Steam rises from the engine. I’m disoriented and confused. I touch myself and pick a piece of glass from my cheek. It glitters red with blood. “Gabe?” I can barely hear myself. “Gabe? Are you? What? Where?”
“Nika, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Then he’s there, desperately taking off my seatbelt. “We have to move.”
He leans over and shoves my door open. I gasp as he drags me out of the car. Blood’s splattered across his clothes. There’s a big gash across his ribs, dribbling freely. I take in him and the damage to our vehicle. The driver’s face is crumpled against the steering wheel. His head looks like it exploded, and I can’t understand what happened, until I realize the front windshield’s got bullet holes in it.
“Come on.” Gabe drags me from the wreck and into a stand of trees off the side of the road. The van’s lurking nearby, its front end crunched. The side door opens and men wearing black masks climb out.
Three of them, and they’re all armed.
Gabe shoves me past him and drops to a knee. “Run!” he commands, raising a gun and firing on our attackers.
I sprint into the trees. I scream as bullets rip into the underbrush near me, making me stagger and trip over a tangle of roots. I hit the ground hard, groaning, roll onto my knees, and shove myself forward again. I’m covered in dirt and blood. There’s no pain so I don’t think I’m seriously injured, but it’s hard to say. Adrenaline drives me forward.
I stumble, hit a tree, bounce off the trunk, and turn to look back. Gabe’s gone. The men are gone. I don’t know what's happening until I spot one of our attackers, lanky and loping after me, in jeans, a button down, and a ski mask. He raises his gun and shoots.
The bullet explodes the tree next to my face.
I scream and dive backward, stagger, land on my ass. I roll sideways, scrambling through the leaves, and start running. More bullets whizz past me. I’m crying, slamming through bushes, sprinting ahead, breathing hard?—
Until hands grab me.
I scream, thrash, kick and fight. More gunshots go off, this time right next to my head, and then Gabe’s voice. “I got you, baby, I got you, it’s okay.”
Panic ebbs enough for my head to clear. I look up and realize it’s Gabe holding me. He’s bloodied, cut and bruised, his teeth set in a grim line.
“What… what happened?! What’s going on?!”
He opens his mouth to answer, but there’s a shout from nearby. “Cousin Nika! I’ve been looking for you, cousin Nika!”
A man comes striding through the trees. Smoke billows from our car behind him. They lit it on fire. Black plumes burst into the sky as the man stops twenty feet away, grinning like a maniac.
He’s big. Massive, really, like a bear on hind legs. He’s in all black, a black vest, black jeans, and a dark rifle leaning casually against his shoulder. His skin is pale, his hair is pure white, and his eyes are an odd mismatched blue, one darker than the other. A scar puckers his lips. He looks like a nightmare.
“Artyom!” Gabe yells, once again putting himself in front of me, his gun raised. “I was wondering when you’d show your ugly fucking face.”
“Been too long, Gabriel, much too long. I was missing you in Moscow, so here I am.” Artyom sneers but his eyes stray to me. “This really is her, isn’t it? Cousin Nika, it’s so good to meet you. I heard so many good things about you.”
I’m shaking. A strangled whimper escapes my lips. I can’t bring myself to answer. What happened to the confident, powerful girl from the negotiation ten minutes ago? She was wiped away in a car crash, leavingthis. My inability to do anything makes me sick. It makes me despise myself. How could I have let them break me so badly? And how am I ever going to put myself back together?
I cling to Gabe’s back. He touches me with one hand, the other still aiming the gun steadily.
“What’s your plan, Artyom? Kill me? Marry your cousin? Doubt your crew will like that one. You should’ve taken my deal when I offered it.”
“And be your fucking slave?” Artyom spits on the ground. “Never, Italian scum. I don’t care who your father was. I will control the Medved Bratva. And you will die.”
“Killing me is only going to make the civil war worse. You want power? You want glory? We work together. We build something together.”
“Your begging is making me sick. Can’t you die with some grace, Gabriel?”
“Yelena hates you. This is only going to make it worse.”
Artyom laughs. “Who gives a shit about some washed-up old bitch?”
Anger riles my heart. That’s my Yelena they’re talking about. But I can’t bring myself to speak.
“You should. Because she taught you better.”
“Taught me what?”