Page 58 of Under His Protection

“No, Alexander!” I scream.

“Get out of here!” he roars.

“I’m not leaving you.”

He pushes me towards the window, his hand on my back, urging me forward. His strength, his will, is a force I can’t resist. I turn and scramble towards the window, the coldness of the metal frame searing my skin. My fingers clinging to the metal rungs.

But I can’t leave him. Not now. I stop, my feet planted on the metal platform. The city lights blur below, a dizzying expanse.

I turn back, my gaze catching Monroe’s. His face is contorted in fury, a beast unleashed. I have to go back.

I crawl back in and move, a shadow in the room’s low light. My hand finds the gun I placed in my bag near the door, cold and heavy in my grip. It’s my only weapon, my last line of defense. I aim for Monroe’s head with the butt of the gun. I swallow hard, and my breath intensifies. He’s standing over Alexander breathing heavily, about to land another punch.

I strike, a swift, deliberate motion, the gun connecting with Monroe’s temple. He collapses to the floor, a crumpled figure. He’s unconscious.

Before I can realize what has happened, Alexander grabs my hand.

“Let’s go,” Alexander whispers as he struggles to his feet. He’s weak, his movements labored, but his eyes are burning with a fire I’ve never seen before.

“You’re bleeding!”

“It’s minor,” Alexander says, grabbing some pads on the way to the window.

I nod, my gaze locked on Monroe. The gun feels heavy in my hand. I won’t let him hurt Alexander. Not ever.

I don’t hesitate. I scramble out the window, the cold night air hitting my face, the metal rungs of the fire escape cold and gritty beneath my feet. Alexander follows me, his movements slower, hampered by his injury. Each step draws a groan from him. I can see his hand pressed against his chest and the bandage is a dark, wet stain.

We descend quickly, the metal stairs groaning beneath our weight. Below us, the hospital parking lot is dark, the occasional car is a gleaming island.

“Ava!” Monroe’s voice, laced with fury, echoes from the window above.

He’s woken up, shit. He is right above us, his footsteps heavy on the metal stairs.

“Faster, Alexander,” I urge him. “He’s coming!”

We reach the bottom of the fire escape and stumble into the dark of the alleyway. I risk a glance back. Monroe is halfway down, his gun drawn, his face contorted with rage.

We’re not going to make it. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.

“Isaac!” I scream, my voice echoing in the narrow alleyway. “Isaac, where are you?!”

Headlights flash, cutting through the darkness. Isaac’s SUV pulls into the alley, its engine idling.

“Get in!” Isaac shouts.

We scramble into the back seat, the leather cool against my skin. The doors slam shut behind us with a thud. Isaac throws the car into gear, the tires squealing as he speeds away; just as Monroe reaches the bottom of the fire escape, his gun aimed at us.

“Drive!” I shout, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

Isaac, his jaw clenched, doesn’t need to be told twice. He floors the accelerator, the car lurching forward, the alleyway a blur of brick and shadows.

Two shots ring out like a brutal duet. The car shudders, bullets slamming into its metal skin. I dive into the backseat, pulling Alexander down, his head nestled against my chest. He’s a wounded animal; his breaths are ragged against my skin. I hold him close, my body is working as a shield. A strangled gasp leaves my throat, but I don’t move. I won’t move.

“Where to?” Isaac asks, his gaze fixed on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

“The train station,” Alexander says. "I don't think Cole is done with us. He's got people in Russia, and they'll be coming for us sooner or later. We need to find a way to get out of Port Haven."

Isaac nods. He reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out a wad of cash and a phone. He hands them to me.

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