Page 45 of Dark Prince

Sharon screams in frustration. “Rory, the two of you go up to the second floor and take out as many as you can.”

Rory and the guard obey, and the crackle of gunfire grows louder and closer. Sharon rushes toward one of the windows, her small pistol in hand, as she assesses the situation.

Unbeknownst to Sharon, while she and Rory have their lovers’ quarrel, I manage to wriggle my hands free from the ties. Touching my belly, I remind myself it's not just about me anymore. I've got a tiny, second heartbeat to think about now, and I have to get to safety.

I place my hands back behind the chair so as not to tip Sharon off that I’ve freed myself. As I glance around the space, I spot a large, damaged vent on a far wall. It's a long shot, but it might just be my ticket to dodging bullets and protecting myself and my unborn child. If I can get over there and shimmy the vent cover free, I might be able to hoist myself up and out.

With Sharon preoccupied at the window, I slowly sneak toward the vent, hoping that the noise from the gunfire covers up any sounds getting the vent off the wall might make. Luck is on my side, as I’m able to pry the cover off in a matter of seconds. Just as I'm about to make my move and heave myself up into it, Sharon snaps her gaze away from the window and catches me in the act. “Really, Maura?” she says with annoyance, catching my eye. “You think you can get away that easily?”

It has now become a standoff between me and my evil stepmother. My heart's racing, knowing I've got to make a move immediately. “Watch me,” I tell her, trying to sound braver than I feel.

It's do or die.

I lunge for the vent, the idea of defeating her giving me a burst of energy. Sharon's hot on my heels as I squeeze myself through the opening. I desperately pull myself forward in an army crawl, trying to get my feet to safety before she can pull me back out by them.

The sounds of the fight outside are a stark reminder of what Luk's risking to save me. I can't let that be for nothing.

Freedom is just one more elbow in front of the other when I feel it—the cold grip of Sharon's hand on my foot. Panic and survival immediately take hold. “Let go!” I yell, thrashing and kicking to free myself from her hold.

Sharon's not giving up, though, and for a second, it feels like I'm done. But then adrenaline kicks in, and I lash out once again, harder this time, my foot connecting with her face. She stumbles back, giving me exactly the time I need to get into a safe space in the vent.

As I continue to crawl through the tight space, every move is fueled by sheer willpower. I emerge on the second floor, gasping for breath, only to find myself facing a new nightmare. Sharon's goons are everywhere, their guns trained on the windows, ready for Luk and his crew. My heart sinks. So much for my grand escape.

As much as I hate to admit it, I'm cornered, and I can't take on Sharon and her army of thugs alone.

I hunker down, trying to stay out of sight. I can't help but feel like some cliché damsel in distress waiting for her hero to burst through the door. And as much as that grates on me, that’s kind of what I am, but thank God Luk's coming.

“Come on, Luk,” I whisper under my breath, more a prayer than anything else. “It's all on you now.”

The sound of gunfire and the chaos below only heighten my anxiety. I'm trapped, but I'm not out of the fight—not yet. If Luk has taught me anything, it's that there's always a way out, always another move to make. So, I will wait, ready to do whatever I can to help, to make sure that when he does burst through those doors, we're ready to take Sharon down together.

I don’t have to wait long, though; unfortunately, it isn’t Luk who finds me.

Chapter 26

Luk

The scent of gunpowder fills the air as we approach the perimeter of the warehouse. My crew—Lev, Grigori, Elena, Yuri, and a squad of our best and most trusted men—moves like a well-oiled machine, our steps synchronized as we move in. Gunfire continues to erupt around us in a malicious symphony as we dive headlong into the fray.

“Lev left flank! Grigori, you’re with me. Yuri, cover our six!” I shout, my voice cutting through the noise as we advance, bullets whizzing past us. Sharon's goons are putting up a fight, but they're scattered, their fire erratic. It's clear they weren't prepared for a full-on Bratva assault.

Elena, ever the sharpshooter, takes out a shooter on the roof, her precision unmatched. “Got him,” she calls out, a hint of satisfaction in her tone.

“Keep the pressure on! They're breaking!” I yell, rallying my family and our heavies. We're a storm—relentless and unforgiving—closing in on Sharon's last line of defense.

But just as we're tightening the noose, Elena's urgent and grave voice cuts through the commotion. “Luk, we've got trouble!” she shouts, ducking for cover as she waves her phone at me.

I make my way over to her, bullets zinging past. “What's going on?” I demand, the rhythm of my heart syncing with the rapid fire around us.

Elena's expression is dismal, her eyes locked on mine. “It's Sharon—I’m listening in on her line. She's called in reinforcements, a lot of them. They're on their way.”

The news hits like a ton of bricks, and the brief taste of victory I was tasting turns sour. We're outnumbered but not outmatched—not yet. My mind races, strategizing, calculating our next move in milliseconds. “All right, listen up!” I bark to my crew, my voice calm but filled with deadly intent. “They're coming for a fight,” I call out, reloading my weapon. “Let's give them one they won't forget.”

The anticipation of the approaching enemy tightens the air, the warehouse a battlefield set for a clash where both sides will fight to the death. We're ready, each of us prepared to lay it all on the line—for family, for honor, and love.

Grigori and I move with purpose, our steps calculated and swift, as we circle around to the side of the building. The air is electric, charged with the imminent threat of conflict. Just as we round the corner, one of Sharon's men, thinking he's got the drop on us, steps out, gun raised.

He doesn't stand a chance.

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