The plane’s door slammed open. Vasel leapt out on to the ground. A torrent of armed guards poured out after him. Red-faced with anger and throwing Russian expletives, the gangster took in the damage to the front wheels. Olena jumped from the plane as well. She didn’t look at the plane, though. Her eyes found Marcus. She ran to him and threw herself into his embrace. The feel of her slim body, her arms around him, her hair tickling his collarbone, and her forehead pressed to his neck: it was gorgeous. But it didn’t last long.

Vasel wheeled on Marcus. “You!” he roared. “You did this!” He strode toward him, flanked by the armed guards.

“Marcus, let’s go!” Olena yanked on Marcus’s arm, but he didn’t budge. If he was going to die here at least he’d meet it front on, not with his back turned.

“You!” Vasel said. “You…” He cut himself off, unable to find the words and instead just grinding through a full-bodied roar of anger. His eyes were crazed, his motions as jerky and savage as when he’d stomped on the creature back at the village. Marcus’s mouth flooded with saliva. His tongue bunched and twisted inside his mouth, a living thing ready to explode if he let it. He didn’t, though. Even with Vasel so near, ranting and insane, he didn’t know if he could actually kill him. He was an ace, for one thing. More important, he was Olena’s father. There was stuff between them that Marcus would never understand. He’d do anything to defend her. That would be easy. But she wasn’t the one in danger.

Then Vasel’s expression sharpened. His eyes came into focus, searing into Marcus. He said, “You will not stop me. There are other planes, other missiles. So fuck you, black mamba.” His fingers danced and there was the coin, sliding through and over them like a living thing. “Heads or tails? Call it whichever way you like…”

The coin was in the air before Marcus even saw the motion that flicked it. He watched it turn over and over as it moved toward him, flashing bright and then dark. Bright and then dark. He knew it was his death, and yet there was something undeniably entrancing about it. He knew the horror of it, and he wanted to flee, to just wriggle for it, to just give in to panic. But his eyes couldn’t help but follow it. Like a fish drawn to the lure that will be its death, he stared in awe and hunger. He began to lift his arm, instinctively, to catch it.