CHAPTER 15: A FIREFIGHT IN THE DARK

 Damien did not believe in negotiating with a man like Viktor Antonov.

There were only two kinds of power in their world, the power you had and the power you seized.

So he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed down the hallway.

The first bullet hit one of Antonov's men in the chest. 

The second embedded itself in another's throat.

Chaos erupted.

Gunfire echoed across the room as bullets hit walls, doors and broken glass.

Antonov hardly flinched, retreating back into cover as his men rushed forward.

Damien ducked behind a steel column to reload. "Gabriel?"

"I got six left," Gabriel gritted out, shooting back. 

"Five now."

Damien peeked out as a bullet scratched the rim of the column. 

Antonov's men moved quickly, closing ground.

They were not here to capture him.

They were here to kill.

Damien exhaled slowly. Then he emerged and opened fire.

Another body dropped.

Four left.

Antonov's voice rang out over the gunfire. 

"You were always reckless, playing with fire, cross."

Damien smirked. "And yet, I'm still here."

Antonov laughed, a slow, chuckling sound. 

"For now."

Then the lights went out.

The hallway disappeared into pitch darkness.

Damien's muscles tensed.

Antonov had planned this.

A second later, movement — a breath of air behind him. 

Damien turned, grazing the knife streaking toward his ribs.

A man of Antonov's, quick and quiet.

Damien elbowed his way into the man's throat, knocking him back, then shot him twice.

Three left.

He heard a grunt — it was Gabriel, struggling with someone in the dark. 

A body hit the ground.

Two.

The faint sound of laughter resonating through the hallway.

Antonov.

Then—

Pain.

A cold, searing burn as a bullet carved through Damien's shoulder.

He swore, putting a hand to the wound, gritting his teeth.

Then, he sensed something behind him — too close.

He pivoted, raising his gun—

A hand grabbed his wrist.

A fist crashed into his ribs.

Antonov's shape darkened the sky. 

"You should have accepted my offer, Cross."

Damien kneed Antonov in the stomach. The man hummed but did not release.

He was tougher than he seemed.

They wrestled, straining muscle against muscle, each trying to wrest control of the gun.

Then—

A single gunshot.

Antonov recoiled, reeling.

Not from Damien's gun.

From a second shot — fired from the other side of the hallway.

The lights flickered back on.

And standing at the opposite end of the hallway — gun drawn, eyes blazing —

Was Isla.

Her hands were shaking.

Her heart was pounding in her ears.

She didn't even recall the decision to return.

All she knew was that Damien was in danger.

And that was enough.

Antonov lurched, with a bullet wound in his side. But he was still standing.

His eyes found hers. "You didn't have to do that."

Damien tore free and followed through with the butt of his gun, smashing it into Antonov's head.

Antonov hit the floor.

Hard.

Damien straightened, turned, and Isla very nearly forgot to breathe.

Their eyes locked.

He wasn't angry.

He wasn't even surprised.

Furthermore, he just nodded. "Good shot."

She clutched the firearm tighter. "I should have shot for his head."

A slow smirk creased his lips darkly. "Next time."

Police sirens whomped in the distance.

Backup.

Gabriel stepped over the unconscious body of Antonov. 

"We need to go. Now."

Damien didn't hesitate. He grabbed Isla's hand.

And together—they ran.....

***

Her heart raced as she ran.

The hallways of hospitals faded by, their walls liberally dappled with gunfire and confusion.

Damien kept a firm grip on her wrist, his pace steady as they ran toward the exit. 

Gabriel's boots clumped against the tile floor behind them and closely.

Antonov groaned from the floor where he had fallen, but Isla didn't look back.

She couldn't.

They weren't out yet.

Almost there.

Nathaniel's voice crackled in her ear. "I see you. Loading dock. Move fast."

Damien flung open a service door, pushing her through first.

Cold night air slapped her skin as they spilled out onto the loading dock.

Nathaniel sat behind the wheel of the black SUV, which was idling.

Gunfire rang out from behind them.

Isla ducked as bullets ricocheted off the metal containers stacked against the wall.

"Go!" Damien shouted, firing over his shoulder as Gabriel yanked open the back door.

She dove in, hitting against the leather seat, her heart slamming. Gabriel followed.

Damien had remained outside, firing back.

Her chest seized. Move, damn it!

Another series of shots rang out in the air.

A bullet ripped past his shoulder.

Damien grimaced, spun around and hurled himself into the SUV.

"Drive!" he shouted.

Nathaniel punched it and slammed his foot on the gas.

The tires screeched as the vehicle tore through the alley, a hail of bullets trailing behind.

They were clear.

For now.

***

The SUV sliced through the city at breakneck speed, darting through late-night traffic like a phantom.

Damien let out a breath and placed a hand on his shoulder. His suit was rent and blood-soaked the fabric.

Nothing fatal.

He turned to Isla.

She was panting, her hands still wrapped around the gun in her lap.

"You came back," he said.

Her gaze darted to his, raw and unreadable.

"You needed me."

Damien's chest tightened.

He didn't know what to say to that.

Gabriel, sitting across from them, snorted a laugh. 

"Never let me underestimate you, Carter."

Isla barely reacted.

She was looking at the view out the window, her mind elsewhere.

He knew that look.

Her thoughts were on Antonov. About what just happened.

About what came next.

Damien had reached out, his fingers grazing hers. A brief touch. A silent grounding.

Her fingers curled slightly.

She didn't let go.

***

Nathaniel stared straight ahead, his hands firm on the wheel.

"I don't like this," he said under his breath.

Gabriel scoffed. "No kidding."

Nathaniel shot him a sharp glance through the rearview mirror. 

"Antonov's not dead. Which means he's coming."

Gabriel exhaled, extending his legs. "I don't believe he is the only one."

Nathaniel's grip tightened.

No.

Antonov was not the only one whose problem they caused.

Not by a long shot.

***

They drove into the underground garage of one of Damien's safe houses.

Nathaniel parked and killed the engine.

The silence was deafening.

Isla let out a shaky breath.

She felt… hollow.

Like the adrenaline had been sucked clear out of her, curling in and rotting away.

Damien opened the door. "Inside. Now."

She followed, feet heavy.

On the inside, the space was sleek and futuristic—high-tech security, reinforced windows, everything built to be unbreachable.

It still didn't feel safe.

Nothing did.

Damien closed the door behind him, peeling off his soiled jacket. 

"We need to talk."

Isla turned to him. "About what?"

He met her gaze.

" That Antonov isn't going to stop."

Her stomach clenched.

She knew that.

Of course, she knew that.

But hearing it—facing it—

That was different.

Gabriel rested against the counter, arms crossed. 

"We took our shot. We didn't kill him. Which means he's going to regroup"

Nathaniel nodded. "And the next time he comes?" 

His eyes darkened. "He won't be targeting solely Damien."

Isla shivered, because there were no others.

Nathaniel was not merely speaking about her.

He was talking about Ethan.

Damien sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

"There is only one way to stop this," he said softly.

Gabriel arched his brow. "And what's that?"

Damien's eyes caught Isla's.

"We disassemble Antonov's empire." 

"Piece by piece."

The room fell silent.

Isla's hands turned into fists.

This was no longer just about survival.

This was about revenge.

And she was ready for it.