Chapter 3 - The Bloodline
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the blast.
A deafening crack split the air, but the pain never came.
I opened my eyes and saw the masked man collapse backward, a dark hole in the center of his forehead.
Viktor grabbed my collar and hauled me to my feet.
"Run!" he commanded, pushing me toward a narrow gap between two brick buildings.
We sprinted blindly into the darkness as shouts and more gunfire erupted behind us.
My cheap waitress shoes slipped on the wet cobblestones, but Viktor refused to let me fall.
He practically carried me through a maze of dumpsters and chain-link fences.
"Where are we going?" I gasped, my lungs burning for oxygen.
"Off the grid," Viktor panted, holding his left arm tightly against his chest.
I looked down and saw a horrifying amount of dark blood soaking through his expensive suit jacket.
"You are shot," I realized in panic.
"It is just a graze," he gritted his teeth, kicking open a rusted door to an abandoned tenement building.
We rushed inside into a dark, decaying hallway that smelled of mold and old rain.
Viktor shoved a heavy wooden desk in front of the door to barricade it.
He collapsed against the peeling wallpaper and slid down to the dusty floor.
"We have twenty minutes until the council votes," Viktor breathed heavily.
"You need a hospital," I told him, ripping a piece of fabric from my uniform apron.
I knelt beside him and pressed the makeshift bandage hard against his bleeding shoulder.
Viktor flinched, his gray eyes flashing with raw pain.
"If I don't walk into that boardroom by nine o'clock, Pierce wins everything."
He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out his phone.
The screen was shattered, completely destroyed by a stray bullet.
"I have no communication," Viktor cursed softly.
"I can call the police," I offered, reaching into my apron for my own phone.
Viktor's good hand shot out and gripped my wrist like a vice.
"Half the police in this district work for Pierce."
"Then what do we do?" I asked, feeling entirely hopeless.
Viktor stared at me, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed my face in the dim moonlight.
"Your grandmother," Viktor said suddenly.
"What was her maiden name?"
I blinked, completely thrown off by the random question.
"Why does that matter right now?"
"Tell me her name, Mara."
"It was Nagy," I answered honestly.
"Ilona Nagy."
Viktor shook his head, a dark, terrifying realization crossing his features.
"Nagy is a common peasant name," Viktor whispered.
"But you have the aristocratic cheekbones and the pale eyes of the old blood."
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look directly into his terrifying gaze.
"You are not a Nagy."
Before I could ask what he meant, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out and saw a text message from my landlord.
May you like
It was a blurry security photo of my apartment door being kicked in by three heavily armed men.
The message beneath it read: "They are looking for you, Mara."
