Page 143 of Stolen Hearts

Callie screams as I scoop her and the goddamn laptop bag into my arms and turn to bolt for the doorjustas a third shot comes smashing into the window, shattering it. The shots come faster then, exploding through the ruined window and reducing the bed and the sheetrock behind it to dust and feathers as I charge out of the room with her clinging to me.

I pause only long enough to grab my gun from the cupboard above the kitchen sink as more rifle shots from what I’m sure has to be a fifty-cal come slamming into the wall of windows in the living room. Then I’m charging out the door, roaring for help.

Patrick and two other men come barreling out of the stairwell, faces red from running and their guns drawn.

“Shooter on the far roof!” I bellow at him. “And there’s a fire in the bedroom. Smells like an incendiary grenade.”

Patrick nods firmly. “I’ll have them clear the garage entrance downstairs. Get outta here!”

I take the stairs two at a time all the way down to garage with Callie in my arms. She’s still in shock, her eyes wide and her face white as I buckle her into the passenger seat of the Ranger Rover. When I go to pull away, she screams and clings to me in terror.

I cup her face tightly, my eyes locking with hers.

“I’m not going anywhere!” I assure her. “Not without you.”

It’s not until I’m behind the wheel that I realize I’m bleeding from the arm—a graze shot, maybe, or possibly glass from the exploding bedroom window.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it. And it’s not going to kill me.

Not right now, anyway.

I gun the Range Rover engine before peeling out. Patrick’s already called down, and the men I’ve had guarding the ground floor of Konstantin’s building are already in defensive positions near the garage exit, guns out and at the ready.

I go roaring past them and out into the streets of Manhattan, my pulse thudding in my ears as I yank on the wheel and floor it. We’ve only gone a block before a black SUV peels out from the curb right behind us and lurches right up onto my back bumper.

Fuck.

I jerk the wheel side to side, making Callie scream as I barely miss a passing taxi and roar down a side street. The SUV smashes through a city trash can as it follows us, and when I glance back and see a gloved hand stick a gun out the driver’s side window, I slam hard on the accelerator.

“HEAD! DOWN!” I roar at Callie, just as the back window of the Range Rover explodes in a hail of tempered glass. She screams again, yanking her seatbelt off and sliding to the floor of the car in a huddled ball, the laptop bag over her head.

Good girl.

I yank the wheel left and right, cutting down avenues and narrowly avoiding hitting anyone. I head east, then double back toward the west side before roaring down Broadway at insane speeds. Then I’m cutting up Chambers Street and heading to the Brooklyn Bridge. When I glance back, I let out a silent breath of relief when I don’t see the SUV anymore.

We hit the bridge at top speed, dodging and weaving through traffic. I wince at the pain lancing through my arm, glancing down at the blood seeping down my arm from the rip in my t-shirt before I yank out my phone and call Ares.

“Is she safe?!” he roars the second he answers. “I just heard—”

“She’s fine,” I hiss back. “We’re out, and we’re on the move. Some motherfucker was waiting for us and just chased us through fucking midtown.”

“Where are you now?!”

“Headed east…” My eyes drag over to Callie, who’s still curled up in a ball on the floor of the passenger side. “Wayeast, actually.”

“What?! Castle—”

“I have to get her out of this fucking city, Ares,” I hiss. “Whoever that was just got to us in a goddamnfortressof an apartment. If Konstantin’s fucking over-engineered Bratva stronghold of a place isn’t safe—”

“Then nowhere is,” he finishes. “I agree.”

“I’m going to text you an address. Memorize it, delete the text, and tellno one, okay? That’s where we’ll be. I’m going to ditch our phones, too. I’ll let you know when I’ve got a burner.”

“Castle—”

“Nothing is going to happen to her, Ares,” I growl quietly, turning to lock my eyes with hers, my heart clenching in my chest. “Nothing. I can promise you that on my fucking life.”

35

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