Page 85 of The Russian Retribution

So, Viktor’s men are here and they’re not friendly. Got it.

Stepping over his body, I hurry toward the stage. Hands of fallen people grab out to me, but I kick them aside, ignoring everyone who isn’t the woman I love. I don’t see her anywhere, not a single flash of her hair or her gorgeous dress.

She’s not under the stage, is she?

Running toward the splintered, cracked remains of the stage, I leap over a table and run a few feet before someone calls my name.

“Erik?”

I stumble to a stop, feet sliding on the blood-stained floor, and turn to see flames streaking across the ceiling. The door I came in is consumed by fire and fallen beams now, blocking all escape. Through the building smoke and embers, I see Faina.

“Faina!” Making a beeline for her, I reach her in time for her coughing to affect her footing and she falls into my arms, gripping me tightly. “Faina, where’s Anastasia?”

“I don’t know.” She coughs harshly, gagging on the smoke. “She was on the stage and then everything exploded, and I lost her, Erik. I lost her and I can’t find her!”

“I’ll find her,” I assure her, helping her regain her footing. “I’ll find her. You need to get out of here, Faina.”

“But—”

“No! Go!” I shove her toward where the remaining party members are fighting their way through a fire door. “Get out of here! I’ll find her!”

Doubt flashes across Faina’s face, swallowed by another violent coughing fit, and then she stumbles away toward the exit.

My goal becomes the stage. Sprinting toward it, it’s a battle to keep my thoughts quiet. Fear builds inside me like trapped gas, creating pains in my chest as I breathe in smoke and making my gut twist like a corkscrew.

What if she’s dead?

What if I’m about to find her charred, mutilated body caught between stage lights and I could have stopped it?

What if I’m too late?

I run until my heart feels like it’s about to burst right out of my chest. Reaching the stage, I overbalance near the edge of the gigantic hole ripped through the floor. An inferno blazes below, with flames clawing up the edge trying to set me alight just for looking.

“Anastasia!”

Nothing. It’s getting harder and harder to see, harder and harder to breathe. Screams are dying down as people succumb to the fire and the smoke. The ceiling creaks and a beam above snaps, sending another wave of debris down on those trying to escape.

Then something glints at the corner of my eye.

I peer through the smoke behind the stage and glimpse the sparkling blue of a gorgeous dress I could paint from memory with how often I’ve thought about it and her.

“Anastasia?”

It’s her! She’s stumbling against the back wall, visibly coughing into one hand while her other arm is held in the grip of a man I don’t recognize. He’s dragging her along, barely pausing as her coughing affects her steps.

Who the fuck is that?

Fear gives way to rage and the burning urge to protect. I break into a sprint, gritting my teeth as my feet pound the wooden floor toward Anastasia and the stranger forcing her through the back door toward the kitchens.

Away from everyone else.

“Anastasia!” I yell, barging through the door.

She’s against the wall, coughing violently while the stranger stands over her. The air is cooler in this corridor and free from smoke and flames, not that I care. The second I see that stranger straighten up, I throw myself at him and tackle him with my arms around his waist and my shoulder driving into his gut. My gun slips from my hand on impact and clatters across the floor.

“Whaa—” The man yells out and then grunts as we both hit the floor.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, huh?” I straighten up quickly and punch the stranger in the face once, twice, three times, then he clips me on the chin with his elbow. I fall back but scramble forward, trying to punch him again, but he’s fast. He rolls to one side and kicks me swiftly in the ribs as he stands up, then he jumps back a few steps.

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