Page 109 of Beneath Scarred Vows
"Maybe we need to discuss where we're at. Come together on things," Ares says. "If my father came to you, it must have been for a reason, and I won't question his motives."
George extends his hand. "I welcome it, friend."
As Ares's hand extends toward George's, I feel the air shift into something that doesn't feel right.
A deafening sound splits the air.
The noise reverberates through my chest before my mind even registers what it is.
A gunshot.
But not from any of us. Not from Zervas. Not from Ares's men.
"Shit. I'm hit. Motherfucker!" Dimitri yells, his voice coming through the ringing in my ears. He stumbles backward, his face scrunched from pain, and blood is pouring down his arm.
Before I can even process what's happening, the room plunges into darkness, leaving only faint moonlight coming in through the windows.
Chaos erupts.
"Get down!" Ares roars.
Bodies collide in the dark. The sound of furniture scraping across the floor, glass shattering. More gunshots.
"Secure the exits!" George shouts to his men.
I drop to my knees, my heart feeling like it's going to beat out of my chest. My hands fumble along the floor, searching for cover.
"Katerina!" Ares yells, his voice sounding desperate and raw.
"I'm here!" I try to shout, but even I don't know where here is in the confusion.
"Get to Ares!" a man's voice yells.
Someone crashes into me, knocking me to the ground. An elbow connects with my temple, stars bursting behind my eyelids.
Heavy footsteps thunder past. More shots. A man screams—I don't recognize the voice.
"Theo, find Dimitri! Get him out!" Ares commands from somewhere to my right.
I push myself up on all fours, disoriented. The faint outline of the bay windows gives me a reference point. If I can make it there, I know there's a door next to it.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder from behind—violent and unforgiving. Before I can scream, another hand presses something over my nose and mouth. A cloth. And it's wet.
I thrash wildly, my elbow connecting with something solid. A grunt of pain. The grip loosens for just a moment.
"Ares!" I scream over the gunfire, but my voice is too muffled by the cloth. I don't think he hears me.
I kick backward, connecting with a shin. My attacker curses but doesn't let go.
The cloth presses harder. I can't breathe. My lungs burn. Whatever is on this rag is starting to make my head swim.
"Την ?χουμε, Την ?χουμε," an unfamiliar voice hisses close to my ear in Greek.
We have her?
Who has me? What the hell is going on?
My fingers claw at the hand holding the cloth, digging my nails into their skin. I feel like I've drawn blood, but the grip doesn't falter.
