Page 46 of His Hold

I head for the boards near the kitchen. Pry them up, fingers digging into the grit until I uncover the stash of weapons I left there months ago. Guns, knives, ammo. Always better to be over-prepared.

The fire’s dead. No smoke to betray us. But the sounds outside are getting closer, creeping along the walls like they know we’re holed up in here. I glance out the window, crouching low, straining to catch any flicker of movement beyond the trees. Nothing.

I pull back, my mind running through the possibilities. More than one person, maybe. The steps I heard—they weren’t just from the ground. Higher. Creaking wood. The goddamn roof.

My stomach knots as I twist the knob on the stove, killing the last bit of warmth and light. Making sure there is no smoke or scent of burning wood to mask their approach. If they’re up there, they’ve already got an advantage. The chimney’s their way in.

I move fast, my feet ghosting over the floor as I position myself by the fireplace. My fingers are steady around the grip of my gun. I can hear the faintest scuffling above, boots scraping against old shingles. Whoever they are, they’ve studied this place. They know where to hit.

My eyes stay trained on the fireplace. If they drop in, it’s over.

But then—

“Nikolai!”

I bolt down the hall, gun drawn and throwing myself into the bedroom just in time to see a masked man with thick gloves clawing her out from under the bed by her ankles. She’s grasping at the floorboards, kicking hard, but he’s got the strength advantage.

I fire. The blast echoes, deafening. He flinches, curses, but doesn’t let go of her.

I fire again. This time, he jerks back, hand snapping to his shoulder. Blood stains his jacket, but he doesn’t quit.

He must’ve slipped through the window. The lock is old, and most people wouldn’t know how to pop it from the outside unless they were familiar with these cabins. Someone who’s been here before.

My chest tightens with a vicious kind of anger. I aim, ready to fire again, but the man’s quicker this time. He shoots first.

Pain burns across my shoulder, but it is a shallow graze. Enough to make me flinch but not enough to stop me. I drop low, squeeze the trigger, and clip him in the leg. He staggers, but he’s still moving. I rush him and slam into him with a force enough to send us both crashing into the wall.

I grab his arm and start twisting until I hear something pop. He howls then swings at me, but I duck and slam the butt of my gun against his skull. His grip on Katya falters, and she scrambles away, breathing hard.

I hit him again with a hard punch. Then again. He’s losing consciousness from my hit, his blood sliding down. Then I shoot twice more and, this time, square in the chest. The thud of his body hitting the floor should’ve been satisfying. It’s not.

“Katya,” I rasp, my throat dry. “You good?”

She crawls out from under the bed, pale and shaking but whole. “Fine. Better than you, apparently.”

I ignore the sting in my shoulder. “Stay here.”

I drop to my knees and pull off the man’s mask, expecting some nameless thug. But his face is unfamiliar. Young. Too young.

“Who—” I start, but I don’t get to finish.

The cold press of metal touches the back of my skull.

“Don’t move,” the new voice grits out. Whoever he is, he’s smart. Kept his distance until now. Let me do all the dirty work before stepping in.

My grip on the pistol tightens, my mind racing. I can’t move or turn in this position. The fucker’s got the upper hand.

The gun clicks, and my body goes still. My mind’s already running through the options and the ways out of this, but nothing feels quick enough, not with her still in the room.

But then, something heavy slams into the side of his head. The gun drops to the floor, clattering against the wood. I spin around

With my gun raised, I’m just in time to see Katya standing there with the rusted iron rod from the fireplace. Her chest is heaving, eyes wide, but there’s a wild glint in them.

“Guess I saved your life.” She smirks, but it’s shaky, breathless.

I want to tear into her for stepping out of her hiding spot. But all that comes out is a snort. “You’re supposed to be hiding. I’m starting to think you enjoy this shit.”

“Yeah, well. You were about to get your head blown off.”

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