Belkova is speaking again, saying some more soothing bullshit, but her words don’t reach me. Spinning around, I run out the door and into the elevator. I don’t stop running until I’m in the car, and even then, my heart won’t stop racing, my hands trembling as I stare out the window, unseeing, flashes of that night hitting me one after another, blasting me with all the emotions the pills have been holding at bay.
I’m only vaguely aware of the honking behind us or the black SUV pulling up alongside. It’s not until we swerve sharply and the bodyguards curse, drawing their weapons, that I realize something is happening.
From the front passenger seat, Vankov is shouting at the driver, “Don’t let that motherfucker force you off the—f**k!” The black car rams into us from the right, and the brak
