Page 279 of Sexting His Assistant

The words enter me slowly.

For one second, I feel nothing.

Then fear hits so hard my entire body goes cold.

I look at Misha. His head is hanging again, but his eyes are open enough that I know he heard her.

He tries to move. The chair scrapes weakly against the concrete. “No,” he says.

Meredith ignores him.

I force myself to breathe.

Misha moves before anyone expects him to. At first, I think he is only shifting because he is in pain. His head lifts a little. His shoulders roll forward. His wrists twist behind the chair.

Then I hear the faint scrape of rope against wood.

My heart stops.

“Misha,” I whisper.

His eyes flick to mine.

One second. One warning.

Don’t react.

I clamp my mouth shut so hard my teeth hurt.

Oleg is still near the side door, watching the entrance like he expects Luka to walk in exactly where he wants him. Kirill is talking to one of his men by the crates. Meredith is standing near me, gun in hand, her face tight and focused.

None of them are looking at Misha closely enough.

Misha’s hand slips free. Barely. His face changes with the pain of it, but he does not make a sound.

He waits.

One breath.

Two.

Then he lunges sideways, chair and all.

The movement is ugly and half-broken, but it works. His shoulder slams into the man closest to him, knocking him off balance. Misha’s freed hand grabs the man’s gun before the man can raise it.

Everything explodes.

Oleg turns. “No!”

Misha fires once.

The shot hits the work light above Kirill. Glass bursts. The warehouse drops into a harder, darker light, half-shadow and panic.

I scream, “Misha!”

Oleg curses and fires.

The bullet cracks past Misha’s head so close that I see his hair move.