Chapter 9: Alexei

We pull up to the safe house, and the silence between us is thick enough to cut through. Irina hasn't said a word since we left the ball, her jaw tight, her eyes forward, refusing to look at me. She's still pissed, and I get it. Tonight didn't go as planned, and now we're here, both of us simmering in our own frustrations. The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the front of the old house. It's nondescript, just another forgotten building on the outskirts of the city. Exactly how it's supposed to be.

I kill the engine, and the silence deepens. Neither of us moves for a moment. The car still feels safer somehow, like stepping out will bring all the chaos from the ball crashing back onto us. But we don't have that luxury. We never do.

"Go on," I say, breaking the stillness. "I'll lock up behind us."

Irina shoots me a glare, but she opens the door and steps out, her heels clicking against the pavement. I follow, scanning the shadows as I close the door quietly behind me. Something doesn't feel right, and it's gnawing at me, a cold knot of unease in my gut.

We walk up the steps, and she punches in the code at the door. The soft beep of the keypad is the only sound, and it feels too loud in the stillness of the night. I'm tense, every nerve on edge as we step inside. The house is dark, the air stale from being closed up for too long. It's just as we left it—safe, empty, untouched. But that feeling in my gut is still there, a whisper that won't be silenced.

"I'll check the perimeter," I say, moving toward the back of the house, but the words are barely out of my mouth when it hits me: a prickle on the back of my neck, a shift in the air, the unmistakable sense that we're not alone. I freeze, listening, every sense straining for a sound. Then I hear it—a soft creak from the floor above, too deliberate to be anything but human.

"Get down," I hiss, shoving Irina behind the nearest piece of cover, a sturdy old table that's seen better days. My hand is on my gun, and the adrenaline kicks in, sharp and hot, drowning out everything but the here and now.

The door slams open behind us, and everything erupts into chaos. Gunfire shatters the silence, bullets tearing through wood and plaster. I drop to the floor, rolling behind a wall as shots ricochet off the walls, splintering the furniture. Irina's beside me, her eyes wide but focused, already reaching for her own weapon.

We exchange a glance, and in that split second, the plan forms without words. We've done this too many times to need them. I signal left, she nods and moves right, her steps silent and swift. The men are coming in fast, too fast. They've got the numbers, but we've got the advantage of surprise. They don't know this place like we do.

I take a breath, then pop up and fire. One man drops, his gun clattering to the floor as his body slams into the wall. Another rounds the corner, but I'm quicker, my shot finding its mark before he can pull the trigger. The house is filling with the acrid smell of gunpowder, the air thick with tension and noise. It's deafening, but all I hear is the rush of blood in my ears; all I feel is the recoil of the gun in my hands, the familiar weight of it as I take down another one of the men.

Irina's holding her own, moving like a shadow through the room, her shots precise and deadly. She's pissed, and it shows in the way she fights, no hesitation, no mercy. These men made a mistake coming after us, thinking they could take us down on our own turf.

But there are more of them than I thought, and they're closing in. I take cover behind an overturned bookshelf, reloading with quick, practiced motions. A glance over the edge tells me there are at least three left, maybe more in the shadows. My mind is calculating, mapping out their positions, anticipating their moves before they make them.

Another shot, and I see one go down, clutching his chest as he stumbles back. Two more, and they're getting desperate, firing wildly, trying to pin us down. I shift my position, taking advantage of the confusion, and get a clear shot at the one nearest the door. He goes down hard, his body slumping against the frame.

One left. He's smarter than the others, hanging back, using the shadows to his advantage. But he doesn't know that I've already seen him. I move silently, circling around to get behind him. His breath is loud in the quiet that's fallen over the room, and I can tell he's nervous. He knows his chances are slim. He just doesn't know how slim.

I step out from the shadows, and he barely has time to register the movement before I pull the trigger. The shot is clean, and he falls without a sound, the gun slipping from his fingers as he crumples to the floor.

The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the ringing in my ears and the sharp smell of blood in the air. I stand there for a moment, letting the adrenaline ebb, taking stock. The house is a mess, shattered glass and splintered wood everywhere, but we're alive. We've survived another one.

Irina emerges from her cover, and she steps over the bodies without a second glance, moving to my side as we survey the damage. She nudges one of the men with her foot, and he groans—a mistake. Her gun is up in an instant, and she puts a bullet in his head without a word.

