Page 137 of Crossover

Vosch and his men stared at him in confusion for a second before realization dawned across their faces.

I hadn’t been here in good faith; I’d come here to kill Vosch.

And now, I was on the ground on all fours.

Weaponless. And surrounded by guns.

76

GRAYSON

In that millisecond, images flashed through my mind like a deck of cards.

Ivy’s face the first time I met her. The feeling of her chest pressing against mine as I held her tight. The tears streaming down her cheeks when she realized her Grams would be okay. Her beautiful smile, looking out over the lake. The mischievous look in her eyes just before I’d kiss her. The morning sunlight dancing across her skin in what should have been our forever home.

The gut-wrenching image of her on the tarmac, fear and sorrow etched into every pigment of her skin as she whispered goodbye. The sound of her shaky voice when she told me she was carrying my child.

Our child. The thought jolted me back to the present. I couldn’t leave our baby fatherless. I couldn’t let Vosch’s empire of violence threaten their future.

Going up against this many men, chances were, I wouldn’t survive this.

But I had made a vow to Ivy, and I intended to keep it with every remaining breath.

Once again, everything seemed to freeze. Even the stale, recycled air particles themselves suspended in tension and death, hovering around me as I assessed the situation.

Vosch’s men spread out in a haphazard formation. Separated by rows of seats, three had spilled into the aisle, and three perched in their seats, but none of them were in military formation. Most importantly, in the chaotic moments when I clenched my eyes, Vosch had jumped over a seat to get away from me and was currently speed-walking to the closest train car door, with two more of his men acting as his bodyguards.

What an arrogant coward, either too worried to fight himself or seeing himself as too important to risk losing a battle with me. Best leave it to the street rats to take care of, evidently.

All of this transpired in a mere second or two, but those two seconds of intelligence made me suspect the reason I had not been shot yet was because they were waiting for their all-important leader to be safe from stray bullets.

What a fatal mistake they had just made.

In that split second of hesitation from his men, I seized my chance. I snatched the gun from the lifeless hand beside me, the metal still warm. Pivoting onto my back, I squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession.

The deafening cracks were followed by dull thuds as two bodies hit the floor. Before the others could react, I fired again, feeling the recoil vibrate through my arm as another man fell.

The confined space amplified each shot, my ears ringing as I struggled to my feet. The acrid scent of gunpowder stung my nostrils as I squeezed off another round—a crimson mist erupting from a man’s forehead moments before his limp body crumpled.

Metal screeched against metal as the train barreled down the tracks, the fluorescent lights above flickering with each violent jolt.

I ducked behind a headrest, the vinyl cool against the heat of my body. Peering through the gap, I memorized the next target’s position before popping up like a grisly jack-in-the-box. Another shot, another body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

One left in this car. Two more with Vosch somewhere ahead.

Another gunshot echoed, ringing in my ear, and this time, a searing pain exploded in my right shoulder. The bullet had only grazed me, but it felt like liquid fire coursing through my flesh. Gritting my teeth against the agony, I assessed the remaining threat. He was closing in, only feet away now.

I listened intently, timing his slow advance.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…

In a smooth motion, I whirled around the corner of the seat and fired. His chest exploded in a spray of red, the impact throwing off his own shot. As he toppled backward, I leaped to my feet and delivered a final, shot to his skull.

The train car fell eerily silent, save for the rhythmic clacking of wheels on rails and distant screams from other passengers. I quickly glanced around to make sure no civilians had been hit or killed. Luckily, they had all moved to another car on this train.

My gaze locked on to the door where Vosch had disappeared. With determination burning hotter than the wound in my shoulder, I advanced. But a new sound gave me pause—the wheel’s rhythmicclack-clack, clack-clacksound was slowing. Whether from an alert conductor or Vosch’s doing, I couldn’t be sure.

One thing was certain: I couldn’t let that bastard escape. Not when Ivy and our child’s future hung in the balance.

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