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I crept in the opposite direction toward the stairwelland slipped through, closing the door softly. Voices echoed in the stairwell, but from floors above, moving away. The concrete walls amplified and distorted their words, to the point where they sounded almost inhuman.

"What are we supposed to do when we find the bitch? Kill her?" asked someone with a Russian accent that wasn't nearly as refined as Pavel's.

"Nah. Boss wants her alive, but he didn't say we couldn't take her for a spin first," another replied. They laughed as they climbed another story and exited the stairwell.

A chill washed over me as my mind raced with what they planned. I clutched the gun tighter, suddenly grateful for its reassuring weight.

No time to dwell on it.

I moved quickly but silently, eyes fixed on my feet to avoid tripping on the stairs. The rubber soles of my sneakers squeaked occasionally against the smooth concrete treads, each sound like a scream in the otherwise silent stairwell.

Down, down, down.

I wasted no time descending, not looking up until reaching the large steel door covered in warning signs.

Do Not Open—Alarm Will Sound.

If the Ivanovs were here tonight, they'd disabled the security systems.

Men like Pavel didn't leave electronic trails.

The best way to avoid police involvement was to avoid creating evidence.

I pushed that thought aside, realizing I was now evidence they would need to erase.

No point worrying about what I couldn't control. I pressed the door handle, bracing for alarms in case my assumption proved wrong.

Nothing happened.

I pushed the door open just enough to slip through.

Shifting the gun to my other hand, I ran my sweat-slicked palm over my thigh. The metal seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

The cool, crisp air outside helped clear my thoughts.

The distant sound of traffic—ordinary people living ordinary lives—was surreal after what I'd witnessed.

I wasn't free yet.

This building was one among several in the compound. I needed to navigate the loading dock and back alleys without detection. My heartbeat thundered as I darted through alleys, sneakers slapping against wet concrete. The recent rain had left puddles that reflected the streetlights, creating twice as many sources of illumination to avoid.

The area was a labyrinth of twists and turns, but I'd spent countless hours dragging garbage through these same passages. I knew my way.

That meant I also knew where the guards stationed themselves.

With Pavel conducting business tonight, who knew if the regular guards remained or if additional men patrolled?

Jimmy might have been given the night off, replaced by some eager distant Ivanov cousin ready to prove himself. I passed the first guard station at the junction of three alleys. This area, which served as my garbage drop-off point, was wider and more open, making me vulnerable now. The overhead security light cast harsh shadows that seemed to move like living things.

Jimmy's station stood empty.

He normally sat in his booth every night regardless of the weather, listening to audiobooks until he spotted me, then helped with the larger trash bags. Jimmy never missed shifts, because he was saving for his son's college.

His absence confirmed my suspicion—none of the regular guards remained.

Relief surged through me, offering a taste of hope.

My thoughts turned to where I'd go after my escape.