The Darkness Within

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Sergei, Igor, and the driver all burst into motion at once.

The car is armored, so the bullets don't penetrate the windows or shell, but the noise is deafening. Sergei pushes me off the seat and onto the floor, and tells me to cover my head and stay.

Igor pulls two guns out of his jacket, grabs spare magazine's from the glove compartment, and waits, a gun in each hand. The driver focuses on the road, swerving left and right.

I glance into the cracked rear window to see two unfamiliar cars following us, from where the gunfire seems to be coming.

"Where the fuck are the rest of our cars?" Sergei demands, directing a dark stare at Igor.

"Two split off as diversion, one's about a mile behind us—it'll catch up soon."

I glance out of my window just in time to see an additional car speeding at us from the side, before there's a loud crash, and the SUV spins off the road and onto a grassy patch of land. My head hits the door with an unpleasant thud, and my ears ring from the noise for a moment, but I can make out Sergei barking orders at the two men in front.

He bends down, cups my chin, and says something to me, but I don't hear it. It's only when he repeats it that the ringing recedes enough for me to make out his words.

"Stay right there, Kira. Don't move. Don't follow me out. Say yes if you understand me."

"Yes," I respond at once, knowing that Sergei doesn't have any time to be wasting.

The noise of gunshots slowly drops, and then dies out altogether. For a moment, an eerie stillness seems to freeze everything. Sergei pulls a gun out of his suit jacket, examining it in a clinical fashion.

I study him as he presses a button to remove the magazine, verify how many bullets there are, puts it back in, and cocks the weapon. I notice how his finger stays off the trigger for the time being, resting on the side of the barrel.

After a beat, all three of the men exit the car at once, the noises of car doors opening and slamming shut completely uniform. More gunfire follows, and I try to get peeks of what's happening through windows—both because it's important for me to know, and partly due to a morbid sort of fascination.

I'm aware that I should be terrified and hyperventilating—that'd be a normal response. Yet, although I feel the telling flutter of fear in my torso, I'm not compelled to freak out. That wouldn't be conducive to survival. Staying alert and aware are first priority. Second priority is making sure I can still defend myself, even if things go sideways.

I shift my position, reach over the front seat to the glove compartment, and pop it open. Inside I find a replica of the gun I watched Sergei examine, accompanied by several magazines. Impulsively, I grab the gun and a spare magazine, before returning to my curled up position.

Recalling Sergei's exact moves, I unload the magazine to check for bullets, click off the safety, and cock it. Then, I wait silently and patiently, listening carefully to the gunfire and accompanying yells of pain. From sound alone, I can tell that whoever attacked us is sustaining considerable losses.

I glance at the gleaming, deadly firearm in my hand, knowing with a grim certainty that if anyone I don't know comes into this car, they're getting riddled with bullets.

After several minutes of hearing the sounds of death again and again, the profile of a man shadows the window across from where I sit. Through the spiderweb cracks decorating it I can't see his face—which is quickly resolved when he opens the door.

It takes less than a second for me to confirm that this isn't any of Sergei's guards—none that I've met, at least. Before he can point the rifle in his hand at me, I take my index finger off the barrel of the gun and press it to the trigger, and then fire off two bullets. Both hit him in the center of the torso.

The gun barely has a kick, not taking me back whatsoever, so I get a front-row seat of him stumbling back with a hand to his chest, and slinging several swearwords at me. After confirming the language—German—I lift the gun slightly, and fire a third bullet that burrows between his eyes.

I wait to feel...something, as his murky brown eyes glaze over. Horror at my actions, fear at my predicament, even shock at the events. But as he keels over, dead, I feel absolutely nothing, outside of a grim sense of satisfaction that I'm alive and he's not.

Just as I lower the gun, Sergei appears where the brown-eyed man just was. He looks at the corpse on the grass, looks at me holding the gun, and blinks in astonishment. My head jerks around when the drivers side door is opened, and Igor slips into the seat. Sergei, looking like he's coming out of a daze, also hops in, and then the SUV's speeding off. I take the absence of the driver to mean he didn't make it.

I click the safety back onto the gun, hand Sergei the weapon and spare magazine I set on the seat beside me, and calmly lift myself back onto the leather.

Sergei looks from me, to the gun, and back again, like he can't figure out what just happened. Meanwhile, I click my seatbelt on, and then start a brief examination of my body for any injuries. I know that adrenaline can sometimes override pain, and carefully run my hands up and down each arm, over my torso, back, and legs, feeling for any bumps, blood, or displacement.

When I move to my head I find a small lump—presumably from when another car slammed into this one—but it's not a concerning size, so I let it be.

"What just happened?" Sergei says.

"I conducted an inventory of any injuries," I reply, prodding the back of my head.

Sergei shakes his head. "No, what happened between the time I left and you suddenly became a made woman?"

Oh, that. "I saw a gun in the glove compartment when Igor got spare magazines out of it. Watched you as you handled yours. When you were gone, and I wasn't sure if you were coming back, I decided to arm myself."

"Good thing, too," Igor pipes up from the front. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, and recognize his expression as one of respect.

"And when a man opened the door, you..." Sergei trails off, waiting.

"Put two bullets in his chest and one in his head," I finish for him. When he continues to stare at me, dumbstruck, I calmly explain, "I didn't recognize him as any of your soldiers. I assumed it was my survival or his, so I chose me."

"I chose me," Sergei echoes, disbelieving. "Just like that."

I tilt my head to the side. "Would you have done anything differently?"

He snorts. "No, but I grew up learning how to handle high-pressure situations. And guns."

I nod. "And I grew up different. I learned to observe and evolve a long time ago. Getting shot at was new, so I watched what you and Igor were doing, and followed accordingly. By the way, the man I killed was speaking German."

After several minutes of staring at me, Sergei finally takes his focus from me, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and starts making calls. 

A/N

35 votes, 10 comments for an update before Friday

Sorry for the super late update, I've had the flu for the last week and was feeling like shit. Thankfully I'm better now, and back in full-swing

Thoughts on this chapter?

Stay safe

xx

Rose