Surviving the Fall
Brittney Sahin
EmKo Media
SURVIVING THE FALL
By: Brittney Sahin
Published by: EmKo Media, LLC
Copyright © 2017 EmKo Media, LLC
Previously titled: Deadly Consequences
This book is an original publication of Brittney Sahin.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Editor: Sarah Norton, Chief Editor, WordsRU.com
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Designs /Istock/Deposit photos- licenses
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN-13: 9780997842159
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Bonus Scenes
Also by Brittney Sahin
Someone Like You Extract
Prologue
Connect
Chapter One
The men were either horrible shots, or they had no intention of killing him.
The loud punch of gunfire echoed around Jake as he ran. His feet pounded the uneven concrete, the cold hard surface assaulting his heels as he tore through the empty building. Shots sprayed against the floor, nipping at his ankles.
The massive space was nearly empty—a ghost of a building that once housed dozens of men and women who’d churned out products at the assembly line. Scraps of paper littered the floor, sticking to his bloody feet as he tore through the large space. A rancid odor crept into his nostrils as he looked at the staircase that led to the second floor, open to the factory down below.
He tried not to limp as a shooting pain spiraled up through his left leg. Still, he staggered to the set of steel stairs, clenching tight the trigger in his hands. One slip of his thumb and it’d all be over. No overtime. No do-overs.
Upstairs now, Jake started down the hall. He focused on the corridor of rooms that spanned before him as his sight blurred. He blinked rapidly to clear the sweat and blood from his gaze.
The bullets had stopped, but any glimmer of hope that he’d escape fizzled fast when the thumping of two sets of boots barreled behind him down the hall. So far, every window had been boarded up.
Shit. He turned left and halted, taking two steps back to the entrance of an open doorway. He released a pent-up breath as he spotted a large, expansive open window—a piece of plywood lying in front of it. He’d almost missed it.
Thank God. The open window, with its glimpse of dusky blue sky, was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
He hurried into the room and braced one hand against the wall. The cool, biting air slapped him in the face, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look outside. His heart pumped hard in his chest as his insides shook.
He swiped away the blood and sweat from his eyes, ignoring the burning pain, and focused on the rooftop of a neighboring building maybe fifteen or twenty feet below. The jump wouldn’t be too bad. Not deadly, at least.
He lowered his hands, the trigger still grasped tight, and spun around as he heard the two men draw near. They stood before him, staring at him with the same brownish-black eyes that had become so familiar. Green bandannas were tied around their faces beneath their eyes and draped down in a pointed V to their chins.
One of the men moved in front of the other and entered the room with slow and cautious steps. He stopped a few feet shy of Jake and pushed a breath through his lips; the bandanna puffed lightly out in front of him. The man’s eyes, void of emotion, darted down Jake’s chest as he lowered the gun to his side.
Jake glanced down at the timer on his black vest. The red numbers glowed on the stopwatch strapped over his heart, which was wedged between small packaged blocks of what Jake assumed was C4. Wires sprang out of the red blocks and wrapped around to the back of the vest.
Jake cocked his head and slanted his eyes. “You guys have less than sixty seconds to get the hell out of here. You might want to run unless you’ve got a death wish.” He panted a little and swallowed.
When they didn’t move, Jake raised the trigger out in front of him. He could set it off now if he wanted to, but the men weren’t afraid. They could see it in Jake’s eyes—his desire to live, to see another day. To tell his mother he loved her because he worried he didn’t tell her enough. To remind his sister Emily how proud he was of her. And to tell his dad—well, his dad was a man of few words and wouldn’t need to hear how he felt. But he’d been the rock of the family. Someone he could always count on.
“You Americans think you’re so smart.” The guy closest to him took a step back. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of the world.” His accented voice pushed through the dusty air, and Jake tried not to look at the stopwatch. He had to stay strong.
“We don’t think we’re better or smarter than everyone, but we’re for damn sure stronger and smarter than you assholes.”
The man’s gaze flickered back to the vest for a moment, then he and the other guy turned and disappeared.
Jake now had twenty seconds to get out of the mess he was in.
He worked fast at the vest, attempting to remove it while also keeping his hand on the trigger. If his thumb lifted from the button, he’d be painting the walls with his blood.
He’d trained for moments like this. Although he knew how to deactivate a bomb, there was no use trying with only seconds left. This wasn’t some blockbuster movie, and as much he and his pals always joked he wasn’t an action hero. The death attempting to claim his soul was all too real. And he wasn’t ready to learn whether it would suck him down to the netherworld of hell or the soft grace of heaven.
