Future Threat

25

This underground lair seems to go on forever. The flower shop was small, but this basement seems to continue down the entire block, under all the other shops. Does this gang control all of them?

A door opens up ahead, and I jump back around a corner. A couple men emerge, speaking that unknown language, and I pray they don’t head toward me. If they do, I’m screwed. But their footsteps move the opposite way, and soon their voices grow soft and then disappear. I’m surprised no alarms have sounded yet, or that no one has noticed a strange girl (or two) creeping around their hideout. Zahra must have turned off all the security—or so I hope.

When I’ve worked up enough courage to go forward again, softer footsteps sound around the corner. I sneak a peek and see a swish of long, black hair entering the door the men just exited from. Zahra.

I rush after her and manage to grab the door with my fingertips right before it shuts. She turns around as I squeeze inside, her dark eyes widening at the sight of me. The door shuts behind us with a click, closing us in a small room.

We’re not alone.

“Who are you?” a man asks from behind a large mahogany desk trimmed in gold. He’s older, maybe in his fifties or sixties, but his hair is thick and all black and his eyes are beady like a raven’s. He’s wearing a dark-blue shirt with a heavy gold chain underneath, and his hands are covered in thick, gold rings. When he rises from his desk, he’s not much taller than I am, but there’s a deadly air to him. It’s the way he moves, like at any second he could launch forward and snap your neck with the slightest movement. “How did you get in here?”

Zahra turns away from me and faces the man. “Anton Zubarev?”

He takes her in with a silent appraisal, then does the same to me. “You shouldn’t be here, ladies. You have five seconds to turn around and leave.”

“I’m here to ask you about Navid Ebabi.”

His face doesn’t change, but there’s a slight tensing in his arms and shoulders. “I don’t know that name.”

“I think you do.” Her voice is pure menace, and she steps toward him. “And you’re going to tell me what happened to him. What you did to him.”

The man doesn’t react at first, his bird eyes never leaving her face. Without warning, he reaches for something in his desk, and I spot a flash of dark metal.

“Get down!” I knock Zahra over, and we hit the floor in front of the desk. Bullets fly overhead, slamming the wall behind us with forceful thuds, not nearly as loud as they should be. His gun must have a silencer.

Zahra is frozen beneath me, probably stunned. I roll off her and to my feet in one quick movement, then kick the desk hard, sending it sliding into the man’s gut. He lets out an oof, and the gun clatters to the floor. He rounds the desk and comes for me, anger seething off him. He grabs my arm hard, jerking me toward him, but I give him a quick jab to the face that he doesn’t expect. Those kickboxing classes are finally coming in handy for more than just stress relief.

With a growl, he shoves me back against the wall. The back of my head hits it with a sharp flash of pain, while he lunges for the gun on the floor. I rush forward and knee him in the head, and then kick the gun across the room. He drops to the floor and I raise my fists, ready to throw another punch or block an attack, but he doesn’t get up. My blood sings, and I hate how good it feels to be fighting again.

But I kind of love it too.

Zahra scrambles up and lunges for the man. I block her path and come this close to punching her too. But I drop my fists. “We need to get going.”

She pushes past me with a sharp glare. “Get out of my way. I didn’t ask for your help.”

Oh, so it’s going to be like that, is it? Fine. Let’s ignore the fact that I just saved her from being gunned down by this guy. But I’m done being nice and saving her ass. We’re getting out of here before we get killed.

As she moves to stand over the man, I grab the neutralizer from my pocket and get ready to jab it into her skin. But before I can, the guy jerks to life and seizes her leg, wrenching her off her feet. She hits the floor and then he’s on her, one hand around her neck, the other holding a knife he’s pulled out of his boots. Christ, he’s fast.

The knife comes up, but I jump into action and stab the neutralizer into his neck, hard. He freezes, and an instant later, his body collapses on Zahra’s. The knife slips from his hand, and my heart starts beating again. As I catch my breath, it’s the only sound I hear.

I drag the man off Zahra and roll him over with my foot, ready to kick him hard if he moves. But he’s totally out.

Zahra picks the knife up off the floor. “What’d you do?”

“Knocked him out for a while. I’m about to do the same to you if you don’t come with me.”

We stare at each other for a beat and I size her up, while she does the same to me. Silky black hair falls in waves around her face and matches her thick eyebrows, which frame her dark-brown eyes. She’s beautiful in a stately way, with a long, thin nose and plush lips. She wears a charcoal-gray shirt with jeans, and determination radiates off her small frame.

“You’re from Aether,” she says, her voice as sharp as her gaze.