Page 52 of Mile High Daddy

No one is looking at me.

No one sees me as I push the door open just enough to slip out, crouching low against the crumpled car.

I hold my breath. Wait.

The world around me is chaos. I can hear Mikhail barking orders in the distance, his voice cutting through the night like a blade. Shadows move between the cars, men positioning themselves, preparing for whatever comes next.

And me?

I’m nothing.

Just a woman in a silk dress, a ghost slipping between giants.

I press myself against the wrecked vehicle, my knees sinking into broken glass, but I don’t feel the sting. The adrenaline is too thick, my mind too sharp.

Run.

But not yet.

Not yet.

I inch forward, keeping low, moving between the cars as silently as I can. A man walks past me—one of Mikhail’s, gripping a rifle—and my heart stops, waiting for him to turn, to grab me, to pull me back.

He doesn’t.

His focus is ahead, on whatever enemy is lurking in the dark.

I keep moving.

One step. Another.

Almost there.

The edge of the street is just beyond the last car. If I can slip into the alley, disappear into the shadows, I can run.

I can escape.

I can be free.

My fingers tremble as I grip the side of the last car, preparing for the final dash.

And then?—

A voice.

Deep. Sharp. Filled with something dark.

“Lila.”

My body locks. The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp.

I turn—slowly, as if in a nightmare—my whole body ice-cold.

Mikhail is standing at the front of the wreckage, his gun at his side, his suit dusted with blood and smoke. His gray eyes burn like fire and steel.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. He just watches me.

Like he’s already figured out exactly what I was about to do.

---