The vest finally slipped off, and he cleared the room in two galloping strides to chuck it down into the factory. His veins pulsed in his neck, squeezing tight until he could hardly gather oxygen into his lungs as he sprinted back. Still holding the trigger, he climbed into the window and squatted.
He didn’t know how large the blast would be—perhaps not too bad, based on the amount of explosive material on the vest.
This is shit, Jake thought as he sucked in a breath and leaped out the window
. A hot blast of flames fanned out behind him, propelling him forward.
Chapter Two
The sky was like black ink leaking from an old-fashioned pen, covering everything. It was dark. Ominous. There were no stars—just a pool of inky nothingness.
“We need to do this tonight. You think you can get him to his hotel room?”
Alexa pulled her gaze from the sky outside the window and observed her partner, whose dark hair was gelled to the side. His gray eyes were the color of steel, and yet they were warm. Was he worried about her on this mission? Oh, who was she kidding? Xander always worried about her when she went into the field. He’d rather her sit behind a computer nestled in a shroud of safety. But none of them were ever really safe, were they?
How much time did she have left in life?
Being thirty-three and single for, well, it felt like forever, was starting to bother her more and more lately, especially when she spoke with her sister. Lori would get on her case about needing to meet a man, and then she’d remind Alexa of the American—the one her sister insisted was “the one who got away.” How cliché . . .
Besides, that guy had been in her life for all of a week before he returned to the States. She had met him at a party in London on New Year’s Eve. It wasn’t exactly a story for the ages.
But for some reason, Alexa couldn’t seem to get “Mr. New Year’s Eve” out of her head. Even now, apparently, at a time like this.
“Alexa?” Xander was snapping his fingers in front of her face, and she blinked, her dark lashes fluttering.
“Sorry. What were you saying?” Alexa stared down at her ring finger, sliding the forefinger of her right hand along its length. Would there ever be a ring there?
She rolled her eyes at her thoughts, hating herself at that moment for wallowing in such ridiculous self-pity when she was on an operation. Of course, it’s not like there would ever be a good time or place to think of such things, given her current lifestyle.
“You think you can get Gregov to his room?” Xander asked her again, and she finally flashed her hazel eyes to meet his.
“Can’t I stay in the van and you go and seduce the Russian?” A smile skated across her lips, and he playfully nudged her in the shoulder with a fist.
“If I was his type, I’d take the bullet for you and do it, mate. But, based on our research, he prefers gorgeous women. Especially those with long, black hair.”
“Then we should have had Matt wear the wig,” Alexa was quick to respond.
“Funny,” Matt blurted through her earpiece.
“You’ve got this—no worries,” Xander added.
“Yeah, well, I forgot to take Seduction 101,” she joked. “But I’ll do my best.” She reached for the door handle, but Xander’s hand on her shoulder had her pausing and looking over at him.
“Be careful.” Xander’s hard jaw strained with worry.
“Always.” She winked and got out of the van, careful not to slip on any of the ice that lingered after the storm that had passed through earlier. As she walked, she shivered from the cold, which settled through her jacket to chill her bones. An inch of soft snow coated the sidewalk, but it wasn’t the fun, powdery snow that children dream about. No, it was the evil kind—lined with a shield of ice.
A few hundred meters away, Alexa turned sharply and entered the beer hall, which was busy as ever. The live band was playing Bavarian music, and massive wooden tables were filled with people.
Whenever she entered the beer hall, Alexa had felt like she was stepping back in time. It was over a hundred years old, and part of her liked the aged feel of it, but it also creeped her out. The arched, dark wood ceilings were gorgeous, but the paintings on the walls . . . well, many of them were mounted to cover up the Nazi swastika signs from WWII. So, she had been told, at least, by some tourist with a pamphlet of fun facts in his hand.
But tonight, the icy breath lashing at her skin wasn’t from the cold outside or the reminder of where she was. No. Tonight, her nerves were raw because she needed to make contact with her target.
It didn’t matter how often she went out on an OP—she always got nervous.
She spotted Gregov at the bar as she made her way through the crowd of people. He was sitting there like he had every other night this week, with a stein in hand filled to the brim with dark, wheat beer. She was grateful that he was a man of routine.
