughly by the shoulder. “Keep breathing. It’s almost over.”
But it’s not.
The gunshots suddenly pick up again—closer now, bullets chewing at the concrete nearby. Konstantin pushes Levin behind a rusting dumpster, shielding us both with his body. His jaw is clenched, fury radiating off him. “Stay here,” he commands us.
He pivots away, charging into the chaos, firing decisively. I watch his silhouette blend into the smoke and shadows, my heart lurching painfully.
I grip Levin’s arm. “Stay here and don’t move,” I say harshly, adrenaline flooding my veins as I move after Konstantin, weapon raised and ready.
I find Konstantin pinned behind a burned-out car, gun empty, men approaching on all sides. My pulse pounds in my throat as I slip behind one attacker, taking him down hard with an elbow to the temple. His knees buckle, and I kick the gun from his limp hand, snatching it up.
Konstantin meets my eyes, surprise quickly turning to grim admiration. “Good timing.”
“I’m not just decoration,” I say, heart racing.
He reloads swiftly, jaw clenched in determination. Together we move forward, fighting as one—fluid, deadly, each action mirrored, unspoken. Bullets fly, dirt kicks up beneath our feet, my lungs burn, but my movements come smoothly, the old training from Uncle Arman guiding every strike.
