37. Logan

CHAPTER 37

LOGAN

The tires of our SUV screech to a halt outside the ramshackle diner somewhere off 169. Just like Sasha said over the phone. I leap out from the back seat and into a cloud of dust with my heart pounding a desperate rhythm against my ribs. I rush toward the weathered glass door, Ivan with Vlad's men on my heels.

Inside, the mid-century decor is faded and worn, the linoleum cracked, the booths patched with duct tape. The sickly yellow light flickers overhead. My eyes dart around the mostly empty room, searching for a flash of blond hair and a pair of green eyes. Nothing.

I stride to the counter, where two workers in white and red shirts are gazing at me. I’m not sure who is more panicked now—them or me. I notice shards of glass on the floor and across the counter. A broom stands in the corner. As if someone was working to clean that up but hid when we approached.

I try to keep the rising dread from my voice. "I'm looking for a young man. Six feet, blond undercut, green eyes. Skinny. Have you seen him?"

The girl behind the register, no more than nineteen, looks at me warily. "If you’re going to break something, mister, you need to pay," she squeals, reaching for a spoon behind the counter.

"Not going to break anything," I state. "He called me earlier to pick him up."

"Yeah, he was here..." the girl’s co-worker—the gangly teenage boy—speaks up.

The door swings behind me and a little bell above it announces the arrival of another person. I catch a glimpse of Vlad's imposing figure in my peripheral vision. The girl's gaze flicks to him nervously.

"Where’s he?" I ask.

"He left," the girl says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. She’s holding on to the spoon like it’s her lifeline.

"When?" Vlad demands, his tone harsh.

"Maybe fifteen minutes ago," offers the teenage boy not meeting Vlad's steely gaze.

"Some other men came in asking for him," the girl adds. "I don't know who they were, but they didn't look friendly."

"They broke the cookie display," the boy says.

"We will not break anything," Vlad supplies sternly, pulling out a few hundred dollar bills from the inner pocket of his jacket. "We are looking for my brother." He hands the bills to the girl. "For the cookie display."

"Where did they go?" I press as my blood continues to run cold. I was certain I’d find him here.

The girl hides the money into her apron’s pocket. "They left right after him. He went out back." She points a shaking finger toward the rear of the diner where a sign indicates bathrooms.

"Show me," Vlad commands.

The girl leads us to the back, her steps hurried and unsteady. I shove the door open, the metal groaning under the force of my desperation. Outside, I find Ivan standing like a massive, suited-up, armed abnormality in the desert, his eyes fixed on the ground. As we approach, he lifts his head, his expression dark.

"Sasha went that way," he reports, gesturing into the distance where the silhouettes of structures linger.

"Let's go," Vlad orders, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. He turns to Ivan. "Take the lead on foot. Follow the tracks."

I step forward, my resolve unwavering. "I'm coming with you," I declare, meeting Ivan's gaze.

Vlad nods, a flicker of understanding passing between us. He rushes back to the front of the restaurant to bring the SUV over. The rest of the vehicles with his silent crew fall into formation around him. The engines roar to life, and we set off, the tires kicking up dust as we leave the asphalt behind.

Ivan and I forge ahead, our eyes scanning the ground for any sign of Sasha's passage. The tracks are faint, barely discernible, but we press on, fueled by a potent mix of fear and adrenaline.

The SUVs crawl behind us. Vlad’s window is down and occasionally he and Ivan exchange words in Russian.

As we draw closer to the abandoned structures, Ivan slows his pace, then his hand is in the air. Suddenly, the air erupts with the staccato burst of gunfire, bullets zooming past us like angry bees.

"Get down!" Ivan shouts, diving for cover behind a rusted oil drum.

I follow suit, dropping to the ground and scrambling toward the nearest SUV.

"Get in!" Vlad’s door swings open. He reaches over and I grab his hand. I’m inside the vehicle, in the back seat. I watch Ivan pushing his way to the other SUV while Vlad’s crew opens responding fire.

"Go around," Vlad barks at the driver, his voice barely discernible over the racket of gunfire.

The vehicle lurches forward and changes course. We circle the cluster of structures to avoid more bullets.

