His eyes fluttered, but he was dazed, his hand weakly reaching for his fallen gun.

Another pair of hands grabbed my waist, hauling me out of the car.

The cold rain hit my face instantly, soaking my hair and stinging my eyes.

The street smelled of wet asphalt, burnt rubber, and gunpowder.

I was dragged backward through the puddles.

Two men in dark tactical gear held my arms.

A third man stood near the rear of the vehicle, holding a radio.

“We have the package,” he said into the device. “And the target’s primary guard is neutralized.”

“What about Ricci?” a voice crackled back.

I recognized that voice instantly.

It was Marcus.

My stomach dropped, a cold dread replacing the adrenaline in my veins.

“He’s alive but incapacitated,” the man replied. “Should we finish him?”

“No,” Marcus’s voice sounded calm, almost cheerful over the radio. “Leave him.”

“He needs to be alive to sign the papers.”

“Bring her to the estate.”

“Understood,” the man said.

He clipped the radio to his vest and looked down at me.

“Get her in the van.”