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“We got the delivery,” an officer says in English to Harrison. “At the loading dock, hidden inside kegs of beer.”

The weight on me lifts. I can breathe again, though my lungs are slow to expand.

Harrison shoves himself to standing and holds out a hand. I rise to shaky feet and turn in a circle.

One of the security guards is down. The other is on his knees, being handcuffed by a man with a badge and a gun.

The other officers stand over two crumpled forms.

The peek of a red handkerchief matching the blood seeping into the carpet is enough to confirm it’s Mischa.

He’s not moving. Neither of them are.

My hands are covered in blood. I should be horrified, but all I feel is a grim numbness.

“Are you all right?” The familiar voice makes me flinch. “Raegan…”

Hands grip my arms. Harrison looks as if he was the one shot. His brows are a tight line, blue eyes stormy as he searches my face. I wrap my arms around myself, fingers sliding on the sheen of cold sweat.

He slips off his jacket, wincing, and slings it around me. My gaze shifts back to the lifeless forms.

An officer appears next to us. “The camera was brave. Or stupid. We couldn’t tell what was being said.” He turns to Harrison. “Good thing you had your cell phone on you. Audio was muffled, but between that and the video, we had enough to move.”

My gaze lifts to Harrison’s, but the officer continues. “We’re going to need statements from both of you. Ivanov might not be talking again, but based on what we got tonight, we should have enough evidence to implicate other senior people in his organization.”

“We’ll give statements at the station,” Harrison says. The officer appears ready to argue, but Harrison continues. “We have some things to resolve first.”

I head toward the door. In the hall, officers are directing upset patrons out of the venue. Fortunately, they seem in a hurry to leave.

“Raegan...” Harrison’s voice at my back has me stiffening.

I don’t want to talk right now. I can’t.

“We need to find Tyler and Annie and Beck and Ash.” I press through the thinning crowd, pulling out my phone and hitting a contact. Annie answers on the fourth ring.

“Where are you?” she shouts.

“Heading from the VIP rooms.”

“Are you okay? We heard gunshots.”

I cut a look over my shoulder to see Harrison’s grim face. “We’re not hurt.” Because that’s easier than telling her we’re not okay. “Where are you?”

“Backstage.”

“Wait, what?”

I’m pressed to the wall, moving in the opposite direction of traffic. I nearly get to one set of the double doors thrown wide to the open-air dance floor when a hand grabs my shoulder. I spin to find Eva, eyes wide.

“Where is he?” she asks.

“He’s dead.”

Her hands drop away. “Thank you.” Her hand rests on her flat stomach, and a piece clicks into place.

She’s pregnant.

I guess she decided enough was enough—if not for her, then for the family she could have. Her child doesn’t need to follow in his father’s footsteps.