Page 110 of Duty Devoted
We made it three steps into the hallway before the lights went out.
Emergency lighting kicked in a second later, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. Charlotte grabbed my arm, her nails digging in through my shirt.
“Power fluctuation?” Her voice pitched higher. “The backup generators should?—”
The explosion cut her off.
Not close—maybe two floors down—but close enough to shake the building. My body moved on instinct, shoving Charlotte against the wall and covering her as ceiling tiles rained down. My shoulder screamed at the impact, but I ignored it. Some things were more important than old wounds.
“Tyler?” Her breath came fast against my chest. “What’s?—”
“Shh.” I pressed closer, listening. No secondary explosion. No gunfire. But voices carried up the stairwell—harsh, commanding. Not English.
Not security.
I eased back enough to meet her eyes. Even in the red emergency lighting, I could see her pupils dilated with fear. But there was something else there too. Trust.
“Remember that fire evacuation I mentioned?” I kept my voice low, calm. “Change of plans.”
She nodded, those brilliant eyes locked on mine.
I pulled my Glock from my shoulder holster, checking the chamber by feel. “We need to move. Now.”
“The antidote—” She tried to turn back toward the lab. “The samples?—”
“Are worthless if you’re dead.” I caught her wrist, tugging her toward the opposite stairwell. “The formula’s in your head, right?”
“Yes, but the synthesized compounds represent three weeks of?—”
Another explosion, closer this time. The building groaned. Somewhere below us, men shouted in what sounded like Russian.
“Charlotte.” I gripped her shoulders, making her look at me. “I know this isn’t your world. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
She swallowed hard. “The statistical probability of survival increases by 82 percent when following expert guidance in crisis situations.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I couldn’t help the half-smile. Even terrified, she thought in equations. “Stay close. Move when I move. Stop when I stop. And whatever happens?—”
The stairwell door exploded inward.
I shoved Charlotte behind me, raising my weapon as three men in tactical gear poured through. The first one dropped before he fully cleared the doorway. The second dove left, firing wild. I felt the heat of a round pass my ear as I tracked him, double-tapped center mass.
The third had his weapon trained on Charlotte.
Time slowed. I saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Saw Charlotte frozen, her back against the wall. Saw the trajectory that would end her life and destroy any hope of stopping the Phoenix Protocol.
I moved.
The bullet meant for her caught me in the vest as I spun, putting myself between them. The impact drove the air from my lungs, but I kept turning, bringing my Glock around. The shooter’s eyes widened behind his balaclava as I put two in his chest and one in his head.
He dropped.
So did I, to one knee, gasping.
“Tyler!” Charlotte’s hands were on me, checking for blood. “You’re hit. Oh God, you’re?—”
“Vest.” I wheezed. “Just... knocked the wind out.”
More voices echoed up the stairwell. Too many. I forced myself up, grabbing Charlotte’s hand.
