Page 20 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

“Vlad?” Misha shouts through the resounding quiet.

A groan comes from the front seat. “I…I’m alright.”

“Good. Then drive!” Crouched beside me, Mischa rummages through his pocket, withdrawing something that he aims in the air. “I’ll cover you.”

Predatory. That’s the only way to describe how he maneuvers swiftly into the seat, aiming at something unseen through the window. Theshatteredwindow.

Glass speckles the seat, glimmering in my hair and over the satin of my robe. Did we hit something? In the darkness, I make out the edge of what seems to be a dirt road. The windshield is cracked, but branches extend beyond it, casting shadows over the hood. A tree—we must have run into it.

When the driver tries to reverse, the engine squeals and then dies.

“Shit.” Keeping low, Mischa nudges the door beside me open. Before I can even think to escape, his fingers clench my shoulder. “Move without my say so and I’ll kill you.” A cold, round object taps the side of my skull as a deadly reinforcement. “Go.”

With him on my heels, I climb from the wreckage.

It quickly becomes apparent that we aren’t alone. Three other vans are stalled up ahead. Each one sits askew, as if their drivers had to slam on the brakes to stop suddenly. Men exit them. When they see Mischa, one of them shouts words I can’t discern.

Then…gunshots.

“Get down!”

I’m shoved to the earth and crushed once again. This time, I can hear the breathing of the man on top of me. It’s steady despite the tumult of noise happening around us. More people shout. More gunshots ring out.

“Get up!”

The pressure lifts from off me, and I barely manage to suck in a breath before I’m being dragged into the shadows that line the roads. Grass prickles my feet. Shadows flicker in the darkness. Near. Far.

Another gunshot rings out, way too close for comfort.

And then a man appears from behind a tree up ahead. He’s armed, pointing a gun squarely in my direction. His clothes stick out to me as fear grips my lungs—he’s not wearing fatigues. Instead, a crisp suit clashes with the wilderness around us. His gun isn’t large and bulky either but sleek. A pistol. His face…

I know it—the hazy kind of recognition that comes only from a glance.

And he knows me.

His eyes widen. Quickly, his free hand goes to his ear. “She’s alive. I found her! She—”

Thunder roars nearby, deafening me as blood flies from the man’s head. He falls and my brain belatedly names the reason why.He’s dead.

“Move.”

The grip on my arm turns brutal, crunching bone and twisting flesh. Changing direction, Mischa steers me to the road, keeping his gun at the ready. From the acrid smell tickling my nostrils, I know he is the one who shot the other man. If any more enemies are lurking nearby, they must have been dispatched. Only his men remain, their weapons drawn…

Or their bodies lying prone and lifeless.

“Fuck.” Mischa spits on the ground, his face drawn tight. When we come close enough, he shoves me toward someone, and the man catches me, gripping my shoulders. “Go. Get her to the safe house.”

The way he said it… My body trembles at the unspoken warning. He saw it too. He heard it. Those were not generic mercenaries.

“Go!”

My new captor steers me toward an open van and hastens in after me. Vanya. His face is drawn tight, and I stiffen when he reaches over me.

“Your seat belt,” he prompts, shoving the bit of metal into my hand and nodding toward the base. “Put it on.”

I obey and the van lurches into motion, presumably heading toward even more danger.

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