Page 88 of Luka

“God damn.” I shake my head.

“They’re going to assume we’re the cartel, and that there are an army of us,” Vitaly says as he reloads. “That means they’ll send most of their men out, which should only be a few more tops, then keep the rest with the boss. If Lucia’s alive, he’ll keep her close as collateral… They’ll try to escape. I’ll be here to make sure they can’t.”

The gun fires, ending Vitaly’s sentence so eloquently he might have planned it.

I face forward and close my eyes while I breathe even, deep breaths. I’m not afraid of dying. Not even close.

But Iamafraid of failing. Of being unprepared.

If Vitaly wasn’t here, I’d already be dead. That bothers me. Thateatsat me.

What if I’m not enough for her?

What if I’m not a sniper? Or even a good fucking soldier?

What if she dies because I can’t save her?

“It’s time,” Vitaly says. “Run quickly. I’ll cover you.”

With one last deep breath, I go to get up, but hesitate and turn to him. He must sense me because finally, he looks away from the scope to meet my eyes.

“I was wrong about you,” I say, feeling every protective piece of my mask slip from my skin to leave me naked. It’s almost unbearable. But it’s necessary.

He just nods.

“Tell Mila I’m sorry, all right? And that I love her.”

“Tell her yourself.” He raises his chin toward the house. “If you hurry, you can make it back while she’s still worried about you. Sympathy points never hurt chances for forgiveness.”

I nod, several times too many while fear begins to claw.If I hurry.

What if Lucia is dead?

What if I don’t find her with Mendoza? What if I find hercorpse?

“Go, Luka,” Vitaly commands.

Swallowing my fear, I pull my gun from my waistband, stand, and, for once, do exactly as Vitaly says. I go. I run. Faster than I ever have, my thoughts of Lucia’s corpse fading.

Because she’s alive. Somehow, I know it.

And if I can’t save her…

At least somebody fucking will.

29

LUCIA

I’m in the cellar when the shouting starts.

The sound makes me flinch. The shackles suspending me by my wrists clanks as my body jolts then sways, and I look toward the outside cellar door while panic seems to ensue on the grounds. I can’t make out the muffled words, but they sound worried.

Mendoza could be executing someone. He could have more prisoners, one who’s escaped. Yells don’t mean the cavalry has arrived. They wouldn’t even know I was here.

Then gunshots sound.

I lift onto my toes and strain against the metal locking my wrists to lean that way, trying in vain to peek through the crack in the outside door.

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