Page 35

And then there's Abram. He's by my side, his gun blazing as he covers my back. We've been through hell together, and I know he'd die for me, just as I would for him.
As this attack escalates, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. The attackers are too well-organized and too well-armed. This isn't just a defense against our attack—it's a coordinated assault.
The Smirnovs aren’t this capable.
My mind races with possibilities, striving to piece together the puzzle. Who would dare to attack us like this while we strike at another? Someone has been watching our movements.
As I ponder the question, a sudden movement captures my attention. One of the attackers is making a break for it, sprinting toward the exit. I'm on my feet in an instant, pursuing them.
My legs pump as I sprint after him, dodging bullets and leaping over crumpled bodies. I hear my brothers shouting behind me, but I block them out. All that matters is catching this bastard and making him talk.
I'm catching up to him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Just a few more steps and he'll be mine. But suddenly, he spins around, his gun aimed at my chest.
Time seems to slow as I stare down the barrel of his gun. I know I should be scared, but all I can think about is Quinn. Her face flashes in my mind. If something happened to me, Letvin would come for her. She would be in danger.
With a roar of defiance, I lunge forward, my hand closing around the attacker's wrist and cracking it upward. A bullet goesoff, and I feel a searing pain on the side of my waist. We struggle for control of the gun, our bodies slamming against the wall.
I hear a sickening crack as his head collides with the concrete. The gun clatters to the floor as he goes limp in my grasp. I stagger back, my chest heaving.
As I step back, a sharp pain lances through my side. I grit my teeth, trying to ignore it, but the pain only intensifies with each breath. I press my hand against the wound on my waist, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through my fingers. I lift my shirt and see that the bullet grazed my skin. It didn’t lodge, thank God.
“Mark, you're hurt,” Abram says, his voice laced with concern.
I brush off his words with a forced smile. “I'm fine. It's just a scratch.”
But as I take a step forward, the world tilts dangerously. I stumble, my vision blurring at the edges. Vladimir's strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.
“You need to get that looked at,” he insists, his brow furrowed.
I shake my head, pushing past them. “I said I'm fine. We have more important things to worry about.”
“Leave,” he growls, and instructs one of his men to guide me to the car. “We’ve got this.”
“Listen,” I say, aware that arguing with my brother is pointless. “This attack isn’t a defense.”
“We figured,” he nods. “The Smirnovs are hiding inside the warehouse. The attackers are another party. We’ll find out who it is.”
I don’t say I have my hunches. Evidence is all that truly counts, and it’s better if my brothers find a concrete answer.
***
Finally, the driver pulls into my house's driveway, which brings a small measure of relief. I sit in the car for a moment, gathering my strength.
I need to get inside without Quinn seeing me. I can't let her know just how badly I'm hurt. She's already worried enough as it is.
I take a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my side. Then, with a grunt of effort, I heave myself out of the car, refusing my driver’s help and making my way toward the house.
Each step is agony, but I force myself to keep going. I pray Quinn is already in bed.
I slip through the front door, my heart pounding in my ears. The house is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the hallway.
I take a step forward, and suddenly the world tilts sideways. I stumble, my hand reaching out to steady myself against the wall.
That's when I hear her voice, soft and concerned. “Mark? Is that you?”
I close my eyes, cursing under my breath. So much for sneaking past her unnoticed.
I straighten up, trying to mask my pain as Quinn rounds the corner. Her green eyes widen when she sees me, her gaze drawn to the bloodstain on my shirt.