The Assassins Mark.

My face and mouth were drenched in Dimitri’s blood, as my driver’s brains sprayed across me as his head exploded just inches away. The force of it was so intense, I swore I inhaled part of his final thought. Shards of his skull tore into my face, slicing open my brow and nose, shearing off most of my ear before slamming into the rear window.

Instinct took over in an instant.

I grabbed the door latch and threw myself out of the car into the freezing snow, rolling clear just as the door I’d escaped from was ripped clean off by a lamppost. A heartbeat later, the car smashed into a shop front across the street. Bullets stitched the surrounding snow, muzzle flashes blinking from a black van that had been tailing us since the bridge.

I didn’t need a road map, I just needed to be anywhere else.

No time to think. I sprinted to the nearest door, crashed through it, and stumbled into a restaurant, something foreign, maybe Korean, who cared. I didn’t. People shouted, someone grabbed at me. I sidestepped, then tore through the dining area, knocking over chairs, sending plates shattering. A waiter lunged but missed, I hit him hard, shoving him into a table of diners. The kitchen doors swung open as a waiter came through. I had no time for him and pushed him aside as I barrelled into the kitchen. The chefs yelled something at me in some indiscernible language, and someone hurled a pan in my direction. I ignored it all, eyes locked on the back, praying there was an exit.

Bursting out into an alleyway, the ground slick with slush. Sliding, I caught myself, then veered toward the main road, not slowing for anything. Behind me, I heard boots crunching snow, maybe two, maybe three men. I didn’t know; it didn’t matter, and I wasn’t about to give them a shot. The Vityazi didn’t miss. They didn’t hesitate. And they didn’t stop until they got their man. I needed to disappear.

Gunfire cracked from somewhere behind me. A bullet punched through a dumpster not inches away, spraying rust and frozen garbage. I ducked behind a delivery truck, then darted across the street, weaving between honking cars. A taxi screeched to a halt, its bumper grazing my thigh. The driver leaned out, screaming obscenities. I kept moving.

A cinema loomed ahead. A possible rerouting. I crashed through the doors, barrelling down the aisle between rows of startled patrons. Gasps erupted all around me. On the screen, some Hollywood explosion froze mid-fireball as the projector cut. Shouts followed me. I scanned frantically for the red glow of the exit sign. Spotting it, I changed direction.

Vaulting over seats, knocking popcorn into the air. A security guard stepped out of nowhere, reaching for me. Without hesitation, I drove my elbow into his ribs and kept running. Hitting the exit door, it flew open with a crash as it hit the cycle rack, emerging into another back alley, this one much narrower, and infinitely darker.

Footsteps still resounded behind me.

Sprinting, my lungs burning, the cold air razoring my throat like swallowing a mouth full of tacks. The alley dumped me onto a pedestrian street. Crowds of people were everywhere. Perfect, I thought. I blended into the mass of bodies, letting the current of people swallow me up. A glance back told me I wasn’t alone. The black coats were not far behind, moving as fast as the milling crowd would allow. I pushed ahead, but they’d found me.

Ducking into a department store, weaving through racks of clothes, looking for a way out. Past the perfume counters, I spotted the escalators. Up or down?

Up.

I took the steps three at a time, almost stumbling when a beautiful blond lady turned, hitting me unintentionally with her bag. The second floor was much quieter, just a few shoppers browsing through winter coats. I grabbed the nearest mannequin and hurled it down the escalator. There was a scream and a crash, but there was no time to see if it worked.

I sprinted for the fire exit, kicked it open, and found myself on a rooftop with nowhere to go. Snow swirled around me, biting the exposed wounds on my face. Across the gap there was another building, maybe six feet away. It was doable; I was sure.

I backed up, running as fast as I could, my right foot hitting the low wall. I jumped.

My boots skidded on landing on the opposite ledge. I clawed at the brick, hauling myself up just as bullets punched into the wall where my fingers had just been.

I rolled onto the roof, then scrambled to my feet, moving as fast as I could. The next building was a lot closer. I didn’t stop, just went for it, then the next one, and the next again, putting distance between me and the gunfire.

Then my luck ran out. It was a dead end. No more roofs, no stairs, no door, and a ten-foot drop to the ground. It was just too far to jump.

Behind me, the Vityazi closed in.

I turned as three men, all armed, were zeroing in on me. And they were all professional. I had nowhere to go, and they knew it. They would make this up close and personal.

The leader, a gaunt-faced killer with ice-blue eyes, raised his pistol.

“No more running,” he said.

I grinned, blood still on my teeth. I could still taste Dimitri. I smile again, and turned, then I stepped off the edge.

The fall should have broken my legs, but I hit an awning on the way down, then a dumpster, the impact driving the air from my body like a gut punch. I rolled, as I gasped, and forced myself up onto my feet. The Vityazi wouldn’t follow, or at least not yet. They’d regroup, start tracking me wherever I went, they would go back to hunting mode. But for now, I was the quarry that escaped their chase.

Freedom, if only temporary, was mine, and vanished into the city’s shadowy veins.