Page 83 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

Artur kicks it away and takes a step back as Bowman falls flat on his face.

“Oh, God,” I whimper, realizing what I just did.

“It’s okay,” Max says to me. “Lyric, look at me. Look at me.”

I look at him, rivers of tears streaming down my cheeks. “Max…”

“It’s okay,” he says it again.

We’re alive.

I killed a man. But we survived. I killed him so that we would survive. My brain is wrapped in a cold and heavy fog. I’m unable to process anything. Max keeps talking to me. I can hear him, but I’m not sure I understand. Artur and Ivan are on their knees, waiting.

They’re all looking at me.

Scared. Worried. Relieved. A million emotions flash through their eyes at once. Everything moves in slow motion as the door bursts open. The corridor is suddenly flooded by over a dozen FBI agents and SWAT operatives.

I drop the gun.

I barely register reality.

But it’s over.

29

Lyric

“Be careful, she’s pregnant,” Max tells one of the EMTs.

We’re outside the field office now. I’m sitting in the back of an ambulance, with a full view of a mass arrest in progress. There are about six emergency crews present, along with two coroner vans and a slew of black SUVs. Quantico descended upon this place with its full and unforgiving force. Max sits next to me, getting his bruises and cuts treated by another paramedic.

Artur and Ivan are just a few steps to our left, giving their statements directly to the Deputy Director of the FBI, who is flanked by two supervisory agents and two internal affairs supervisors. This entire situation is a giant stain on the Bureau, and I have no idea how they’ll manage to clean it all up.

“Pulse is good,” the EMT tells me. “Blood pressure’s a little high, but that’s likely from the shock. You’re going to be okay, but I’d still like to take you to the hospital for a full checkup, just to make sure.”

“Okay.”

“How’s it looking?” Max asks him.

My cheeks burn as I feel his gaze searing a hole into my very soul. He knows I’m pregnant now, and I reckon he’s got questions, concerns, things he wants to say to me. Artur and Ivan too. They keep stealing glances my way, but there is so much going on, all of it at once, that we can barely focus, let alone process anything.

“It’s a goddamn mess,” the EMT says. “I haven’t gone in yet but I heard it through the radio. Lots of casualties.”

“Where’s Director Smith?” Max calls out to the Deputy Director.

“In custody. They’re bringing him out now,” he replies, then continues to take Ivan’s statement.

I give Max a curious look. “How did you know I’d be here? How’d you get Quantico involved?”

He chuckles softly, then winces when the paramedic applies disinfectant to a small gash above his eyebrow. “Fucking hell.”

“Sorry, man.”

“It’s alright,” he sighs and looks at me. “I told you we were doing things by the book. That meant taking Bowman and Smith out the legit way, too. Your friend Shelby was instrumental in all of this. She really came through for us.”

“She did?” I can’t help but smile, thankful to know that Shelby picked the right side.

Commotion erupts among the police officers and federal agents present outside the field office building as Director Smith is brought out in cuffs, roughly handled by his own colleagues. They look angry while Smith keeps staring into the ground, his lip bruised and his left eye gradually reddening and swelling. I guess they smacked him around a bit before they put the cuffs on.

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