Betrayed (Undercover #3) by Helena Newbury Page B

road. The dash across the landing and the climb had taken its toll on Vasiliy. He was stumbling now, his face deathly pale.
    Across the street was a car—an ancient Soviet-era thing. Yuri reached underneath and found a hidden key, then helped Vasiliy into the passenger seat.
    Vasiliy read my amazed expression. “Is so that no one steals it,” he told me, nodding at the rust and peeling paintwork. “Is BMW underneath.” Then he reached out and clutched Luka’s hand. “We have to split up. Take her out of Moscow,” he said. “Out of Russia, if you can.”
    Luka gripped his dad’s hand hard. “I’m not leaving you to die.”
    Vasiliy looked offended by the idea. “I’m not going to,” he said. “Yuri will get me fixed up. But I’m out of the fight.” He clapped his son on the shoulder and glanced at me. “ You are the Malakovs, now.”
    And they sped off, the car’s engine roaring like a showroom model.
    Luka pulled me in the opposite direction, towards a tram station. There was a tram just pulling in. “Don’t turn around,” he told me.
    In seconds, we were mixing with the crowd. I could hear shouts behind us as the gunmen emerged from the tunnel and started to hunt for us. The tram was crowded and, for a few horrible seconds, I thought we were going to be left behind on the platform, easily visible.
    But then Luka reached in and just scooped out a couple of paying passengers, quieting their protests with a glare, and the doors closed and we moved off. I had a glimpse of one of Ralavich’s men kicking the tram sign in rage and then we were speeding into the heart of Moscow.
     
    ***
     
    We transferred to the metro and got on one of the main lines racing along deep beneath the city streets. Our plan was to go straight through Moscow and out the other side, then keep going. On board the quiet, gently rocking train, everything just...stopped.
    I flopped down onto a seat, resting against Luka’s side. The headlong rush from the house had been sheer adrenaline. Now it was seeping away and I just felt utterly drained. The stark reality of our situation started to sink in. Vasiliy was dying, possibly dead. Olaf Ralavich, backed up by Adam’s CIA influence, was seizing control, starting with Vasiliy’s house and finishing with the Malakov’s gun business.
    I looked across at Luka. In the space of a few hours, he’d been transformed from the crown prince of a criminal empire to a man on the run. And, thanks to me, he was facing enemies he’d never had before—not just a rival gang but the entire might of the state. With Adam nudging them, the government would pull out all the stops to catch the two of us. Luka was a major criminal, after all. He’d just been ignored by them for all these years because he’d paid off the right people. Now, it was open season.
    I pressed harder into Luka’s solid, reassuring body, winding my arms around him. The exhaustion and the fear, the hopelessness of our situation—it all weighed me down like heavy chunks of ice, pushing me beneath the dark water.
    Luka’s hand stroked comfortingly through my hair...and I slept.
     
    ***
     
    I had happy, brightly-colored dreams of Luka and me together somewhere—New York, maybe. We did all the things couples are supposed to do: running through parks, rolling over and over each other in the grass. Birthday parties. Roller coasters. But the dreams kept being invaded by men with guns.
    I woke, but I didn’t open my eyes immediately. I didn’t want to face up to the reality of what was happening. The dreams only made it worse—they were a world I’d left behind when I’d joined this new society based on violence and fear, honor and respect. People like Luka—people like us— didn’t get to have lives like that.
    Luka nudged me in the ribs. “Trouble,” he whispered in my ear.
    I opened my eyes and sat up and he shook out the stiffness in his arm—he’d been holding me cuddled into his side, my head on his shoulder, for