The drywall behind me and Chrissy exploded just as I pulled the both of us behind the bar, the sounds of guns clattering and more Eastern European accents drifting from the elevator. Chrissy screamed, clamping her hands over her ears as another spray of bullets cut through the air in our direction.

I grit my teeth and wondered, How the fuck did these assholes get up here? But really, the how didn’t matter so much as what the hell was I going to do about it. I needed a plan, a way to get both Chrissy and I out of that penthouse and to my motorcycle.

I pulled my handgun from the inside of my jacket and cocked it, motioning for Chrissy to stay low. I could still hear the gunmen just out of sight, but moving closer—I needed some distance.

As quickly as I could, I leaned out from behind the bar, my gun raised as I fired off a few rounds at the three shooters. They weren’t bothering to hide their faces, which told me they weren’t concerned about being identified—they didn’t intend on letting us get out of there alive.

“You bring girl out,” one of them called, the words slipping like thick syrup off his tongue, “and maybe you get to live. If you’re lucky.”

The more he spoke, the easier it was to piece together his accent—he was Slavic. Probably mafia. My stomach clenched. Russian mobsters were probably the worst kind of gangsters imaginable, and coupled with what Chrissy had said about the Earthly Delights shooters having Russian accents the other night…

Son of a bitch. She’d been right. They were here for her.

I pulled the trigger a few more times, driving them back a few feet more as I tried to get my bearings, to find an exit that just maybe Chrissy and I could get to without too much trouble. As I did, I peeked as much as I could at their necks and arms and intricate tattoo-work slithering out from underneath their shirts.

“Crush,” Chrissy whispered, her hand gripping my arm like a vise, “what’re we going to do?”

“Just give me a minute,” I said, turning to face her—and that was where I saw it. Just beyond Chrissy was a door leading out to an emergency stairwell. The only bad news was that we were going to be stuck out in the open for a few seconds—long enough to get riddled full of holes, if we didn’t do this right.

“Do you trust me?” I asked her, my gaze fixed on hers once again.

“What?” she asked, wide-eyed and pale.

“Do you trust me, Chrissy?” I asked again, taking hold of her hand. “Because I have a plan. But I need you to trust me for it to work. Can you do that?”

She swallowed, her lip trembling as she let those words sink in. I couldn’t blame her for being scared—what kind of person expects to be running for their lives from armed thugs? In this kind of situation, someone asking whether or not you trusted them was a sure sign things were about to go from bad to worse.

“I trust you,” she said at last. “Just tell me what to do.”

“You see that door behind you?” I asked, pointing over her shoulder. She turned and nodded, swallowing nervously. “When I start shooting, you run like hell. I’m going to be right behind you—but you don’t stop until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

Again, Chrissy nodded, her eyes darting between me and the emergency door. I could feel my heart hammering in my throat, my brain screaming that this shit was insane—no one does shit like this in real life.

“Now!” I hissed, pushing her away as I fired four more shots over the top of the bar toward the elevator. I could hear Chrissy scampering across the tile floor, and judging by the scream of pain from beyond the bar, I must have at least tagged one of those bastards.

I didn’t have any more time to waste. I scrambled to my feet, aiming in the general direction of our attackers and firing until I felt the cold metal of the emergency door against my shoulder.

I heard frantic shouting in Russian from behind me as I slung the door open and followed behind Chrissy down toward the bottom floor, taking the steps two and three at a time. Hell on my knees, but a bullet to the back would be worse.

It wasn’t long before I heard our attackers coming after us. It was ten flights before I grabbed Chrissy by the arm and pulled her into another of the emergency doors, hurtling down a hallway, hotel suite doors flanking us on either side as I pulled her toward another bank of elevators.

“What’re you doing?” she hissed as I smashed my thumb against the “down” button. “We don’t have time to wait for an elevator!”

“They aren’t going to come after us in a public elevator—not armed like that,” I said, putting a finger against her lips as I peeked back into the hallway. “They aren’t going to shoot at us with people in the way—not without knowing that they won’t be recognized. We’ll be safe until we make it to the garage.”

“What the hell is in the garage?” she asked.

“My bike,” I replied as the elevator doors opened.

