Chapter 27 - Lucian (2)

Grabbing the rungs, she hauled herself up, her palms stinging against the cold, rusty metal.

The men reached the base just as she scrambled onto the roof. “Keep going!” she heard one shout, his boots thudding against the ladder as he climbed.

Ayra rolled over the edge of the roof just as bullets whizzed past her face and thudded into the chimney beside her. 

They were shooting at her, and now fear was truly solidifying in her belly. 

The rooftop offered a temporary reprieve, but it wasn’t enough. Ayra scanned her surroundings, her chest heaving. 

Another building loomed nearby, its rooftop within jumping distance - if she was lucky.

Needless to say, Ayra did not feel lucky. 

Without giving herself time to second-guess, she sprinted and leapt. 

For a heart-stopping moment, she was weightless, suspended in the air. Then her feet hit solid ground, the impact jarring her knees.

The men weren’t far behind. She could hear their voices, their footsteps, the scrape of their boots on the gravel rooftop. 

Shards of gravel splintered into the air, the men's gunshot becoming more sporadic. Ayra kept her head low and ran. 

Whatever her aunt wanted her for, if she'd hired gun toting touts to get her, Ayra was okay giving her a good 'fuck off, please.'

Ayra’s luck ran out when she reached the edge of the building. The gap to the next rooftop was too wide to jump, and the fire escape was on the other side. She was trapped.

The men appeared on the rooftop, their faces irritated and annoyed. The leader stepped forward, his gun drawn but pointed downward.

“Hey, it’s over, missy,” he said. “There is nowhere left for you to run.”

Ayra’s mind raced. She glanced over the edge of the building, but the drop was too far. She looked for anything she could use as a weapon - SOMETHING - but the rooftop was bare.

“I’m not going with you,” she said, her voice defiant despite the fear coursing through her veins.

“You don’t have a choice,” the man replied. He raised his gun, aiming it at her knees. 

Just then, a loud noise erupted from the street below. Ayra had no idea what it was - perhaps a car backfiring or a vendor shouting. What mattered was that the men all paused to listen, distracted. 

The distraction was enough for Ayra to bolt again, this time toward the fire escape. She lunged for it and slid down recklessly, scraping her hands on the metal, and hitting the ground running.

The men followed with curses and shouts, but Ayra had gained a small lead. She darted into another alley, her lungs screaming for air. 

The city felt like a labyrinth, every turn leading to another dead end or another threat.

Even worse, there was hardly any police nearby. 

When she emerged onto a busy street, she realized she’d made a grave mistake. The men had circled around, and she found herself surrounded, their guns all pulled out and their intentions clear.

Ayra backed away, her heart sinking. She was out of options.

“End of the line,” the leader said, stepping closer, his gun trained on her. 

"Alright, alright, calm down. I'll play ball, okay?!" Ayra exclaimed, the sight of the barrel aimed at her knees sending panic up and down her spine. 

"Sorry, but that's no longer an option."

All of a sudden, a sleek black car screeched to a halt at the curb, its tires screaming against the asphalt. 

The sudden intrusion caused the men surrounding Ayra to flinch, their weapons momentarily shifting from her to the unexpected arrival.

She noted the tinted windows slide down with an ominous slowness, and before anyone could react, gunfire exploded from within. 

Bullets cracked against the pavement and ricocheted off nearby cars. The few people on the busy street scattered in blind panic, screams cutting through the chaos. 

Ayra dropped instinctively, her hands shielding her head, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her ears.  

“Get down!” someone shouted, though Ayra couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or someone else.  

She scrambled to her knees, her body shaking as adrenaline surged. Around her, the men who’d cornered her scrambled for cover, shouting commands and returning fire. It was a blur of chaos.

A sharp voice from the car cut through the cacophony, commanding, urgent. “Move, Ayra! Now!”  

Her head snapped toward the sound, but she couldn’t make out the speaker. There was no time to figure it out, anyway.

Her legs were already in motion, pushing her through the frantic crowd. **Run. Just run.** The thought echoed over and over, drowning out everything else.  

Ayra darted down a side alley, the narrow space swallowing the noise from the street. Her chest heaved, each breath burning her lungs as she pushed herself forward. 

Behind her, the pounding of boots and shouts told her they hadn’t given up. If anything, they were getting closer.  

She took a sharp right, nearly colliding with a stack of crates, and emerged onto another street. The world seemed to tilt—too bright, too chaotic, too alive. 

Pedestrians moved like obstacles in a maze, staring in confusion as she barreled past them.  

For a fleeting moment, she thought she’d lost them. Then, a sleek sedan screeched around the corner ahead, cutting off her path. 

The doors flung open, and more armed men spilled out.  

Her stomach sank. Who were these people? Why were there so many?  

Ayra spun and ran again, her heart pounding against her ribs. The world narrowed to the sound of her footsteps, the rush of blood in her ears, and the urgent need to survive.  

The alley ended abruptly—a tall chain-link fence looming like a cruel joke. She didn’t stop to think. 

Ayra leapt at it, her fingers curling around the cold, rough metal. She climbed with frantic energy, her shoes slipping on the slick links, her scraped palms screaming in protest.  

Behind her, a gunshot cracked. The bullet struck the wall beside her, sending concrete dust into the air.  

“Stop!” a voice barked, furious and uncomfortably close.  

As if she would. 

Ayra ignored it, throwing herself over the top of the fence. Her knees buckled, but she pushed herself up and kept running. Pain could wait. Survival couldn’t.  

She burst onto a quieter street, one lined with abandoned buildings and darkened storefronts. Her chest burned, her legs felt like lead. 

She couldn't keep it up. 

The sound of cars and shouting grew closer, and she knew she was running out of time.

Yet, just as despair began to set in for the nth time that day, a somewhat familiar voice cut through the din.

“Ayra! Get in!”

She spun around to see Lucian stepping out of a sleek black SUV, his expression a mix of fury and, unbelievably, relief. 

His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, all she could do was stare like a fool. For a second, everything else melted away - the fear, the pain, the chaos.

“Now, Ayra!” he barked.

The sound of tires screeching snapped her out of her daze. Another car was barreling down the street toward them, its windows rolling down to reveal more armed men.

Without thinking, she bolted toward Lucian. He grabbed her arm and practically threw her into the SUV before diving in after her.

“Go!” Lucian barked at the driver as he slammed the door behind him.  

The SUV shot forward, accelerating down the narrow street with reckless abandon. 

The sudden acceleration threw Ayra back against the seat and she gripped the edge of the door as the vehicle weaved through narrow streets, the engine roaring like a caged beast.  

Bullets shattered the back window, spraying glass into the cabin. Ayra screamed, ducking, but Lucian didn’t flinch. 

He pulled a pistol from under his jacket and leaned out the broken window, firing back with unnerving precision.  

He was used to things like this, and while perhaps that should have scared her, somehow, it only made her feel that much more secure in his presence.