My heart hammers in my chest, a wild hope blooming inside me despite my better judgment. If that alarm is what I think it is…
“No.” Carmen’s wide, panicked eyes meet mine. For a fleeting moment, she’s just a young woman caught in the crossfire of something far bigger than herself.
“They’re here, aren’t they?” It comes out like I’m begging her to confirm it.
She takes a shaking step away from the door. “They’ll kill me.”
“No, Carmen, listen to me,” I say, leaning forward as much as my restraints allow. “I won’t let that happen. You just need to let me go.”
She’s already shaking her head like she can’t process what I’m saying. “No. I can’t. My father?—”
“Your father isn’t here, is he?” It’s a shot in the dark, but why else would she look so terrified? “No one else is here to protect you. Please, let me do it again, one last time.”
Her lips tremble, hesitating as the alarm shrieks through the room.
I press on, desperate. “Please. You trusted me once. Trust me now. Let me go.”
Her jaw clenches, tears glistening in her eyes. For a moment, I think she will walk away, to leave us both to our wretched fates.
But then, with a sharp inhale, she takes a decisive step toward me.
The door bursts open, and both of us freeze.
28
LEON
The chaos outside the compound is deafening: gunfire cracks through the air, punctuated by the occasional explosion that rattles the earth beneath my feet. Smoke curls into the night sky, blotting out the stars.
It’s a damn symphony of war, and I should be directing it, not skulking in the shadows like a ghost.
But Mia is inside. And that’s all that matters.
The hardest part had been convincing Teo that I intended to stay and commit to my bed rest. Slipping out of the hospital had been child’s play.
I press my back to the concrete wall of the perimeter, the coarse surface biting into my shoulder blades. Every step I take sends a fiery ache through me, radiating outward from the bullet wound in my chest.
I’m slower than I’d like to be, stiffer to avoid agitating the wound that is packed under enough gauze that I may as well be wearing a corset. But I use the pain to sharpen my instincts as I peer around the corner of the wall.
What remains of the Guild and the Prince’s Hand have swarmed the compound. They’re focused on the main entrance, drawing the Cartel’s fire.
Amos Rubio’s men are pouring out like ants from a hill, armed to the teeth. The Guild’s tech specialists hacked into the compound’s surveillance system, leaving the enemy blind to anything but what’s in front of them.
Which serves my purposes perfectly.
I slip through a side entrance, a rusted maintenance door I remember from the blueprints. It’s unguarded—likely overlooked in the chaos—and creaks like a dying animal when I push it open. The sound makes me grit my teeth.
The hallway beyond is dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead barely cutting through the darkness. The muffled sounds of battle grow distant as I venture deeper.
I stick close to the wall, my steps careful, my breathing controlled. My reactions are slower, my movements less precise. But my ears prickle at every sound, and my eyes are sharp and alert.
I’m still a weapon of war.
The first man I encounter rounds a corner without checking his angles. Sloppy.
I’m on him before he can react, my hand clamping over his mouth while my blade finds the soft flesh between his ribs. His muffled scream is short-lived, his body sagging into my arms as I lower him to the ground silently.
I wipe the blood on his uniform and keep moving, my chest burning with every step.
