And even though the 72 hours are up, there was something in Knox’s voice, somethingwrong.
And I’ll bet my life it has to do with Aspen.
Sean rushes in, fast. I barely hear the door before the stomp of boots hits the steel stairs outside the room.
“How many?” I ask as he presses the gun into my hand. I check it on instinct—one of ours. Five bullets. Not great. But enough if I aim to kill.
“Twelve. Maybe a couple more outside,” Sean mutters.
I do the math. I could take half if I were at full strength. But with my shoulder wrecked like this?
Yeah. It’s going to be a goddamn bloodbath.
I rub my face, forcing myself to stay still even as my heart kicks harder. Not from fear. Fromreadiness.
The sky’s bleeding orange. It’s time.
It’snow.
Sean’s still standing there, worry tightening every line of his face. He knows. This is my one shot. And if it fails? There won’t be another.
Fuck it.
I stride to him. My breath slows, muscle memory from years in the field.
“Sorry about this,” I murmur, grabbing the back of his neck and jamming the gun to his temple.
His eyes widen, but he nods. Trust. No flinch.
“I won’t shoot you,” I whisper, and his nod comes again.
“Open the door.”
He does. And we move.
The hallway’s dim and shadowy. Each footstep echoes like a countdown. We reach the stairs. I hear movement above before we even step out.
As soon as we surface, someone shouts from the left.
“He’s got the Doc!” A gun lifts, shaking, too eager.
“Gun down or the doctor gets his fucking brain splattered across the floor!” I bark, loud and raw. My body tightens, adrenaline surging, every nerve screaming at me to act.
More boots. More men. Chaos unfurling fast.
“What the fuck, Dante?!” Bryn’s shrikes. She storms in from the kitchen,our fucking kitchen, the same one we once sat in, pretending to be people who still had peace.
“Shoot him!” She shrieks, rabid.
I yank Sean’s shirt, adjusting the angle to shield him, to protect his heart, his throat. Just in case.
“No!” someone else yells. Older. Authoritative. One of Roman’s higher ranks, maybe the one in charge when the snake isn’t slithering around.
Bryn rounds on him like a feral thing. “No?!”
She pulls her gun, but before she can fire, one of the soldiers grabs her, drives his boot into the back of her knees. She collapses, screaming.
“Roman needs the Doc,” the man mutters, and that grabs my attention.
