A few minutes later, we pulled up outside the warehouse, a rusted metal structure sitting quietly against the edge of the docks like any other abandoned industrial building. For a brief moment, the stillness of it felt almost insulting, considering the storm currently tearing through my chest.
Kyrill cut the engine and glanced toward the building.
“Well,” he drawled, “let’s hope this won’t turn into a massacre.”
I opened the car door. “No promises.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” He sighed and flicked the butt of his cigarette away.
We stepped out into the dense salty air. Behind us, I could already hear the quiet movements of our men taking up positions in the surrounding streets. A silent perimeter was forming around the building as we walked towards the entrance.
“Are we sure she’s alive?” Kyrill asked quietly as we reached the sliding door.
“Yes,” I ground out. She fuckinghadto be.
He studied my face for a moment. “You know I’ve got your back, no matter what happens … but do me a favor and think before you act, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
It was a lie, and we both knew it. Adrenaline was pounding through my veins, making me almost jittery. The strap of my rifle was slung across my shoulders, my finger on the trigger, single-mindedly focused on one thing:
Getting my girl back.
The first man dropped before he had fully registered my presence. The shot was clean and efficient as it tore through his center of mass, and his body folded in on itself as though it had been abruptly unplugged from life.
The second one turned at the sound — too slow, always too slow — and I pulled the trigger again without hesitation. The recoil was familiar and grounding.
By the time the heavy, grating warehouse door had finished opening, both bodies were already collapsing to the concrete, the dull thud of impact echoing faintly beneath the screech of the door.
A voice crackled in my ear, low and amused.
“Two down already,” Kyrill murmured through the comms. “In a generous mood today, huh?”
I didn’t answer.
I was already on the move, scanning the area, my vision narrowing to focus on precise and lethal details as I assessed the space in terms of angles, movement, distance and potential threats.
When I caught sight of Addy, the relief hitting me was anything but gentle. It hit me like a blow to the chest — sharp and disorientating — immediately followed by something colder, darker and far less forgiving.
Rage.
She was alive but her temple was pressed against the cold barrel of a gun, yet she stubbornly tilted her chin up, despite seeing her lips trembling. The man — the walking fuckingcorpse— who was threatening her barked out a furious, incoherent stream of vitriol, his words tumbling over each other in his blind rage.
The emotions swirling inside me were impossible to untangle. It was a vicious mix of crippling fear and anxiety mingled with a pang of relief and a surge of raw, feral rage.
In a fraction of a second, they all clawed at my chest, sharp and quick, before twisting violently and finally settling into an unrelenting fury. The blood was pounding in my ears.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t hesitate.
My hands moved of their own accord, the rifle rising with a familiar, deadly efficiency.
My finger rested against the trigger, but I didn’t fire. Not yet.
“Take the fucking gun off her.” My voice was low and even, carrying across the warehouse without effort, without strain.
He instinctively froze and his head snapped toward me, eyes wide, breath coming too fast, like his body had already understood something his brain hadn’t caught up to yet.