Page 151 of The Bratva Sinner

I hear voices and continue to creep along. I recognize Damien’s voice and feel some relief.

I step through the door and freeze. Maksim is in a chair, and a man with a knife is bent over him.

His face is a wreck, and his shirt is dark with blood. His head comes up when I come through the door. He looks at me with his one good eye.

My breath catches. One good eye. Just like my mother.

“Lila?”

“I’m here.”

He sags against his restraints, and his head drops. “You were supposed to leave.”

“Not without you.”

The man with the knife cuts the zip ties to free Maksim’s wrists. Maksim hisses when he pulls his arms free. He tries to stand, which is just the kind of stubborn, idiotic thing I knew he would do.

“Don’t.” I move to his side and get under his arm. “Let us help you.”

“I can walk.”

“You can barely see.” I look at his face, and it turns my stomach. I push the feeling down. I can fall apart later. “Lean on me.”

He doesn’t argue again. His arm comes over my shoulder, and he settles his weight against me. He’s heavy and badly favoring his left side. I tighten my grip around his waist. If I could throw him over my shoulder, I would do it.

Damien takes his other side, and we move.

The outer room is clearer now. The shooting outside has moved farther from the building. We make it through the main entrance and into the night air. Maksim tips his head back and breathes.

“Where’s Nikolai? Sergei?”

“I saw Nikolai get hit,” I tell him.

“Is he dead?” Maksim asks.

“He was moving.”

Damien is on his radio. I’m focused on keeping Maksim upright and moving while watching the shadows.

I sense danger. I turn my head, and there he is. Arlind. He’s dragging one foot, and his left arm is hanging at an odd angle. He’s covered in blood.

But the look in his eyes stops me in my tracks. We have to run, but I can’t move.

There’s a gun in his hand. His eyes are fixed on Maksim as he raises it.

He’s going to shoot him, and I still can’t move.

Everything slows down. Maksim feels me tense. I have the gun in my left hand. My right arm is around him. I’m a good shot with my right hand, but not my left. I raise it, turning my body to block Maksim even though I don’t have the height to shield his head, where Arlind is aiming. Maksim reaches over and pulls the gun from my hand.

It happens in less than two seconds. Maksim aims and pulls the trigger with zero hesitation.

Arlind stops walking.

He stands for a second, then folds. His knees buckle, and he falls face-first against the pavement.

“Let’s move,” Damien says.

Maksim’s breathing is labored against my shoulder. I feel the effort it costs him to stay upright.