The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

My heart drops to the floor when I realize the balcony’s a floor below us.

Oh, no. No no no no no. He wants me to go out the window?

I look back to him, panic-stricken, and shake my head wildly from side to side. There is no way I’m climbing out this window.

He leans in and brings his mouth to my ear. “My men at the gate saw four armored cars enter. The police have found us. We need to escape, and this is the only way out. My men have secured a car for me below this balcony, and we must go.”

I shake my head. “I can’t,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow dangerously. “You must.”

“I can’t.”

He shakes with fury as his fingers grip the back of my neck. “We’re out of time. This discussion is over. You will, or I’ll knock you out, carry you, and when you wake give you the punishment of your life, do you understand me?”

I’m shaking so badly my teeth rattle. He draws me to his chest and gives me a quick embrace so hard I can’t breathe.

“You won’t fall, Clare. I’ll protect you.”

I believe him. I have to.

I nod, shaking, as I walk to the little table below the window. I climb gingerly on top of it, and it wobbles beneath me. There’s no way it will hold even half of his girth. “How are you—”

Wordlessly, he stands on the side of the tub, anchors his palms on the tiled ledge below the window, and vaults himself up. I stare, but not for long, because as soon as he’s up there, he opens the window and steps right out. Leaning back in, half in, half out, he reaches his arms out to me, and before I can even think twice, he hauls me straight up and out onto the ledge with him.

Oh God. Oh God. Stars twinkle in the deep blue of the night sky. It’s beautiful and glorious and so open and free out here, but we’re not near the ground. I whimper and turn away from the yawning pavement that seems miles below us.

“Get on my back,” he barks out. He falls to one knee and bends, giving me the breadth of his back. Wordlessly, I climb on, wrap my arms around his neck, and drape my body over his. I’m sniffling, tears wetting my cheeks from fear, but I blink them impatiently away as he crouches like a spring and launches us.

A scream wrenches from my lungs before I can stop myself, the need for quiet forgotten, but the night air and wind quickly swallow up the sound. We land with a heavy thud, he slings me down, then drags me to a spindly fire escape off the balcony.

I’ve barely recovered from the shock and fright of our crazy trek when I hear the sound of gunshots.

Instead of bolting, Constantine stares toward the source of that sound, squinting as if recognizing someone.

“Quickly, Clare. They’ve seen us.”

The fire escape groans with our weight, swaying from side to side. Bright lights flood the night sky, illuminating the fire escape and blinding me.

“Freeze! Police! Freeze or we shoot.”

“Keep moving,” he growls. “They’re too far to stop us.”

A running car waits below us. “Jump! I’ll catch you.”

I freeze. We’re two stories above the ground. He wants me to jump?

What?

With surprising grace, he swings himself off the balcony and lands on the ground like a panther. “Jump!”

He holds his arms out to me. Oh my God.

A shot rings out and pings the fire escape right above my head. With a terrified scream, I jump. I think I close my eyes. I know I don’t look where I’m going, but in a split second I fall into his arms. He doesn’t even lose his footing.

The car door opens, we jump in, and the car takes off.

Chapter 15

Constantine

I bundle Clare into the back of Yury’s car. He hits the gas before the back door closes behind us. Several bullets pellet the side panel, loud as fireworks inside a tin can.

“Aghh!” Clare shrieks, probably never having been shot at before.

“Don’t worry,” Yury says, kindly. “I added after-market modifications—it’s mostly bullet-resistant now.”

“Mostly bullet-resistant?” Clare squeaks, not comforted in the slightest.

“Sure,” Yury says. “Gives you better odds they don’t hit you.”

“How much better?”

“Mm…fifty-fifty.”

“Fifty-fifty!”

Another spray of bullets attacks the rear of the car like angry hornets. Yury swerves around a tight corner, narrowly missing the side-view mirrors of several cars parked along the street.

The cop cars screech after us, sirens eerily silent. Both are stealth cars, black on black, their decals invisible at night.

“You see that?” I mutter to Yury.

“Yeah,” he says. “And they aren’t so careful where they shoot.”

“What do you mean?” Clare demands, wide-eyed.

“It means trouble in paradise,” I tell her. “I’m sure your father told Chief Parsons to be careful of his baby girl, but he isn’t being very fucking careful. Valencia and Parsons may have been hand in glove while they were collaborating to chuck me in jail. Now—not so much.”