Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (11)

I step towards her, but she backs away instantly. When her gaze lifts to my face, I see something different in her eyes.

I’m no longer the mysterious stranger who seduced her into doing something spontaneous.

I’m a motherfucking killer.

“Camila,” I say gently. “I need you to stay calm and trust me.”

“Trust you?” she repeats shakily. “Trust you?”

Several more gunshots blast through the restaurant. We don’t have time for this shit. Lunging forward, I seize her arm and tow her deeper into the back of the restaurant, looking for an alternate way out.

To my irritation, she starts thrashing around in my grasp.

“Stop,” I growl as I give her a shake. “We don’t have the fucking time for this.”

“Let me go!” she screams.

Twisting her wrist, I pull her to me so hard she slams into my chest. “This is not a fucking game,” I snarl in her face. “Those men out there? They will kill you. You’ll be nothing but a necessary causality. Your only hope of surviving this is with me.”

She looks down at my hand wrapped around her wrist. Fear and anger war in her eyes. In the end, she eases up and shivers. The first tear trickles down her cheek.

“Good,” I say. “Now let’s fucking go.”

The lights shiver with yet another explosion as we make our way through the staff quarters. I’m wary of using the back door as an escape. Maxim isn’t stupid enough to attack without covering the primary means of entry.

What I need is a less obvious exit route.

I rattle the handle of a door to the left. It’s locked. The sign hanging off the door says “Staff Lockers.” Keeping a tight grip on Camila, I take a step back and fire two bullets into the handle. Then I kick open the door.

It swings back on its hinges. I stride inside to find three of the waitstaff cowering behind a thin table they’ve upturned for cover. They scream as I enter, but I ignore their terror.

“Is there a window or a door out of this room?” I ask.

No one answers.

“Somebody start fucking talking!”

One of the waiters peeps out from behind the table. “Th-there is… a-a-a…” His stutter dissolves the sentence into meaninglessness.

“There’s another entrance through the kitchen,” one of the bartenders says. “For deliveries.”

“We can’t use that,” I say. “They’ll have men on it.”

Another blast sounds through the restaurant. The whole building rocks on its foundation. Camila stumbles back, right into me. Encircling her with one arm, I turn to go hunt for another option— When three men appear at the door.

One I recognize.

Two I don’t.

But their names are immaterial now. They’re all traitors. That means they’re all going to die.

I raise my gun at the same time they do. Unfortunately for them, I’m faster. Much faster.

Two of the men drop to the floor immediately, gurgling and choking on their own blood. The third manages to take the bullet in the shoulder. He ducks out of the line of fire, but he keeps a grip on his gun.

“Get out of sight,” I order as I shove Cami behind me and take a cautious step forward. One of us—the wounded man or myself—has to make the first move.

It’s going to be me.

I get low and propel myself through the doorway. At the same time, I turn and unload the clip into the bastard’s gut. He dies with his eyes open wide.

But when I land, my shoulder crunches awkwardly under me. The gun goes skittering from my grasp.

“Fuck!” I bellow. Because just then, I hear the thump of boots and more of Maxim’s troops appear at the mouth of the hallway.

My eyes flit to the Staff Lockers room. Cami is standing right in the doorway.

“I thought I told you to take cover,” I growl.

“Isaak…”

“Do as I tell you,” I snap.

Anger flashes across her eyes. But before I can make it clear that I mean business, the men at the opening of the corridor cock their guns and point them at me.

“Don’t fucking move, Vorobev,” one of the masked goons barks.

“Igor, is that you?” I say. “Go ahead and shoot. I’ve seen you at the firing range. You couldn’t hit me from there if your fucking life depended on it.”

He opens his mouth to retort. Seeing as how he’s a fucking moron, I’m sure it was going to be moronic. But I’m spared from hearing what he has to say when a hail of automatic gunfire cuts down Igor and the two men backing him up.

And then Bogdan comes sprinting into view. “Jesus, there you are,” he says. “Thank fucking God.”

“Get her out of here,” I tell him.

A ripple of confusion flits across Bogdan’s face. “Who?”

Cami chooses that moment to step fearfully into the bloodstained hallway. Perfect dramatic timing. I almost want to applaud.

“Who’s this?” Bogdan asks in alarm.

“No one,” I say. “She’s no one.”

Bogdan’s gaze shifts past me towards Camila.

“And we don’t have time for a fucking conversation,” I tell my brother impatiently. “Just get her and the rest of them out of here.”