“You fucking?—”
“No one is awake,” I say, cutting him off.
He reaches up and presses on the black earpiece I didn’t notice then says, “Hold!” He looks back at me with fire brewing in his eyes. “Speak,” he demands.
His tone pisses me off but I don’t comment on it. “The staff don’t stay up all night. We’re locked in our rooms from eight in the evening and aren’t allowed out until eight in the morning. They are still asleep, so if you want the element of surprise, then I suggest picking the lock or something.”
Before he can respond, Omen brushes past us and drops to a knee in front of the door, removes a small tool kit and gets to work on picking the lock.
“Vaughn, you and your team cover the back. The rest of you, on me now,” he says again into his earpiece. We all stand here as we wait for Omen to open the door, the tension tangible and… exhilarating. I feel adrenaline coursing through me at the prospect of what awaits on the other side. Just as Xaden’s men begin to join us, Omen stands, then steps aside and nods to Pope. He takes the lead and pushes the door open, scurrying inside with Vatican, Halo, Omen and Carnage following after him.
Xaden tugs me after him with his gun raised. All the lights are off except for the ones that line the sides of the floor in the hallways. Those remain on all the time, so if someone tries to run, it gives the staff time to catch them rather than worrying about finding a light switch. When they all attempt to go to the right, I tug on Xaden’s hand, drawing his gaze to me and shake my head, then point to the left where there is a hallway.
“Only the staff are down here,” I whisper. “All of the inmates are on the second and third level.” He purses his lips and nods then presses that earpiece again.
“Left hallway. Lionel, stay down here with your team and secure the staff,” he says quietly, then nods to Cas and the others to follow after him. I see Cas pointing things out to Harper,making sure she catalogues everything. I hate that she is being used by him, but right now I can’t do anything to help her but I will… soon. “Don’t try and fuck me, Tink,” Xaden warns in a deathly tone.
“I want this place burned more than you. For now we are playing on the same team,” I hiss back at him. I’m not lying, for now our interests are aligned but after tonight, we’ll be back to being enemies.
Why does it hurt so much to know I’ll have to tear him down in order to live?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
XADEN
I stick my back against the wall as we climb the stairs, keeping my gaze up and my gun raised, ready to strike at any second. She may know this place and how things work but I don’t trust her not to try and fuck me over. The Denver Kings are hot on my fucking heels and I have to grit my teeth and fight the urge not to put a bullet in their fucking heads.
I spot a door as we make it to the next level. The door gives way and I move through first, low and quiet. I release my hold on Toren and raise one hand behind me. I don't need to look back to know my men are following behind those five cunts. I can feel them, disciplined, breathing controlled, weapons ready.
And Toren.
I always know where Toren is.
That's the fucking problem.
I shouldn’t be able to feel her out in a room filled with people, but it’s almost like a pull or a tug in the gut that alerts me to her being near.
She pulls the door shut behind us. The latch catches without a sound. I don't acknowledge it. I don't acknowledge her. I move forward and I keep my eyes ahead and I do what I always dowith Toren, which is pretend that her being within ten feet of me doesn't make everything inside me pull in two directions at once.
It's easier when there's a mission. Focus narrows to a point and everything else falls away.
I signal two men left, two men right. They peel away without a sound.
Then the air hits me and whatever thought I was using to avoid thinking about her dissolves entirely.
It's cold in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. The kind of cold that settles into a place over years, pressed into the stone by the weight of everything that's happened inside it. Damp. Antiseptic. Something older underneath both of those that I feel in the back of my throat and don't have a clean name for. I've been in prisons. I've been in places built by bad people for worse reasons.
This is different.
I move forward. The corridor is long and narrow, ceiling low, walls half bare stone and half cracked plaster peeling back in long strips. The lights along the floor are half dead, the rest throwing out a sickly yellow glow that thickens the shadows more than it cuts them. Heavy deadbolts on most of the doors are too new, too clean against all this rot.
Someone has been maintaining the things that matter.
I feel Toren move up to my shoulder before I hear her.
That's the thing about her that I resent most if I'm being honest with myself, which I try not to be. She moves like she was built for this—quiet, precise, completely without hesitation. In any other context, with any other person, I would call it an asset. With Toren I call it inconvenient and leave it at that.
“Locks are new,” she murmurs, close enough that I feel the warmth of it against my jaw.
