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Then I see the driver of the car ahead, illuminated briefly by a streetlight, and I recognize him.

Callum Rourke.

The name hits me like a punch to the chest. It can’t be. I killed him myself, put two bullets in his chest and watched him bleed out on the floor of a warehouse in Prague. He’s been dead for three years.

Except the man in that car has the same face, the same build, the same cold smile I remember from that night.

“Get down,” I say to Davina, and then the shooting starts.

The first bullets take out our rear window. Glass sprays across the back seat, and Davina cries out, ducking low as I pull her beneath me. I can feel the car swerving as our driver tries to evade, but the two vehicles are hemming us in, forcing us toward the shoulder of the road.

“Stay down,” I say again, my hand pressing against her back, keeping her low.

More gunfire. The side window shatters. I feel something hot graze my shoulder and then we’re spinning, the car losing control on the wet pavement.

We hit something, and everything stops. For a moment, there’s only silence and the smell of smoke and the sound of my own breathing.

I pull Davina up, keeping my body between her and the door. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, her eyes wide with fear. “Maxim, your shoulder—”

“It’s nothing.” Blood is running down my arm, but I barely feel it. “Stay behind me.”

The door is wrenched open, and I’m face to face with Callum Rourke.

He looks older than I remember. Thinner. There’s a scar across his jaw that wasn’t there before, and his eyes have a dead quality that speaks of years spent in the shadows, nursing hatred and planning revenge.

“Maxim Gromov,” he says, his accent thick with something that sounds like Irish mixed with Eastern European. “I bet you thought I was dead.”

“I killed you.”

“You tried.” He smiles, and it’s the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever seen. “You failed.”

Behind him, I can see his men spreading out, forming a perimeter around the car. Andrei is on the ground nearby, being held by two of them. Our driver is slumped over the wheel; I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” Callum says. “Three years, watching from the shadows, building my resources, waiting for the right moment. Then I hear you’ve got a new pet. Someone important enough to bring to a meeting with Avrorin.”

His eyes move past me, to Davina, and something in his expression shifts.

“Is this her? The hacker?” He laughs. “Oh, this is perfect. How quant.”

I move to put myself between him and Davina, but two of his men are already dragging her from the car. She fights, kicking and scratching, but they’re too strong.

“Let her go, Rourke. This is between you and me.”

“Oh, of course. I’m not interested in your little girlfriend, Maxim. I just want to see you both squirm.”

I lunge for him, but three of his men tackle me to the ground. I fight, landing blows wherever I can, but there are too many of them. I can hear Davina screaming my name and suddenly she’s beside me, kneeling on the ground.

Headlights sweep across the scene as another car rounds the corner, and Callum’s men scatter. In the chaos, I break free, but by the time I’m on my feet, Callum is already in his vehicle.

“Another time, Maxim!” he calls out the window. “This isn’t over.”

Chapter Seventeen - Davina

I don’t speak on the drive back.

Maxim doesn’t try to make me. He sits beside me with blood seeping through his shirt, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the road like he’s expecting another attack at any moment. Andrei drives with grim focus.