The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 184

**TITLE: Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane**

**Chapter 184**

**Gemma’s POV**

Mikhail yanks at my collar, pulling me swiftly behind a sturdy concrete column just as a hail of gunfire erupts around us, the sharp cracks of bullets slicing through the air and striking the walls where we had just been standing a heartbeat ago. The sound is deafening, a chaotic symphony of danger that sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The concrete behind us splinters and crumbles, sending a cloud of dust swirling into the air, mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder. My instincts scream at me to move toward the restaurant doors, to warn Zina and Jace, but before I can take a step, Mikhail’s grip tightens on my shoulders, slamming me back against the column with a force that is startling but not painful—just enough to rattle me.

“What—” I start to protest, confusion lacing my voice.

“Are you out of your mind? Or do you have a death wish?” His voice is a fierce whisper, hot breath brushing against my ear as he shields me with his body, a protective barrier against the chaos outside.

“But Zina and Jace are still inside!” I protest, my heart racing as I squirm against his hold. “We have to warn them—”

“You’re really something,” he replies, a dry laugh escaping his lips, but his tone quickly shifts to something more somber. “They’ll be fine. This isn’t about them. It’s me they’re shooting at.”

I open my mouth to argue once more, but before I can, a fresh volley of gunfire erupts, the sound so thunderous it rattles my very bones.

“Now run!” he barks, his hand clasping mine with an urgency that sends us sprinting into the fray. Bullets rip through the pavement behind us, the sound of shattering concrete echoing in my ears, each crack like a countdown to disaster, and my heart races wildly in my chest.

We round a corner, dart down a narrow loading ramp, and leap over a barricade, the world around us a blur of motion and fear. It feels as though we’ve been running for hours; my lungs are on fire, and my legs scream in protest, begging for respite.

We duck into a cramped alleyway, barely wide enough for our bodies to fit side by side. My heart thunders against my ribs, and I press myself against the wall, desperate to create some space between us, as if the proximity alone might shield me from the chaos outside.

I attempt to speak, but a strand of hair whips across my mouth, silencing me. Before I can push it away, Mikhail reaches up, brushing it aside with a gentle touch that surprises me amidst the chaos.

“You—” he begins, but my phone suddenly blares to life, the ringtone piercing the tense silence of the alley like a siren wailing in the night. I fumble to retrieve it from my pocket, my fingers trembling as I cut the call and switch it off, panic clawing at my insides.

But it’s already too late. I can see the tension ripple through Mikhail as his jaw clenches tight, his eyes darting to the street beyond.

“Dammit!”

Distant footsteps echo ominously, and he grabs my wrist again, urgency flooding his voice. “Move, now!”

With that, we burst from the alley just as another round of shots rings out, bullets slamming into trash bins and bricks behind us. We race through the streets, weaving around parked cars and vaulting over a low fence, my mind racing as I struggle to keep up with his pace.

I lose track of how many turns we take, each corner a desperate gamble for safety until we finally reach a clearing. A jeep slows to nearly a stop beside us, and Mikhail seizes the side rail, practically tossing me inside before jumping in after me.

The jeep lurches forward, and I slump back against the bench seat, lungs burning and throat parched from the exertion. Mikhail sits across from me, seemingly unfazed, while I feel as if I’ve just run a marathon. He pulls off his gloves, glancing at me with an expression that suggests I’m overreacting to our near brush with death.

“Look,” he says, his tone clipped and businesslike, “this is what life looks like for us on a daily basis. By accepting this job, you’re signing up for the same risks. If you’re scared, you can leave right now.”

His words hang in the air like a weight, straightforward yet laced with an underlying threat. He’s asking me to abandon everything after just twenty minutes of dodging bullets?

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