Nikolai

The night air stung like acid in my lungs.

I could taste blood — mine, thick and metallic — and beneath it, the smell of gun oil and smoke. The kind of scent that told you hell was only a trigger pull away.

They surrounded us.

Black SUVs formed a half-moon around the warehouse, engines growling, doors flung open like the jaws of beasts. Men poured out, rifles raised, eyes glinting cold under the sodium lamps.

At least twenty. Maybe more.

I steadied my breathing, the barrel of my gun trembling only slightly. My body screamed in pain — ribs cracked, muscles torn, blood leaking through my shirt —...