Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I have to wonder if this is about hiding in plain sight or something else.
But I don’t get to ask. Instead, he takes my hand and pulls me out the door and into the street.
My heels clack over stone as we hurry away from the line. He takes out his phone, flips through his apps, and starts to order a car. While he’s distracted and tapping away, two figures step out from a doorway nearby.
The first man says something in Greek. I don’t know what it means, but his tone is sharp and dangerous, and Peter instantly shoves me away from them. I stumble and nearly fall, catching myself on a wall. The man comes at him hard and I spot the glint of moonlight off metal as a knife thrusts forward, barely missing Peter as he turns and jams his elbow into the attacker’s throat, catching hold of the knife arm and twisting the wrist.
The attacker shouts and the knife drops. I try to yell a warning as the second attacker slams a baton into Peter’s back but it’s too late. Peter grunts and turns, punching the man in the stomach, but the first attacker balls his hands into one big fist and slams them down on Peter’s spine. Peter stumbles forward and nearly falls, twisting in time to barely avoid another baton strike aimed at his skull.
He drops to a knee and draws his gun, snapping something in Greek. The first attacker turns and runs as the baton holder swings against Peter’s head. Peter ducks and fires, shooting the man in the stomach. Blood blossoms on his black shirt and Peter stands, kicks him in the knee, and knocks him sideways to the ground.
I stand there, horrified, hands over my mouth, unable to move. It all happened so fast and while Peter fought for his life, it felt like a pin connected me to the ground and left me there, wriggling and helpless. I wanted to do something—I still want to do something—but it’s like my body won’t move. And besides, what could I do against two grown men? Two attackers sent here to hurt us for reasons I don’t understand? Speaking a language I don’t know? I’m helpless, weak, worthless, and I hate it so much it makes me sick.
Peter turns to me and holds out his hand, and in that moment, I know what I need.
I think of Katarin. The way she carries herself like she’s staring down at the world from a great height.
I think of what she said to me: what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I think of what I told her, why I was doing all this.
To be strong.
Peter can teach me. He can show me how to fight. How to defend myself. How to never, ever, be a victim again.
The Russians broke something inside of me when they kidnapped and beat me all those weeks ago.
But watching Peter take down two attackers and possibly kill one of them without hesitating—
That woke something new inside of me.
No more weakness. No more wounded puppy.
No more being a victim.
That’s why I’m doing this. For strength.
I take Peter’s hand and we run.
Chapter 7
Peter
We sprint through the streets of Athens as sirens wail nearby.
I don’t think anybody saw what happened. There weren’t any cameras—none that I saw, anyway—and Balaska will cover for me if there were. I didn’t notice bystanders, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t witnesses. Still—as far as a random street shooting goes, I don’t think it will be a problem.
I go faster, hurrying, getting away from the police before they show up on the scene. I don’t know if I killed that guy and I don’t care. I’m too busy being angry that they nearly got the drop on me and cursing myself for getting distracted by my fucking phone.
If they’d been sent to kill us, we’d be dead. If they’d been armed with guns and planned on using them, I’d be full of metal and bleeding on the street right now.
Instead, they were a message.
Now I have to figure out what that message was supposed to mean.
After a while, we stop in a quiet alleyway. The streets are deserted this late. Adrienne leans up against the wall breathing hard and stares at me. I stare back at her and meet her eye. She doesn’t seem afraid—I thought she’d be terrified after watching me shoot a man in the gut—but instead, she looks elated, cheeks flushed from the run, her eyes like liquid fire, and she’s grinning like she wants to burn the world to cinders.
I move close to her and put my hands on her hips.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. The swell of her throat, the dip of her lips. I even love the scar, the crooked nose, the bruises. I love the way she looks at me with barely disguised hate, but now that hate’s mixed with something else.