Page 89 of Hunt Me
I grab the edge of the desk, heart pounding.
Another explosion.
Closer this time.
Gunfire erupts somewhere above us—automatic weapons, rapid bursts, then shouting in Russian.
Hope flares white-hot in my chest.
Alexi.
Morrison yanks a gun from his shoulder holster and grabs my arm, hauling me out of the chair.
“Move.”
He drags me toward the door.
I dig my heels in. “Where’s Maya?”
“Fuck your friend.” He shoves the gun against my temple. “Walk or I paint the walls with your brain.”
I stumble forward.
Morrison’s grip cuts into my arm as he drags me into the corridor. The concrete walls amplify the chaos—gunfire, shouting, bodies hitting the floor somewhere above us.
He pulls me right, toward a metal staircase.
“Up. Now.”
“You’re taking me toward the fighting?”
“There’s a helicopter on the roof.” He shoves me onto the first step. “Move.”
My mind races. If Alexi’s team breached the building, going up puts me closer to them. Closer to rescue.
Or closer to a bullet.
Morrison climbs behind me, gun pressed against my spine. Each step echoes. The stairwell spirals upward through three floors of concrete and steel.
Second floor landing—more gunfire. A body crashes against the door, denting the metal.
Morrison doesn’t slow.
Third floor—the door bursts open.
A man in tactical gear stumbles through, bleeding from his shoulder. He sees Morrison and raises his weapon.
Morrison shoots him twice.
The man drops.
I freeze on the stairs, ears ringing from the gunshots in the enclosed space.
“Keep moving.” Morrison shoves me forward over the body.
Fourth floor. The roof access door sits twenty feet ahead.
Almost there.
