Page 76 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
I dive to the floor without thinking, my body moving on pure instinct. The plush carpet cushions my fall as bullets start flying. The sound is deafening, overwhelming, and I press my hands over my ears while my heart slams against my ribs.
Andrey. It has to be Andrey.
The firefight is brutal but brief. I keep my head down, my eyes squeezed shut as the gunfire continues. Men are shouting, some in pain, others barking orders. Glass shatters somewhere to my left. Something heavy hits the floor with a sickening thud.
Then, suddenly, it's over.
The silence that follows is almost as loud as the gunfire. My ears ring as I slowly lift my head, my hands shaking as I push myself up slightly to see what's happened.
Anatoly lies on the floor a few feet away, his dead eyes staring at nothing. Blood pools beneath his head from the bullet hole in his temple. His guards, the ones still alive, are being dragged forward by men I recognize as Andrey's. They're forced to their knees, weapons pressed to the backs of their heads.
But I don't care about any of that.
My gaze finds Andrey immediately. He's standing near the entrance, his broad frame silhouetted against the lights from outside. His dark hair is disheveled, his suit jacket torn at the shoulder, and there's blood spattered across his shirt. But his eyes are searching the room frantically, desperate and wild.
When his gaze lands on me, relief floods his face so completely that it takes my breath away.
He moves toward me immediately, stepping over bodies and debris without looking down. His focus is entirely on me, and the intensity of it makes my chest ache.
I push myself to my feet on shaky legs, my whole body trembling with adrenaline and relief and a dozen other emotions I can't name. He came for me. Of course he came for me.
Andrey reaches me in seconds, his hands going to my face as he searches for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you?"
The concern in his voice, the way his fingers tremble slightly against my cheeks, breaks something inside me. All the fear and disgust and confusion from the past hours crashes over me at once, transforming into fury.
"What took you so long?" I demand, my voice sharp and accusing.
Andrey opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face. Then his hands drop from my face, and I notice the blood.
There's so much blood.
It's pooling across his chest, spreading dark and wet across the white fabric of his shirt. The stain grows larger even as I watch, and my brain struggles to process what I'm seeing.
"Andrey?" My voice comes out small, frightened.
He sways slightly, his pale eyes meeting mine. I see the exact moment his strength gives out, the way his body goes slack.
Then he falls to the ground.
36
ANDREY
The floor is cold and hard against my back, and for a disorienting second, I don't know where I am or what happened. Then the pain in my shoulder flares hot and sharp, dragging me fully back to consciousness, and I remember.
I passed out.
Like some weak fucking civilian who can't handle a little blood.
Shame burns through me, hotter than the bullet wound. I've been shot before. Stabbed. Beaten until my ribs cracked. I've endured brutal interrogations, and I never once lost consciousness. But tonight, in front of Mariya, I went down like a goddamn amateur.
"Andrey!" Her voice cuts through the fog in my head, panicked and breathless. "Oh, God, someone call an ambulance!"
I force my eyes open and find her leaning over me, her beautiful face pale with worry. Her hands hover near my shoulders like she wants to touch me but is afraid she'll hurt me worse. Those green eyes are wide and terrified, and despite the humiliationburning in my chest, something warm spreads through me at the sight of her concern.
She cares. She's worried about me.
"I'm fine," I manage, my voice rougher than I intend.
