Elena’s fingers tightened around the grip of the gun, leveling the barrel at the approaching SUV. She didn’t hesitate—three shots rang out, piercing the dark air. The first hit the windshield with a satisfying crack, the second grazed the side of the vehicle, and the third struck the tire. The SUV swerved violently, its driver struggling to regain control. Elena’s pulse surged. It wouldn’t be enough.
The car bucked beneath her as the driver swerved around another tight corner, the engine roaring in protest. Thrown back inside the car, Elena’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The convoy was still there, relentless. They knew what she had done. Valérie’s betrayal, her defection from the SVR, had made Elena a marked woman, and the threat wasn’t some vague notion anymore. It was real, tangible, and it was closing in fast.
“Driver!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “Floor it. We need distance.”
He didn’t need further prompting. The car shot forward, the tires screeching as they tore down the narrow streets of Paris, cutting across intersections with no regard for traffic lights. The sound of the pursuing vehicles grew louder, but Elena could see the gap widening. They’d gained some breathing room.
It was a blur—an explosion of metal and glass—as another black SUV rammed the Audi from the side, sending them spinning out of control. Elena’s body was thrown violently to the side as the world tilted. The driver fought to regain control, but it was no use. The car flipped, tumbling end over end, the crash noise deafening as the world blurred into a violent mess of twisting metal and shattering glass.
The car finally came to a stop, its belly resting on the cold asphalt, and for a few seconds, Elena could only hear the ringing in her ears. Blood dripped down from her forehead where a shard of glass had cut her. Her pulse hammered in her chest, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. The operatives were already moving toward the wreckage. She could hear the boots crunching on debris, the sound of them fanning out.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she fought to pull herself from the overturned car. The glass in the window had shattered, leaving her with an escape route. She crawled out through the passenger-side window, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The world spun around her as she staggered to her feet, her legs weak from the crash.
Two SVR operatives approached from the SUV, guns drawn. Their eyes locked onto her, and the game was on. Elena’s hand shot out, drawing her Glock from the holster with a fluid motion.
The first man didn’t even have time to react before Elena pulled the trigger. He fell with a muffled thud, his body crumpling to the pavement. The second operative drew his weapon, but Elena was faster. A clean shot to the chest, and he was down, no more than a shadow in the dark street.
Silence descended, save for the faint sounds of sirens in the distance.
Elena wiped the blood from her brow with the back of her hand, scanning the wreckage. Her driver—he was dead. She could feel the weight of the loss pressing on her chest. But there was no time for grief. She had to keep moving.
A flash of silver caught her eye.
A sleek sports car came barreling around the corner, tires screeching as it slid to a stop a few feet away. The driver—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a look of stunned confusion on his face—stared at the wreckage. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he didn’t need to.
“Out of the car,” Elena barked, her voice cold and unyielding.
The man hesitated, his eyes darting between her and the wreckage. The SVR operatives were dead, but the danger was far from over. He had no idea how close he was to becoming part of the problem.
“I said out of the car!” Elena repeated, her voice more forceful this time.
The man swallowed, then scrambled out of the sports car, the keys trembling in his hand.
Elena didn’t waste time. She slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath her. Without a word, she tossed him the keys to the black SUV she’d just taken out. “It’s an upgrade,” she said flatly, her eyes scanning the street for any signs of incoming traffic. “Don’t ask questions. Get in.”
The man looked down at the keys in his hand, clearly unsure, but Elena didn’t give him the luxury of hesitation. She revved the engine, the roar of the sports car drowning out the distant sound of sirens. She knew the police would be on their way soon. She didn’t have much time.
“Look,” she said, her voice calm despite the chaos. “Punch in your own registration on the dashboard and it’ll update the plates. You’re safe to take it. But don’t use the GPS. If you do, they’ll find you. They’ll find me. Understand?”
The man stared at her, mouth agape, but nodded slowly. Elena could see the fear in his eyes, but she wasn’t in the business of coddling.
Without another word, Elena slammed the car into gear and sped off, the sleek silver car tearing down the streets of Paris. The man stood there, watching her vanish into the distance, his mind racing as he processed the events that had just unfolded.
But Elena wasn’t done. She was headed for Berlin. There was a man there—someone she still owed a debt to. The game was far from over.
[Any similarities to places or persons (both living or dead) is purely coincidental]
