Page 75 of Stricken

"Very." He takes another step forward. There's a couple of inches of space left between our bodies. "Was this your plan all along? Take what's mine and get rid of me?" He looks hurt, saying this. Looks so goddamned human.

Something snaps inside me. In one fluid motion, I draw my gun and close the remaining distance between us, one arm wrapping around his waist to keep him close. The barrel presses against Nico's abdomen, cold steel meeting warm flesh through his hoodie.

"Listen carefully," I whisper, my lips brushing his cheek. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't need this elaborate setup. I could handle you on my own,detka."

I feel him tense, ready to fight. But instead of pulling away, I press the gun into his palm, wrapping his fingers around the grip. "Kill me if you really believe I'd try to harm you now," I breathe against his cheek, "after all we've been through."

The air suddenly crackles, static and desire and something else, something tangible, something very real. Nico's chest rises and falls rapidly, his grip on the gun white-knuckled. I can taste the mixture of fear and want on my tongue, heady and spellbinding.

Nico's expression shifts. His nostrils flare. "Vlad... do you smell that?"

I turn, scanning the gloomy warehouse. "What do you mean?"

But before Nico can elaborate, realization hits me hard. The acrid scent of smoke.

"Shit." My blood runs cold.

And then the world erupts in flames. They come out of nowhere. Orange tongues lick up the walls, devouring cardboard boxes and wooden pallets with voracious hunger. Smoke billows, thick and black, choking the air from our lungs. The heat hits like a physical force, searing my skin even from across the room.

"Fuck!" I snarl, grabbing Nico's hand. "We need to move. Now!" And when I glance at him over my shoulder, his face is leached of color. It has this sickly pallid look. I realize he's in shock. "Nico!" I shout, yanking at his arm.

Panic sets in as I try to piece together what happened.

Who did this?

One of my own men?

Impossible?

Nico’s family?

To get him out of the picture.

The thought twists in my gut like a serrated knife.

Nico coughs violently, doubling over. "The door—"

I pat my pockets hoping to find something to cover my face but there's nothing. I wasn't expecting to be in a burning building tonight. I wrestle off my jacket and shove it into Nico's hand, then press it up over his face. "Breathe through this, okay?" I mutter. "Just breathe through this." My own head feels heavy like there's no more oxygen for me to function. Immediately, I rip the bottom of my shirt to cover my mouth and nose.

"The side door is locked," I remind Nico, grabbing his free hand. My voice is muffled by the fabric as I drag him away from the approaching inferno. "We need another way out."

We stumble through the haze, the roar of the fire seems deafening, even though it makes little sound. It's mostly the destruction of property that cries under the onslaught of heat.

"Hold on!" Nico yells, halting us to a stop. "We have to split up, Vlad. We'll cover my ground that way." He's finally snapped back to reality and his face is filled with determination. "Or we'll both die."

I don't want to let him go. Don't want to separate. My fingers instinctively tighten, my grip on his hand hard and uncompromising.

"Vlad!" His gaze meets mine and he stares at me with those blue eyes.

"Okay," I grit out and let him go. He disappears into the smoke right away.

What are you waiting for, Vladimir?

Do you want to die?

Burning alive is not the honorable way to depart this world.

Fuck.

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