“Go,” he whispered fiercely.“Now.”
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes.“I’m not losing you.”
“You won’t.”His jaw trembled.“I’m harder to kill than you think.”
There was another crash that sounded closer.
Atlas gripped me by the waist and physically lifted me onto the elevator platform.
“No—Atlas—please?—”
“I’ll come for you,” he repeated, his voice breaking like a man pushed to the edge of sanity.“Go now.”
His thumb stroked my cheek once—slow, devastating me.Then he hit the button.The platform dropped.Atlas’s face rose above me as the elevator descended—his eyes wild, furious, terrified—but he didn’t move, didn’t retreat, didn’t break eye contact until the doors sealed shut between us.
Darkness swallowed me.
And the last thing I heard before the elevator locked me away was the sound of Atlas—my Atlas—cursing as he walked straight into hell.
39
Atlas
The moment the elevator sealed shut, my world narrowed into one command:do not let them reach her.
There was another crash, this time closer.
Glass shattered.Something heavy tipped over and crashed into the floor.Furniture scraped hard across wood.And then the unmistakable thud of boots… heavy, uninvited, stomping through my home.
My pulse spiked, sudden and electric, but my hands stayed steady as I reached for the gun in the drawer by the stove.
Low voices drifted down the hall.Guttural consonants.Harsh vowels.Russian.Bratva.They’d found us.
A shadow moved at the edge of the doorway.He stepped in—big, smug, sure of himself.He didn’t even get a full breath before I lifted the gun and fired once.The bullet hit his chest dead-on.
He folded instantly, collapsing into a boneless heap that smeared blood across my tile.Steam rose off the wound.His eyes were still open.
But killing him was loud.Too loud.Because the moment his body hit the floor, the hallway erupted with pounding feet.More shadows surged forward.More voices hurled Russian curses as they spotted their fallen comrade and realized exactly who they were dealing with.
Two men rounded the corner into the kitchen—rage, vengeance, and violence coming straight for me.I could hear others moving through the apartment, spreading out, overturning furniture and checking rooms as they looked for Neve.
I tightened my grip on the gun, letting off a spray of bullets as the Russians crossed the threshold into the kitchen.They dropped to the ground and I swapped out my gun for their fully loaded semis.I stepped over their lifeless bodies and moved into the hallway at the same moment that a man turned my way.
We fired at the same time.
White-hot pain punched into my shoulder, spinning me back.
My gunshot caught him in the throat before I hit the floor.
I shoved myself up.My arm was numb as warm blood trickled down my side.But I ignored the pain and surged forward.Adrenaline spiked through me so violently that my vision sharpened.
I pushed forward.Another man appeared.I shot; he ducked, his shot tearing through my ribcage like a hot iron.I choked on the impact, stumbling into the wall.My vision flickered.Breath sawed in and out of me, painful, shallow.
But I didn’t fall.I refused to fall.I raised my gun, forced my shaking hand steady, and fired.He dropped.
Two more barrels appeared at the far end of the hall, glinting under the low lights.
I barely lifted my gun before the world erupted in muzzles and thunder.