Alexa swallowed a lump of emotion and focused on her target as she approached the bar. The man had thick, black hair that was long in the back. He was in his fifties, but his toned physique and the muscles framed beneath his clothes could have been those of a much younger man. He wasn’t the typical computer geek, but no one she’d been tracking on her current case had met the stereotypical character profiles the agency had previously used to locate high-value targets. The world was changing.
Alexa sat in the empty seat beside him and motioned for the bartender. “Ein Weissbier, bitte,” she ordered.
She could feel Gregov’s eyes on her, and she straightened in her seat a little. She realized she hadn’t remembered to take off her jacket. Now how was she going to utilize her “assets” (as Xander had joked earlier this morning) to help seduce him?
She untied the straps of her wool coat and shrugged it off, draping it over the top of the seat behind her. As she shifted back to face the bar, she realized Gregov was now focused on the swell of flesh at the V of her red sweater dress. Well, that was easy enough.
He cleared his throat as his eyes drifted up to meet her hazel ones. “American or British?”
Was my German accent that bad? she wondered. “English,” she responded, and then nodded her thanks to the bartender when he returned with her beer. “And you must be from . . .?”
He took a sip of his beer, and then smiled at her, his dark eyes remaining on hers as he drank. “What do you think?” he asked after setting his stein down on the counter.
“Hm.” She tapped a red fingernail at her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I’d guess you’re from Texas.” She wondered if she could warm him up with a joke. If his personality was anything like his steely composure, she was in for a long night.
He tipped his head back and laughed as a large hand slapped the bar in front of him. “Cowboy, eh? Maybe I could be your Russian cowboy?” His accent, thick and deep, rumbled through her as his dark brown eyes steadied on her mouth.
So, he’s not so stiff. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Why? You think you might be able to lasso me in?” she joked.
He took another drink before reaching into his pocket for some bills. He tossed the euros on the counter—enough to cover both their beers. “You know I’ve seen you in this bar several nights for the last week. Always looking over at me. I have to say I’m impressed you had the nerve to finally approach me.”
Alexa wet her lips and forced a smile to her face. “Who said I was trying to approach you? Can’t a girl sit at a bar and have a beer?”
“Ha.” He placed a hand to his chest. “Now you joke, right?”
She leaned in closer to him. “I guess it’s up to you to find out,” she said in a low, sultry voice.
He pressed his palms to the counter and Alexa caught sight of a gold wedding band on his ring finger.
“My place, then.” The Russian dragged his attention down to her breasts again.
“Oh, come on. Make him beg.” Alexa straightened in her seat and tried not to roll her eyes at the voice of Matt in her ear.
Alexa stood up and reached for her coat. “If you promise not to keep me up too late. I have an early flight.”
She wished she’d known before joining the agency that having a minor in theater would have been more helpful to her in situations like this than her bachelor’s in computer science. Of course, she wasn’t doing all that bad tonight, given her target was about to leave the bar with her in under ten minutes. That had to be her new record.
“Maybe you don’t go to bed at all.” He raised a brow and rose to his feet as she sl
ipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat. The man reached for her, gathering the mass of her long black hair, freeing it from where her wool coat had captured it against the skin of her neck. The intimate gesture made her skin crawl, and she hid a wince by lowering her chin to her chest.
“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked as they started for the exit. His hand touched her back before slipping lower.
Oh, please don’t.
His palm rested on the curve of her ass, and she bit her lip to hide her disgust.
“Sylvia Reynolds. Yours?” She feigned interest and looked up at him as he pushed open the doors of the beer hall.
“Boris Gregov,” he answered before she walked past him through the exit.
She was surprised by his honesty. Then again, he had no clue who she was. He didn’t know that he needed to lie.
Alexa peered back up at the dark sky before her eyes flitted to her surroundings. She scanned each and every person they passed, and her shoulders relaxed a little at the sight of Matt leaning against a building fifty meters away, his eyes casually looking up from the mobile he held in his hand to greet hers.
Alexa dragged out a lungful of air, and her breath floated out in front of her in a small cloud of steam. “I bet Munich was lovely at Christmas.” She could still barely believe it was January. Where had the year gone? Another year alone. And she assumed it’d probably be the same this year, as well. Of course, if they finally closed their current case—maybe she could take a week or two of vacation. The last time she’d been on holiday was—well, when she met Mr. New Year’s Eve, but she hadn’t even left London. No, this time she’d go somewhere warm. Maybe Bali. Get lost in a good book on the beach with some delicious cocktail in hand. A romance book, maybe—since that’d be the closest she’d come to romance for a while.
Surviving the Fall (Hidden Truths Book 4) Page 1