Then more trucks appeared and men spilled out of them.
Kaspar kicked his door open, unbuckled my seatbelt, and pulled me out of the SUV. His men followed, using the cars as cover as the hard-looking soldiers that piled out of the trucks began to open fire with long rifles. The sound was unbelievable, louder than fireworks, more intense than a rock concert.
Kaspar shoved me behind him then pulled a gun from a holster at his chest. He barked orders as his soldiers returned fire.
It was pure madness.
There were four trucks. The fifth truck steamed and smoked. Nobody climbed out of it and nobody left the SUV that it had rammed. There were three SUVs left and we were outnumbered and outgunned. The attackers had bigger, more powerful weapons, while Kaspar’s men used pistols and small sub-machine guns.
I covered my ears and tried not to scream.
So this was an Oligarch war.
It was hell. A man standing three feet away, the passenger in our SUV, took a bullet to the throat. He gagged and fell back, dying and choking on his own blood. Kaspar fired relentlessly, pausing only to reload and yell more orders.
He finally ducked down, cursing. His eyes were hard and there was no panic behind them. I was on the verge of freaking out and collapsing. I could barely think, barely breathe. Kaspar looked completely in control.
His hands grabbed my arms and he stared into my eyes.
“You need to run.”
“Run? Kaspar?”
“You need to go.” He pointed over my shoulder, down a nearby side street. “Head that way and don’t stop no matter what.”
“You’re coming.”
“I can’t leave my men.” He looked pained, like this was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Run, Penny. I’ll hold them off.”
“But—”
“Go,” he barked, and pushed me.
I ran. I didn’t think. I obeyed his orders like he wanted. I sprinted, keeping my head low, tearing down the sidewalk. Bullets skittered all around me, broke a window a few feet over my head, and pinged off the taillight of a parked car. I screamed and kept going, heart pumping madly, adrenaline lighting my veins on fire. I felt strong and terrified, and all of this was impossible, but I turned down the block and kept going.
It was a quiet residential street. Nobody sat on their stoops. I wondered how many of them would call the police.
I kept going. The sound of gunfire dimmed, but didn’t recede. It intensified, almost doubled. I heard more cars, then sirens in the distance.
The Oligarchs were powerful. They ran mafia families from the shadows and funded illicit activities for fun and profit. Oligarchs were deeply connected and universally feared.
But I had no clue what the cops would do to Kaspar.
Maeve likely owned the Chicago Police. If they caught him, Kaspar would be able to get out sooner or later—but Maeve would make sure a convenient accident ended his life before that happened. She’d have much more sway than him, and there’d be nothing he could do.
Locked in a cage. Dead the way I lived.
I slowed down.
I couldn’t let that happen to him. I turned, preparing myself to go back. I was gasping for air and wished I’d exercised more, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I had to go back to him. I had to make sure they didn’t catch the only person that gave a damn about me in this whole world.
But before I could, the bark of a nearby motorcycle caught my attention.
It screamed down the street, going the wrong way.
The body was white with red highlights. A single person rode, leaning low over the handlebars. They reached for something and a gun appeared in their hand. I dove down as the biker opened fire, barely managing to avoid getting shot in the chest.
The biker hit their brakes and turned around for another pass.
I scrambled to get away. I kept the parked cars between me and my attacker. I didn’t know who they were, but they seemed intent on killing me—like they knew I’d be out here. It wasn’t Darren’s people then. He wouldn’t want to hurt me.
This bastard must be from Maeve.
I didn’t know why I was being targeted. Maybe she knew I was the reason for all this, or maybe I was just convenient. They could’ve been watching the hotel and sent this attack when they spotted me get in the SUV with Kaspar.
It didn’t matter. I ducked down as the rider made another pass, firing bullets into the blue sedan I hid behind. Some poor idiot was going to find their car full of holes.
I sprinted back the way I’d come. The bike turned around and fired, but missed. I screamed, stumbled, nearly face-planted on the curb. I turned my ankle trying to get up and groaned with surprise and pain. The bike was coming again, getting closer and closer. I turned to watch them ride me down, the reaper riding a pale horse, and the rider’s name was death—