Page 95 of Hunt Me
The words hit me like another bullet. “Seattle? You can’t?—”
“I can’t what, Iris? Stay here and wait for the next government agency to kidnap me?” Maya’s voice cracks. “Look at my face. Look at what happened because I was your friend.”
Pain radiates from my shoulder, but it’s nothing compared to the guilt crushing my chest. Blood seeps through my shirt, warm and sticky between my fingers as I press against the wound.
“Maya, I?—”
“We need to move,” Nikolai interrupts from the front seat. His voice carries the cold authority that seems genetic among the Ivanovs. “Federal response units are closing from three directions.”
The SUV accelerates, tires squealing as we swerve onto a side street. Alexi sits beside his brother, hands flying over a tablet. My laptop—the one with the backdoor to their systems—sits open on his lap.
“Did you transmit anything to external servers?” Alexi asks without looking up.
“No.” My voice sounds distant to my own ears. “Everything’s local. But Morrison might have had time to copy files.”
“I’m purging the backdoor now. Erik, the southwest perimeter is clear. Take it.”
The vehicle lurches again. I slide against Maya, who winces when my injured shoulder bumps hers.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, not just for the physical pain.
Maya stares out the window, jaw tight. “We’ll talk when we’re safe.”
Ifwe’re safe. The thought chills me.
Dmitri’s phone chimes. “Police scanner reports federal roadblocks on Commonwealth and Storrow Drive.”
“Taking the tunnel,” Nikolai responds, executing a sharp turn that sends fresh agony through my shoulder.
I bite back a cry, vision swimming. The blood loss is making me lightheaded.
Alexi slams shut the laptop and moves to my side. “Stay with me,” he says, cupping my face tenderly.
I chose Maya over him, revealed his family’s secrets to save my friend. Yet here he is, risking everything to rescue us both.
“Why?” I manage to ask. “Why did you come for me?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.
“Because you’re mine, detka. And I don’t let anyone take what’s mine.”
25
ALEXI
Nikolai floors it.
The SUV fishtails out of the loading dock, sending the tires screeching on the wet tarmac.
I press my hand against Iris’s shoulder, feeling warm blood soak through her shirt. Too much blood.
“Medical kit.” I don’t look away from the wound. “Under the seat.”
Erik retrieves it and passes it forward without a word.
Maya’s crying in the back seat—sharp, panicked sounds. Dmitri murmurs something low to her, his voice steady, keeping her grounded.
I tear Iris’s shirt open carefully. The bullet grazed her shoulder, passing clean through the muscle. The exit wound is messy but not arterial. Lucky doesn’t begin to cover it.
