He raised his gun and fired three rapid shots toward Elias.

Elias ducked behind a thick pine tree, shouting curses into the dark.

The second guard opened fire, the bullets spraying wild through the brush.

Roman grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron.

“Up the hill,” he growled, his voice strained and thick with pain.

We scrambled up the muddy incline, slipping and sliding in the dirt.

My fingernails tore as I clawed at exposed roots to pull myself upward.

Behind us, the gunfire continued, bullets splintering the trees around us.

Roman pressed his left hand against his side, his face pale under the moonlight.

“Are you hit?” I gasped as we reached the top of the ridge.

“Keep moving,” he ordered, his breath coming in short, ragged wheezes.

We broke through the tree line and ran toward the gravel driveway where his SUV was parked.

The driver’s side door was open, the interior light casting a dim yellow glow on the gravel.

Roman shoved me into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s side.

He jammed the key into the ignition, his hands shaking violently.