As we get closer, I spot shapes darting across the rooftops, their movements frantic. "There!" I shout, pointing at the figures. The driver reacts instantly, steering the car toward the entrance, tires screeching against the old, cracked asphalt and leaving burn marks.

Several of us, including Vlad and Ivan, leap out of the vehicles and rush into the building.

"We need to find stairs," I supply.

"We'll have to split up," Vlad says, his voice tight with tension. "You take the east side. I'll cover the west." He gestures at Ivan to follow him.

I nod. My Glock is in my grasp. The rest of the crew starts fanning out to secure the perimeter.

I dart into the dark corridor and press forward. Somewhere above me, I hear the pounding of footsteps. The sound is a dull echo in the empty, ravaged space. At the end of the corridor, there is a staircase, the railing not finished. I take the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning with the effort. When I emerge onto the roof, the harsh desert wind hits me like Vlad’s blow to the face.

As I turn around and scan the expanse of the rooftop, then glance at the nearest building, I spot Sasha with his blond hair ruffled by the same harsh wind. His pursuer is drawing closer.

A hot rush of adrenaline races in my veins. I break into a sprint, leaping over the gap between buildings with reckless abandon. Gunfire erupts somewhere around me, the bullets ricocheting off the concrete and metal.

I duck and weave, my mind focused solely on reaching Sasha. The distance between us seems to stretch out endlessly, each step feeling like an eternity.

Come on, Logan , I urge myself, grinding my teeth. Just a little further.

A bullet grazes my arm, the searing pain barely registering as I push myself harder, faster. I imagine the terror in Sasha's heart.

"I'm coming, Sasha!" I shout. "Just hold on."

With a final burst of speed, I close the gap. I reach out, my fingers stretching toward him, ready to pull him to safety.

He lunges forward, barrels into me, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Instinctively, I aim my gun at the man closing in on us from the opposite direction, the man who’s been following him. His face twists into a snarl as he aims his own weapon at us.

Breathe. Focus. Shoot.

Don't think about right or wrong.

Right now they don't exist.

The gunshot cracks through the air and the man crumples to the ground with a yelp. His gun clattering beside him. Not dead, but out of the game.

Heart pounding, I turn my attention to Sasha and grasp his face with both hands, the gun still clutched in my grip clumsily. His green eyes are wide, a mixture of fear and relief swirling there.

"Sasha," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. "It's okay. I've got you. Vlad's here. We're going to be alright."

I press my lips to his, the kiss fierce and desperate, a silent promise that I'll keep him safe. Sasha melts into me, his hands clutching at my shirt, his body trembling.

The moment is shattered by another explosion of gunfire. I break away, my senses on high alert.

"Down!" I bark, dragging Sasha behind a lonely cement fixture. We drop to the ground and I survey our surroundings. The edge is not far and we crawl in its direction. Behind me, another blast of gunfire echoes across the roof.

"Don’t move," I tell him and roll over to my back, shifting my body to be able to see the pursuer. There, he is, fucking bastard. I aim and fire. He pivots. Hides on the other side of the structure.

I turn over to my stomach and look at Sasha. His face is dirty, gaunt. He’s lost a lot of weight in three days.

"We’re pinned here," I tell him. "We’re gonna have to jump."

I look down at the ground, then scan the alleyway between the structures to ensure it’s empty. The drop is dizzying, but a dumpster filled with trash bags seems like a good way to land. I meet Sasha's gaze. "How are you feeling? Are you up for it, mylash ?"

Sasha nods, exhausted but determined. He’s got fire in him, fire I’ve already seen in Vlad’s calculating gaze. I don’t know how Sasha escaped and something in me almost doesn’t want to find out.

We clamber over the edge and leap into the void below. The air rushes all around me, the desert landscape flickers and disappears behind the wall before I can register the entire picture.

The impact is jarring, but the trash bags cushion our fall just as I expected. I scramble to my knees, all wobbly, heart racing. Sasha lands next to me and I reach out to pull him up from the black plastic heap.

"You good?" I gently shove his hair off his face to get a better look at him.

Except for the grime on his skin, he seems unharmed, at least on the surface.

