Page 76 of Declan

“Zero!” Flynn’s voice calls back, tight with frustration. Damn it.

Two sets of footsteps pound down the hallway. My stomach twists. Viviana.

“Flynn, cover me!” I shout, my voice raw.

“Go, go!” Flynn roars, standing amidst the smoke, his silhouette a blur as he unleashes another barrage of bullets.

I sprint down the hall, the acrid smoke stinging my throat. The usual warmth of the penthouse feels ice-cold, the walls closing in as I near her door. It’s slightly ajar, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the metallic tang of blood. My chest tightens. Fuck!

I push the door open cautiously, my gun raised. The air is thick with tension, and then—

A blur of movement. A knife flashes.

“It’s me!” I bark, jerking back as the blade grazes my arm.

Viviana gasps, dropping the knife as she realizes. “Oh my God,” she whispers, her hands trembling as they reach for the cut on my forearm.

“It’s fine,” I murmur, my eyes scanning the room. One body lies sprawled near the doorway, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

She got him. My girl took him down.

But the second one?

“Are you okay?” I pull her closer, my eyes searching her body, but she nods; her hands are steady, and there is a hint of a smirk on her lips.

Like I already knew, she’s fucking menace!

“Stay here,” I order, gripping her shoulders briefly. “I’ll whistle before I come back.”

Her lips twitch with a faint trace of judgment. “Try not to stab Flynn too,” I mutter. She rolls her eyes.

“I’ll do my best, husband,” she murmurs, picking up the knife again.

She’s going to fucking stab him.

The hallway is dim, the smoke lingering like a ghost. Flynn’s shadow moves toward the entrance, his gun sweeping the room. I nod to him, and he gives a curt signal—three men left, two in the living room, one somewhere around here.

I step into the main bedroom, scanning every corner, but before I can react, I feel the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of my head, freezing me in place.“Move, Irish fucker,” he snarls, his Russian accent thick and venomous.

I obey, stepping deeper into the room.

“Drop the gun. Hands behind your head,” he barks.

I toss my gun to the floor, taking note of where it lands. Slowly, I lace my fingers behind my head, every muscle in my body coiled and ready.

“Kneel,” he snarls, slamming the butt of his gun against my skull. Pain explodes in my head, blood dripping down my temple, warm and sticky.

“The fuck I will,” I bite out, voice low and defiant.

The Russian curses under his breath, frustration obvious. “Fine. I’ll just shoot you like th—”

A wet, guttural gurgle escapes his throat.

The pressure on my head vanishes.

I twist, dropping to the floor and grabbing my gun. I turn and fire three rapid shots into his chest. He crumples, blood spraying across the floor.

Almost behind him to the left stands Viviana, her knife dripping red, chest heaving, eyes blazing with fire and defiance.

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