𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

𝟒𝟖 | 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐎

"𝐆𝐔𝐘𝐒, 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏!"

My eyebrows furrow, my eyes squeezing together in anguish as all the pain I've let my body endure over the last several hours comes to a hilt. My stomach groans with each inhale, feeling the bruise of the bullet to it, while my back is compact and tight from the two I received there.

I mumble incoherently under my breath as I try to open my eyes.

I can hear shuffling around me, and the voices of familiar people.

It's as I'm listening and trying to decipher where I am and what's happening to me, that I remember the last conversation.

My only regret is that you won't be here to see it.

I launch up, my hand slapping to my neck. I'm surprised to feel a bandage and the underlining of stitches underneath it instead of Ivan's blade. I peel my eyes open, my eyelashes stuck together like glue, and blurrily attempt to gaze at the wound. Blood soaks my shirt and pieces of my collarbones that I can see, but once again, I note that there is no knife.

I'm okay.

I'm alive.

"Beau, you're awake!" A male voice says to my right.

I turn my head quickly and then groan from the force of my spin. Vertigo plagues me gently as I stop and peer at where the sentence had come from. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, the man's image slides from three to one, his baby-blue eyes and long, black hair coming into view.

"M-Mason?" I groggily ask, my voice a rasp.

"Oh my God, I thought we lost you," he says, throwing his arms around my neck.

I hide my wince as I accept his embrace. I hug him back but use his position to look past him and around the room. Medical equipment and mafia paramedics fill the ballroom. Personnel works on sloping the blood off the floor, while others zip up black body bags.

I hear helicopters above.

"H-how did you get here?" I question, "How did you know?"

"Esmeralda sent Rueben and I a transmission before you arrived in Russia," he pulls back and holds me at an arm's distance, "Good thing, too—we got here from the States just in time."

I ignore most of his sentence.

Because the sound of her name paralyzes me.

I finally glance at my older brother and take in his face, and I am surprised to see that there are tears running currents. My mouth trembles as I take it in, as I remember the images of my team members surrounding me like a bloody moat.

I don't want to pry my mouth open to ask.

I don't want to know the truth I already do.

But I have to.