"I’m fine, Logan. I truly am. Let’s get out of here."

The pop of gunfire still crackles somewhere in the distance and I pray that Vlad and Ivan are on top of the situation and ready to go.

"Alright, let’s get you out," I mutter, grabbing onto the rough edge of the dumpster to haul myself over it.

My feet hit the ground and I extend my arm to help Sasha as he frantically hustles out from our impromptu landing spot.

Before I can decide which way to run next, an SUV—not Vlad’s—screeches to a halt at one end of the alley. The door swings open and a hulking figure emerges from the back seat. The man smiles and his golden tooth makes an appearance.

"Shtyk?" I grit out, mostly to myself. My grip tightens on my gun.

The Russian smiles wider as the rest of his goons fan out from the vehicle to close up the entrance to the alley. I glance back. We can still run, but what good would it do? It’s two against six. One Glock against a handful of AKs.

Shtyk takes a few steps forward and I nudge Sasha to stand behind me while pulling out my weapon.

The Russian levels his weapon at me in return.

"Your services are no longer required, Mr. McKenna," he states with deadly finality in his voice. "I only want the little schenok ." Time seems to slow down as Shtyk's finger tightens on the trigger, the barrel of his gun aimed directly at my head. One shot and I’m no longer in this world and no one will protect Sasha. "Goodbye, Mr. McKenna."

"You need to run," I tell Sasha, not looking at him and squeezing his hand one last time.

The shot rings out.

Sasha, without a warning, throws himself in front of me.

The distant rumble of engines perforates through the haze of my shock.

Concentrate, Logan. Concentrate.

I blink away the spots that dance across my vision. More tires screech against the ground, worrying dust and gravel, and I turn my head, watching as vehicles pour to the opposite end of the alley.

I’m on my knees, I realize, cradling Sasha’s head in my lap with one hand. My other hand is pressing against the fresh hole in his chest. I'm leaning over him, ready to protect him from the bullets, but I think it's too late. One's already got him.

I’m losing myself in the wave of emotions that crashes over me. I keep losing people, people I care about, people that make this stupid life worth living. Dad, Ma, now Sasha.

"Why?" I choke out, my voice raw. "Why in the world would you—" I don’t finish this sentence. I can’t. It seems like if I say it out loud, it’ll be real.

He looks at me with his green eyes. His lips—dangerously blue—twist into a sad, crooked smile, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush his fingers against my cheek.

"For once," he whispers, words barely audible over the chaos around us, "I wanted to save you."

My heart clenches. "Stupid, stupid boy," I whisper back, ignoring the footsteps and the Russian speech filling the alley.

"Stay with me," I plead, fumbling with his blood-soaked shirt to check the extent of his injury. Fuck. Why is there so much blood? "Stay awake, okay? We’ll get you some help in a minute." Hot tears sizzle at the corners of my eyes as my hand continues to press down on Sasha’s gaping wound. But I refuse to let these tears fall. I refuse to let him see how desperate, how broken I am. I’m supposed to be his rock, his protector. And I allowed for a bullet to take him. I didn’t stop it like I was meant to.

A voice yells something in a language I don’t understand. Thick, Russian accent. Sounds like Ivan.

Gunfire bursts from the direction where Shtyk and his men are making their reckless stand. A blend of Russian and Spanish, then English. Ivan and his crew spread out through the narrow space, pushing Shtyk’s goons further away from the alley and out.

The sound of footsteps approaches, and I look up to see Vlad rushing toward us, his face a mask of shock and horror. His suit is disheveled. For once he’s not at one hundred percent. He drops to his knees beside us, his hands hovering over Sasha, his eyes wide and desperate.

" Bratishka, derzhis’ ," he whispers, scrambling to get his phone from his pocket. His gaze sweeps over to me. "What happened?" His voice is angry, demanding, and shaking. "Logan, what the hell happened?"

But I can't answer, the words stuck in my throat, my heart shattering into a million pieces as I cradle Sasha's bloody body in my arms.

"Fuck," Vlad mutters, punching a finger at his screen. Three numbers. 911, I realize as he screams our coordinates.