Page 12 of Bratva's Vow
I blinked. “What? Why?”
He didn’t answer right away, just pulled me closer. “Just trust me, okay?”
The urgency in his tone made me nod. He grabbed my hand and hustled me back through the blue corridor toward the prep room.
When we emerged from the arena, the others were already there except for Sergei. Jess perched on a bench chugging water. Nik and Darius talking quietly near the lockers.
I frowned. “Wait… when did you all get here?”
“Not too long ago,” Jess said.
“But where’s Sergei?” Did he not realize the game had ended? I was so confused.
Nik glanced at Maxim, then back at me. “He hurt himself. One of the fake wall panels gave way, and he twisted his leg.”
Oh. So that was the reason the game ended early. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Maxim said quickly. “He’s being attended to now. I’m going to check on him. Nik, take Jess and Wren and head back to the apartment. We’ll catch up with you there.”
I stared at him. This didn’t make any sense at all. “Can’t we wait for you? We can go together.”
Maxim looked at me—really looked at me—and for a second something flickered behind his eyes. Not panic, exactly. Something darker. More calculating.
“Please, Wren. Now’s not the time to argue with me. Go with Jess and Nik. We won’t be far behind you.”
My stomach twisted. I hated it when he got mysterious like this. Why couldn’t he be straightforward with me?
“Okay.”
He leaned in, kissed my forehead, then turned away.
As Nik guided Jess and me toward the exit, I glancedback. A red streak ran down the side of Maxim’s sleeve. Faint, but there. Not ketchup. Not paint. It looked too real.
Was that… blood?
I shivered and clutched my vest tighter.
Once again, I felt like I was being left in the dark. Like something had happened—something I wasn’t meant to see—and the people I trusted were making damn sure I didn’t.
“Come on, Wren.” Jess grabbed my arm and tugged me after her.
CHAPTER FOUR
MAXIM
The screams had stopped.
The music, the lasers, the fake smoke. Everything had been silenced.
The whole building was still now, unnaturally still. One could almost smell the fear hanging in the air.
I stood in the main hall of TagX, coat off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, blood smeared down one arm. Not mine, but Sergei’s.
In front of me sat six workers on the floor in various stages of visible panic, ranging from white-knuckled silence to quiet, shaking sobs. Their matching uniforms did nothing to make them look like a team anymore. Just prey.
Darius stood behind them with a weapon holstered but visible, arms crossed. Viktor, who’d arrived a few minutes ago, loomed at the door. Two more of my men were outside with Sergei, tending to the wound. A clean shot, deep enough to bleed but not to kill. It could’ve been worse. It should’ve been worse.
That bullet had been meant for me. Luckily, Sergei had shoved me out of the way, not because he’d known it was a real gun at the time, but because he’d been trained to take a bullet for me. Even during laser tag, his instinct had kicked in.
