Everly
A loud bang goes off and I jump at the sound. Suddenly, Roman falls to one side, taking me with him. We hit the floor with a thud.
I barely register the elevator stopping as I yank out the earbuds.
“Roman?” He’s still. Too still.
I push at him. “Roman?” Panic wells up, threatening to drown me.
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t move. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I scream his name, beating at his shoulders, but he doesn’t move an inch. He doesn’t respond at all.
Terrified and confused, I start shouting for his partner. “Mr. Jones! Help us.” A dam bursts inside of me and suddenly, I’m sobbing so hard that my chest feels like it’s breaking apart. “Roman, wake up… Please. Mr. Jones, help us.” Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
The heavy weight of Roman’s body is lifted off me and I blink up at two men, my tears making my vision wavy. I only recognize one of them—Mr. Jones. His dark eyes are sympathetic.
“I’m sorry you had to be a part of this, but Roman was a double agent. He’s also known as Nikolai Romanov. We suspect Nikolai is his real name and Roman Smith is an alias.”
I feel faint. Let’s play a game. I’m a Russian assassin. Call me Nikolai.
Mr. Jones grabs me before I fall to the floor. “We have reason to believe Nikolai was going to kill you once his mission was over.”
“Why? Why me? I know nothing…nothing at all.” My gaze slices back to Roman. There’s a gun in his hand, lending credence to Mr. Jones’s statements.
“What do I do? I don’t know what to do.” I’m rambling now. I’m losing it altogether.
Mr. Jones rubs my back. “Come with me to the embassy. We’ll get you sorted.”
I nod, shaky and nauseous. For some reason, I try to turn, to get one last glimpse of Roman, but Mr. Jones shakes his head. “It’s best not to look back. My men will dispose of the body.”
“He’s really dead?”
“One shot to the head.”
“And he was really a double agent?”
A grim look covers the agent’s face. “The very worst. He’s killed and tortured so many, including women. They were his specialty.”
I wrench away from him, stumbling out into the hallway, and then puke in a potted plant. Tears stream down my face. I can’t comprehend what’s happening. I don’t know who’s telling the truth, not really.
The only thing I’m sure of is…
The Roman I know and love is dead.