Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 25

They were getting close. The vault. The plan.

Everything hinged on the next few hours.

Quinn stood in front of a mirror in the hallway of the chateau, adjusting the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, pushed up to mid-forearm. His black jeans fit just right, completing the look of confidence and ease he needed to sell as Ryan. Sasha entered the hallway behind him, dressed in a black, form-fitting long-sleeve top and dark, low-rise jeans that revealed a hint of toned skin at her hips. She looked like a dream—and a nightmare.

"You ready?" she asked, adjusting the pistol holstered under her waistband.

Quinn nodded. "Are you?"

Sasha smirked. "Always."

Gary was already waiting in the car, engine running. He was their getaway plan, stationed a few blocks away from the bank in case everything went to hell—which, given their luck, was likely. Calvin remained at the chateau to monitor comms and manage backup if needed.

The drive was quiet. Tension crackled in the air.

Gary pulled over two blocks from the bank. Quinn and Sasha stepped out and began walking side by side down the street. They looked every bit the perfect couple—wealthy, attractive, and composed. Just two people going to access a private vault.

They entered the bank without incident. The lobby was marble and glass, polished and pristine. Sasha held Quinn's arm as they approached the counter.

"Ryan Holloway and Alicia Holloway," Quinn said, handing over forged IDs.

They were led down a corridor to a vault room. Sasha kept an eye on every camera, every angle, calculating.

Inside the vault, they approached the box—number 418. Quinn inserted the key he’d been given. It clicked open.

Inside was a single envelope. He lifted the flap and unfolded the note.

Nice try.

“s**t,” Quinn muttered.

Gunfire erupted in the lobby.

They both froze for a split second before Sasha yanked Quinn back. They slipped behind the vault desk as the chaos exploded.

Quinn peeked over the counter. Ryan, Alicia, and three armed men were lighting up the bank, bullets ripping through the furniture, glass, and walls.

Sasha drew her pistol and returned fire with calculated precision. Quinn followed suit, staying low.

Sasha took a position near the vault entrance and spotted Alicia through the muzzle flashes. She lined up a shot, aiming for the chest—

Quinn’s hand darted out, pushing her aim just slightly.

The bullet struck Alicia’s shoulder. She spun back behind cover, screaming.

Sasha’s expression twisted. Not in confusion or annoyance—anger.

She grabbed Quinn by the collar and yanked him down. Her face was inches from his. The usual teasing edge was gone. Her eyes burned.

“If you ever stop me from taking out a target again,” she said in a low, terrifying growl, “I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was stunned by the raw intensity in her eyes.

She let go, then cursed under her breath. “We have to move. Come on.”

Sirens howled in the distance. Ryan, Alicia, and their men began to retreat.

Sasha and Quinn slipped through a side hall, heading for the break room and emergency exit. As they reached the steel door, it suddenly swung open.

Blocking their path stood a monster.

Ivanov.

He was nearly seven feet tall, a behemoth of muscle. His tanned skin stretched over boulder-like shoulders, veins like ropes popping beneath the surface. His bleached blond hair was buzzed short, and his face was marred by long, brutal scars. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Quinn punches him in the stomach, the man didn't flinch. He just backhanded Quinn, knocking him to the ground—Quinn saw stars.

Sasha didn't wait. She lunged at Ivanov like a striking viper, both daggers flashing in her hands. She went low, slicing at his thigh, then high with a jab to his shoulder, aiming for pressure points—but Ivanov didn’t even grunt. He moved with the slow, inevitable force of an avalanche, letting one blade graze his forearm before grabbing her by the wrist and twisting hard. A sickening crack echoed. Sasha’s dagger dropped. She spun to break free, landing a knee into his ribs, then another. He barely shifted. His face remained blank, devoid of emotion. Just a machine built to crush.

He slammed his forehead into hers with brutal force, splitting her brow open. Blood sprayed. Sasha stumbled back, dazed, but raised her fists again. She spit blood onto the floor and snarled, then launched herself forward with a spinning kick. Ivanov caught her leg mid-air and flung her sideways into a file cabinet. Metal caved in under her weight, but she rolled off the impact and sprang to her feet again, face now streaked in red.

She roared, charged him again. This time, she leapt up, stabbing both blades down at his neck. Ivanov caught her midair with both hands around her throat, squeezing. Her feet kicked, she clawed at his arms, but he just lifted her higher, choking the breath from her. Her legs wrapped around his arm, trying to get leverage, but he didn’t budge. No emotion. No hatred. Just the blank, lifeless stare of a man who didn’t feel pain, didn’t feel anything.

Then with a terrifying burst of strength, he hurled her across the room like a sack of trash

CRASH

Sasha’s body went through the drywall and slammed into the other side of the room with a heavy thud, leaving a human-sized hole in the wall.

Quinn tried to help. He grabbed a dagger on the ground. Ivanov grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up like nothing. Quinn struggled, gasping for air, feet dangling.

Using every ounce of strength, he brought the blade up and slashed Ivanov across the throat. It wasn’t deep—but it was enough.

Ivanov snarled for the first time—an ugly, inhuman sound—before tossing Quinn against the wall like a doll.

Ivanov raised his fist, about to deliver the killing blow

But Sasha, bleeding, staggering, broken but unbowed, erupted from the hole in the wall, screaming. She drove her last dagger up under Ivanov’s jaw, burying it to the hilt. His body shuddered violently. Blood sprayed as the massive man collapsed like a felled beast.

Sasha stood over him, panting, swaying on her feet, knuckles bloodied, clothes torn, her eyes still burning.

Sasha staggered back from Ivanov’s lifeless body, her knees buckling. Blood trickled from her temple, her lip, her nose, her ears—every inch of her looked bruised or broken. She stumbled, her balance failing her.

Quinn caught her just before she collapsed, his arms wrapping around her waist. “I got you,” he whispered, breathless.

She didn’t argue, didn’t try to act strong—she couldn’t. Her body leaned into him, trembling, the adrenaline fading and pain replacing it.

He helped her out the emergency exit and into the alley. The distant wail of police sirens grew louder by the second.

A few yards ahead, Gary’s car sat idling—completely oblivious. Through the windshield, they could see him bobbing his head, sunglasses on, jamming out to some upbeat 80s rock anthem like nothing catastrophic had just happened.

“Of course he’s listening to Whitesnake,” Quinn muttered under his breath.

They rushed to the car, Quinn half-carrying Sasha as her legs gave out again. He yanked the back door open and gently lowered her inside.

He slid in right after her, pulling the door shut just as Gary turned, mid-chorus, and finally noticed them.

“What the—” His voice stopped cold. His mouth hung open as he looked at the blood-soaked duo. “What the f**k happened to you two?!”

Quinn leaned his head back, chest heaving, hands slick with Sasha’s blood. He didn’t even glance at Gary.

“Just drive.”

Gary blinked, then slammed his foot on the gas as the first police cruiser turned onto the street behind them.