Page 68 of If You Go
3…Process..
4…Anger. Feel the anger. The sadness.
5…Use the anger. Feed it with the sadness.
That’s it. I can’t give myself any more time. I stand and follow after Natasha. The pistol is now warm in my hand, and I mentally tally how many bullets I likely still have. When I reach her, I lean in close.
“If we can avoid it, don’t kill him. I have a plan on how to deal with him.” She nods.
BANG.
Another gun goes off. This time, we can see. Gavin has Brenden by the throat and his gun pointed straight in the air. Everyone froze.
“Well, well, well. It seems you have come much sooner than I was prepared for. But don’t worry, I will take great care of our girl for you. Where is Stefan? I might as well get this over with if everyone is already here?” At that moment, a man walks in, holding a shadowy figure by the shoulder with one hand behind his back. Dad.How did this happen? How are we…losing? I watch in disbelief. We are really about to…to lose.
Gavin's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "Hello Stefan. Did you see that video I sent you with the Russians?" My dad's silence is deafening. "Should I retrieve Surry so we can get this union back on track?" Gavin's words hang in the air, met with nothing. His face contorts from the lack of reaction he receives.
"No? OKAY THEN." He slams the gun barrel against Brenden's temple, drawing blood. "TIE HIM UP!" I cringe seeing the blood, and then the spittle that flies from his mouth as he screams, veins bulging in his neck. Brenden crashes to his knees.Gavin's eyes are feral now—pupils blown wide, nostrils flaring with each ragged breath. My heart hammers so hard I taste metal. I lock eyes with Natasha, her terror mirroring my own. Following her gaze, I see them—Gavin's men forming a death circle, weapons trained on Josh, Gunnar, and my father's crew. The metallic click of safeties being switched off echoes in the sudden silence.
A hand comes around and covers my mouth, and I try to spin around but can’t. I use my peripheral to see that Natasha also has her mouth covered. Between us a blonde head comes into view and starts whispering to us.
“It’s me, Corver, don’t scream.” Just before he removes his hand from our mouths Natasha lets out a tiny sob, and we turn to face him. Corver and Natasha just look at each other before she falls into him, his arms wrapping around her, and he presses kisses onto the top of her head. I can see her shoulders shaking as she begins to fall apart.
I gesture to the others, and Cover looks at me with sadness in his eyes. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Arnie is still over in the other building, I have him in my ear. He says hi.” Corver whispers and gestures toward his ear. “We turned the lights out and are the only ones able to get them back on. But through the cameras we could see what was happening to you, and to Natasha, and then everyone else. So I decided I’d better get in here. I have a gas bomb, but I only have one respirator. Do you have any ideas?”
“Actually,” Natasha says in her low Russian accent. “I do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CORVER’S VOICE CRACKLESthrough the comms. “Snipers down. You’re clear for entry.”
That’s all I need.
“Go.”
We hit the doors like a thunderclap. Boots slam. Metal screams. The echo ricochets off concrete, folding into the deafening pop of gunfire. The air fills with shouting—guttural, desperate screams that barely register as human—and muzzle flashes strobe across the room like hellish lightning. Smoke billows thick enough to chew, a suffocating gray blanket that burns my lungs with each panicked breath. I can taste copper and dust on my tongue, metallic and gritty, while fine particles of debris coat my teeth and throat, turning my saliva to paste. The deafening thunder of gunfire reverberates through my bones, each blast sending tremors through my chest.
The first man through doesn’t make it to the second step. A shot snaps past me, catching him in the shoulder and spinning him sideways. Stefan’s men flood in after, shouting positions, but it’s chaos—our carefully built plan disintegrating the second we hit the floor.
I move on instinct. Head down, gun up, scanning. Every shape, every flicker of movement could be her—or him. My heartbeat is too loud in my ears, a drum drowning out the rest.
She’s here.
She has to be.
Someone yells “clear!” from my left, but it’s a lie. A shadow rises behind him, knife flashing, and the scream turns wet and short. I spin, fire, drop the man. No time to think about names. No time to breathe.
“Two on the left!” Joshua shouts through the comms.
I pivot, covering him. I squeeze the trigger—three, four shots—and they’re down. We press forward, edging toward the center of the building when I hear it.
Gavin’s voice cuts through the mess like glass.
“Come to find the little bird? Bad news, the bird is home, right where she belongs. Now come out and FACE ME!”
My blood runs with ice. The sound of him crawls straight up my spine. Too close—he’s in the open, taunting, somewhere beyond the fog of bullets and debris.
