Page 101 of Devotion

“I can’t believe we found the same cat statue in the market after I took those photos through his office window,” Vanya snickers, wincing at the bruise on her cheek. “Or that you figured out his…preferences. I almost lost my shit when you offered him that.”

“See?! Isn’t gambling a rush?” I cackle, reveling in the night air. “Wait, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“I knew he would not try. Too risky in his culture. I can relate to some of this.”

“Man, organized crime needs to get with the times.”

Vanya rolls her eyes, leaning in to kiss me beneath a streetlamp. At this time of night, in this part of town, we would normally be targets. Except we look like we already got mugged.

Or we just killed somebody.

Just as our lips brush, instincts kick in. I drop to the ground, Vanya matching my movements as two knives lodge into the wall where we were just standing.

We’re on our feet in a flash, sprinting the opposite way.

The dark of the slum streets is a double-edged sword. While it keeps us relatively hidden, it makes it almost impossible to see where we are going and where our attacker is.

“Left,” Vanya hisses, ducking behind an old shack.

“We should have brought a car.”

“Good idea…that one. Pretend to break into it.”

“Deal. Wait, am I bait?”

“Yes! Go!”

I’m dashing across the street before I can chicken out or flip her off. Four or five bullets hit the pavement behind me, sending me diving behind the car. This guy is either not that good, or he’s fucking with us.

Another shot rings out, this time from Vanya’s position.

Where the hell did she…

But she’s running toward me, waving me on. Her cover fire only buys us a few seconds, enough to make the end of the street. Just in time for me to hear the rumble of a motorcycle.

“How do you say sorry in Arabic?” I stick out my arm.

“I do not think ‘sorry’ is enough…” She crouches.

I wince as the biker hits my clothesline, at a reasonable speed, launching back and onto the ground. Vanya is already in the air, leaping onto the bike and getting it under control.

“Go!” I hop on behind her.

Zipping through the streets on a motorcycle, we weave through what little traffic is out this late. In no time, I feel like we’ve lost any sight of our assailant. Vanya really did her homework. Cutting through side streets and doubling back on our route has us both sighing in relief.

Until we hit the side of town our little shithole apartment is on and I spot a tail.

“Dammit, how did they find us?”

“Does it matter? We cannot go back to the safe house,” Vanya barks.

She guns it around a bend.

Then everything goes ass up.

A gunshot echoes out, followed by a pop. The back tire goes out, sending us into a slide. I throw Vanya clear, shoving off the other way. We roll, tumble. The bike takes another battery of bullets.

“Dead end.” She checks the gun. Two rounds left.

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