Did Landon call them?
It’s obvious at least one of them recognized us, but he didn’t alert the others. I have a feeling he’s on a certain someone’s payroll.
Speaking of…
“Where’s Raymond?” I ask Landon, my voice low.
Landon’s face is grim. “I haven’t seen him yet, but Piper overheard some POP members discussing him. He escaped his guards and is somewhere in the building.”
Fuck.
Shit is about to go down. The raid, the cult, Aria—it’s all converging into a perfect storm. The FBI is here for a takedown, but we’re here for Ellie.
We look at each other, the same understanding passing between us.
“We have to find her,” I say.
Landon nods, his expression hardening. “And the others.”
40
ELLIE
The world is a dizzying, nauseating blur of motion. Strong arms clamp around my torso, and my legs kick uselessly in the air.
I’m being carried—dragged, really—down a long, unfamiliar corridor that smells of antiseptic and something else, something coppery and wrong.
My own panicked breaths are loud in my ears, drowning out the sound of their boots squeaking on the polished floor.
“Let go of me!” I thrash, my elbow connecting with something solid. A grunt sounds, but the grip only tightens, a band of iron across my ribs.
Where are Beckett, Zane, and Dominic? Are they dead? Oh god. I wouldn’t survive if I lost them. Not after…not after Landon and Ryker.
Already, I can feel pieces of myself fading away, turning to nothing but ash in the breeze. My soul… It’s no longer whole. It never will be again.
Landon and Ryker are dead.
A strangled sob catches in my throat.
They’re dead, and I want to die.
But only after I murder the bitch who took them from me and ensure she can’t hurt anyone I love ever again.
Steely determination sweeps through me, eclipsing every other emotion. The pain is still there, still present, but…numb.
I’m numb.
Aria walks ahead, her back ramrod straight, her black cloak a slash of violent color against the almost clinical white. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge my struggle. She just glides, as if this is a triumphant procession.
“Stop fighting, my sweet Ellie,” she says, her voice a smooth, poisonous melody that makes my skin crawl. “It’s unbecoming.”
“I will never stop fighting you,” I spit out. “I’ll fucking kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”
And it will be, of that I have no doubt.
We reach a set of heavy, ornate doors, and she finally turns. A flicker of something cold and reptilian flashes in the startling blue depths of her eyes before it’s gone. She offers a serene smile, and the sight skitters across my skin like a thousand spiders unleashed.
I fucking hate it when she smiles.