The car moved excruciatingly slow—or maybe it was just the adrenaline rushing through my system. My heart was racing, and even though I’d told Chrissy we were safe, I was expecting to see a Russian hit squad to be waiting for us whenever it stopped.

“They couldn’t have had the key card,” Chrissy said, holding herself as we made our way down. “Only my father and Lonnie—”

“We can’t worry about that right now,” I interrupted, my fingers itching to have my gun back within their grasp. “We just need to get somewhere safe.”

At long last the elevator opened on the ground floor, leading us out into the garage where my bike was being stored. I slid my handgun back from my jacket, my other hand holding onto Chrissy’s as I searched among the other stored cars for my ride. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to spot her among the hotrods and muscle cars that Don Falcone apparently liked to keep down here for safekeeping.

The two of us climbed onto my bike as I turned the key, just as we began to hear voices from somewhere back from where we came.

“They followed us,” Chrissy whispered, clutching my sides as I revved the engine. I gripped the accelerator, staring down the long line of cars, waiting for any sign of where they might be coming from.

I saw movement and released the brake, the back tire screeching like a demon as we lurched forward, barreling right toward the sons of bitches. From the looks on their faces, they weren’t ready for the sight of the two people they were trying to kill heading toward them at full speed.

“Crush!” Chrissy screamed as two of the hitmen dove out of the way, the other trying to take aim before getting caught right in the ribs by the handlebar. It took everything I had to keep the bike from swerving as we struck him, leaving him spinning like a ragdoll as we sped by and out onto the Las Vegas streets.

There was no way I was looking back now. I turned as fast as I could around the next corner and through an alleyway, my engine roaring as we emerged into a service road for another one of the casinos. I had to make sure we weren’t being followed, and a few more sharp turns were enough to assuage at least some of my paranoia as I started to head for a less populated portion of the city.

It only took me little while to find a seedy motel—the kind they offer hourly rates for with no questions asked and in cash only. It was the perfect place to lay low while Chrissy and I got our bearings.

“Wait here,” I said after I parked the bike just outside of the motel’s front office. All I got in response was silence, and I didn’t have it in me to wonder whether Chrissy was angry or still in shock from what had just happened—attacked by armed men within a day of the massacre at the club? I couldn’t blame her for needing a minute.

I was in and out of the office in only a matter of moments—dropping a wad of cash on the counter was more than enough to get what I needed from a place like this. I gave the guy a fake name and he handed me a room key.

“Room 23,” I said, flashing the keys at Chrissy as I walked out of the office. “Let’s get upstairs before anyone can see us.”

She glared at me as she swung her leg over the bike and followed me up the stairs to our temporary haven. Was she seriously mad at me for all of this? I could feel a pressure building in my chest at the thought, my indignation rising as I unlocked the door and let the two of us in.

The second I shut the door, I felt the sharp sting of a slap across my cheek. I could already feel my skin turning red as I met her gaze.

“What the hell was that for?” I asked, my volume rising. “Is that what I get for saving your ass?”

“You nearly got us both killed!” she yelled back, her face equally flushed as mine must’ve been. “You ran right at them—we both could have been shot! Or even worse, with the way you were driving!”

“I did what I had to to get us both out of there in one piece!” I yelled, matching her for every decibel, stepping forward into her space, looming above her. “If I hadn’t, then we both would have been dead! I figured that a little reckless driving was the least of our concerns!”

“You’re such a piece of shit,” she growled, drawing her hand back to slap me again. I grabbed her wrist before she could even swing and held her there, both of us breathing hard, refusing to blink first.

And then she kissed me.

She pressed her lips hard against mine, stepping on my boots to afford herself the height she needed. I felt the shock of it rush over me like a wave, my eyes going wide for a moment before I began to return it in kind, pulling her close against me. I knew this wasn’t a good idea, but the longer I felt those lips against mine, the harder it got to pull away.

Her kiss was like fire, burning and needy, passionate. My heart was hammering, an ache building inside of me as I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her tight enough to feel what had begun to stir within me. She let out of soft gasp against my mouth as I felt her nails raking over my back through my shirt.

A million thoughts ran through my heads as I felt her hands begin to pull at my clothes, a war between desire and obligation as I felt her press her chest against me. My body shuddered, and I knew that no matter how this ended, I would be in trouble—it just depended on what kind of trouble I could afford.