36. Sasha

CHAPTER 36

SASHA

I'm hunched over in the farthest booth of this shabby little diner, tucked away somewhere off the highway in the bleedin' middle of nowhere Nevada. My feet throb with each heartbeat, stomach churning like a cement mixer. The gun I nicked off Kolya is long gone, lost in the mad dash through unforgiving desert terrain that's left me battered, filthy, and completely drained.

I feel like pieces of me are chipping away into the void as I try to calm my breathing and manage my panic.

Through the dust-streaked window, the sun-scorched landscape stretches on forever, an endless sea of sand and scrub that could swallow a bloke whole. In the distance, there are mountain peaks, jagged and unassuming, standing tall. And I wonder what it would be like to get lost there. Forever. Because if this is my life, I don’t want it. I never did. But I guess you can’t outrun who you are.

My own hollow reflection peers back at me from the window, pale and gaunt, a ghost of the posh London boy I used to be. The memory of those years feels far away now, slipping through my fingers like the fine grains of desert sand.

The exhaustion weighs heavy, dragging at my bones as I slump against the cracked vinyl seat. My head is pounding something fierce, thoughts scattered and sharp-edged. How the bloody hell did it come to this? Running for my life from the bastards who want me dead, just for being born a Solovey. Just for existing.

I can feel the stares. Stares from the people working behind the counter of this joint. Hushed whispers hiss through the stagnant air as they gawk at the sorry state of me. I must look a right mess, clothes torn and caked with dirt, hair matted with sweat and grime. Like something the cat dragged in, as Mum used to say. One of the girls brought me a glass of water, but it’s been sitting untouched for a long time. The idea of putting anything in my roiling gut makes me want to hurl.

Eventually, I take a sip. Wait. Then take another.

I just have to last until Logan gets here. I’m sure I can hold on until then. I’m sure the people running this place won’t mind. They let me borrow the phone and haven’t openly said anything about my sitting in the corner booth. I’m one of the three patrons anyway.

Yes, I just need to get through this hell until Logan arrives.

The rumble of engines right outside shatters my thoughts, and I jerk in my seat to peer out the window. Two SUVs, dark and ominous, prowl into the parking like a pack of hungry wolves. Bloody hell. It's them. The arseholes hunting me down.

Panic claws up my throat, choking the air from my lungs. I need to scarper, now. Need to find a way out of this godforsaken place before they put me back into that bloody room.

I down the rest of the water from the glass and lurch to my feet, ignoring the screaming protests of my battered body, and stagger toward the counter. "Is there a back way out of here?" I rasp, my voice rough as sandpaper from dehydration.

The worker, the same girl who gave me water, blinks at me, like a startled deer caught in headlights. "Um, there's a staff entrance back there," she says slowly, pointing a hesitant finger in the direction of a corridor, "where the restrooms are."

"Thanks," I mutter, already moving.

I stumble down the narrow hallway with the stained walls. The bathrooms reek of piss and bleach as I careen by, shoving through the heavy metal door at the end with the last dregs of my strength.

Nevada's barren landscape greets me, once more. The sun's unforgiving rays—even this time of the year—are searing my skin. I suck in a breath, the air hot and gritty in my lungs.

Gotta keep moving.

Can't let them catch me.

Adrenaline in my veins is a temporary elixir gifting false vitality to my exhausted limbs. I run, trainers pounding the cracked earth, jagged rocks biting into the soles. Each stride jars my bones, sends bolts of agony lancing up my shins. But I don't stop, can't stop.

I don’t look back either.

I can hear them but I’m not ready to face them.

There. In the shimmering distance, a dilapidated structure rises from the desert like a decaying carcass. An abandoned building, crumbling. A possible sanctuary.

My breaths rip from my throat, ragged and harsh. The taste of copper coats my tongue. Behind me angry shouts echo across the desolate expanse, spurring me faster.

Almost there. Just a little further.

I reach the weathered building, its towering concrete walls offering blessed shade. I tug on the rusted handles, but the doors remain stoically shut, denying me entrance. Locked. Of course.

Despair crashes over me in a suffocating wave. I can't go back. I won't. Frantic, I scan the ground, searching for something, anything. There. A large chunk of stone. I grab it, ignoring the bite of its jagged edges against my palm. I hurl it at the nearest window.

The glass explodes in a brilliant cascade of crystalline shards. A slim chance. My only hope. I tumble through the gaping hole, the broken teeth of the window frame snagging on my clothes. I hit the ground hard, palms shredding on the unforgiving debris. But I'm in.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the rivulets of crimson snaking down my arms. The cavernous interior of the former store stretches before me like a graveyard of forgotten relics and broken dreams. Motes of dust dance in the slivers of light piercing through the cracked ceiling, a spectral waltz amid the decay.

I keep moving. My gaze lands on the escalator, its once-gleaming steps now a rusted skeleton. I stumble forward, each step an effort. Behind me, the discordant symphony of splintering wood announces the arrival of my pursuers.

They're inside.

" Blyat ! Find him! Find this faggot!"

The answering speech is a mix of English and Spanish. They echo through the deserted space, ominous.

I throw myself onto the escalator, my blood-slicked hands scrabbling for purchase on the corroded metal. Up, up, up. Don't look back.

One foot, then the other. One foot, then the other. Keep going, Sasha. Keep going.

At the top, I haul myself over the lip of the escalator, legs quivering. The labyrinthine expanse of the second floor unfurls before me, a maze of empty rooms. I plunge forward, darting through the skeletal remains of abandoned displays.

A stairwell comes into view, its door hanging drunkenly from rusted hinges. I shoulder it open, the metal screeching in protest. The stairs spiral upward, a dizzying ascent into the unknown.

I take them two at a time, lungs searing, thighs screaming. The approaching pounding of footsteps below pushes me higher. Faster. Don't look down.

At the top, another door. I crash through it, stumbling onto the roof. The wind whips across the surface, tugging at my hair, my clothes. I reel, momentarily disoriented.

" Stoy! Ti, pridurok! Stoy! Ya komy skazal! "

The command cuts through the air like a whip crack. I start moving again, running across the roof. Forward. No destination in mind. Just away from the voice.

" Stoy, suka! "

I spin around, heart lodged in my throat. A figure stands in the doorway. He has a gun.

I back away, feet shuffling toward the edge of the roof. The unforgiving concrete rim presses against the backs of my knees. I chance a glance behind me. The neighboring building is just out of reach, an impossible vacuum between me and it.

I look back at my pursuer, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of rage. The muzzle of his gun stares back, a one-eyed monster hungry for blood. My blood.

Trapped . The word ricochets through my mind. I have nowhere to run anymore, nowhere to hide. This is it. The end of the line.

Immediately, a flicker of defiance sparks to life in my chest. No. I won't let it end like this. I'm a Solovey, dammit. We don't give up. Not ever. Probably the only useful trait I inherited from my father.

I turn.

Then steel myself, drawing in a shuddering breath. My gaze locks onto the opposing rooftop, gauging the distance. It's far. Too far. But what choice do I have?

Doubt coils in my gut, insidious and cold. Can I make it? Am I strong enough? The questions batter against my resolve, threatening to crumble it to dust.

No. I clench my jaw, banishing the whispers of uncertainty. I have to try. For me. For Mama. For Logan.

I close my eyes and sucking in one final lungful of dry air, I leap.