"These were Sergei's men," she says. "They must have followed us from the ball."

I nod, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "We need to get out of here. Now."

She doesn't argue. We move quickly, grabbing what we can carry, leaving the rest. There's no time to clean up, no time to cover our tracks. We're exposed, and every second we stay here increases the danger. We need to move, and fast.

We slip out the back, the night air cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat inside the house. I check the perimeter, making sure there's no one left lurking in the shadows, but the streets are empty, eerily quiet.

We make it to the car without incident, and Irina takes the wheel this time, her hands steady despite everything that's just happened. I keep my eyes on the rearview mirror, watching for any sign of pursuit, but there's nothing. Not yet.

"We need to make sure we're not being followed," I say, my voice low.

She nods, understanding without me needing to explain.

We drive in silence for a while, taking turns, doubling back, doing everything we can to lose any potential tail.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Irina speaks. "I know a place," she says. "It's not far. We'll be safe there."

I trust her judgment. If she says it's safe, then it's as safe as we're going to get tonight.

The streets get narrower as we drive, the buildings older, more decrepit. We're deep in the underbelly of the city now, far from the glitz and glamor of the ball, far from anywhere anyone would think to look for us. She pulls into a narrow alley, the tires crunching on gravel as she kills the engine.

"This way," she says, climbing out of the car.

I follow, my senses still sharp. But the area is deserted, with nothing but the faint hum of the city in the distance and the occasional scuttle of rats in the alley.

We reach the door of a small building, and she unlocks it with a key she pulls from her pocket. The door creaks open, and we step inside. It's dark, the air heavy with dust and disuse, but it's a roof over our heads, and that's all that matters right now.

She flips on a light, and I blink against the sudden brightness. The place is small, barely more than a single room with a bed shoved against one wall and a tiny kitchenette in the corner. It's not much, but it'll do.

I drop my bag on the floor, the exhaustion finally starting to creep in now that the adrenaline is fading. But then Irina turns to me, and her eyes go wide.

"Shit," she mutters, "You're bleeding."

I glance down, and sure enough, the front of my shirt is soaked with blood. The wound from earlier has reopened. I hadn't even noticed in the chaos of it all, but now that I see it, the pain comes rushing back, hot and throbbing.

Irina swears again, louder this time, and I don't have the energy to argue. The room spins slightly as I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath, trying to push the pain back into the corner of my mind where I can ignore it. But it's there, pulsing with every beat of my heart, every ragged breath I take.

She's already moving, grabbing a first aid kit from the cabinet, her hands quick and efficient as she kneels in front of me, tearing my shirt open to get a better look at the wound. I wince as she touches it, but I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay still.

"This is bad, Alexei," she says. "You should have told me earlier."

I shrug, but the movement makes the pain flare up, and I suck in a breath through clenched teeth. "I didn't notice," I manage to say, my voice rough.

Irina's hands are still pressed against my stomach, her touch firm and sure as she finishes patching me up. But when she looks up at me, there's something dark and raw in her eyes that wasn't there before.

I can feel it, too, a pull that's as undeniable as it is dangerous. The room seems to shrink around us, the silence charged with an electricity that has nothing to do with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. My heart pounds, not from the pain but from the way she's looking at me. It's like she's daring me to make the next move, like she's been waiting for it all along.

I lean in, and her eyes flick to my lips, and that's all the invitation I need. I close the distance, capturing her mouth with mine in a kiss that's anything but gentle. It's fierce and hungry, and it shatters the tension between us, replacing it with something even more intense.

Her hands leave the wound, trailing down, and when she palms me through my trousers, a low growl escapes my throat. The pain is still there, a dull throb beneath the heat of her touch, but it's drowned out by the fire she's igniting in me, by the way my body responds to her every movement.

I deepen the kiss, my hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as she presses her palm harder against me.

She breaks the kiss, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but her hand doesn't leave its place. I can see the same fire in her eyes that's burning in my chest, and it takes everything I have not to raise her up and lay her down on the bed right now.

"Alexei," her breath catches like she's trying to hold something back, but her eyes are telling a different story.

Her lips part just a fraction, and I can feel the heat between us, like I'm standing too close to the edge of something dangerous. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and all I can think is that if I don't kiss her again, I might actually lose my mind.