Thud, thud, thud.
Footsteps approach. My hands tighten around the crowbar. I wait and I wait and I wait for what feels like forever.
Now.
I lunge round the corner, slamming into something—someone. We both crash to the floor, and a white-hot flash of pain shoots up my thigh when my knee absorbs the impact.
The man in the suit kneels opposite me, red faced with fury. His eyes widen when they meet mine, and then he does exactly what I want him to. He shouts Cain’s name.
I expect my usual indecision, a second of hesitation, but there is none. The crowbar slams against his skull with a surprisingly quiet crack, and then he’s nothing but a wheezing, cursing pile of navy cashmere and polished leather on the floor.
My legs feel like jelly, but they carry me into a supply closet halfway down the hall, nonetheless.
I hide between racks of chemicals, watching the thin strip of frosted glass in the door as a shadow comes to a stop outside. I hold both hands over my mouth, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe. My stomach sinks, dread and relief in equal measure when the telltale whoosh of my message to Russell finally sounds.
For a sickening, awful second, I think Cain knows I’m in here. And then I hear a choked grunt from the guy down the hall, and Cain takes off running.
Alex. All I can think about is reaching him, helping him.
Heart thudding a rapid rhythm in my throat, I inch the door open, doing my best to ignore the pain in my leg, and listen. Cain’s footsteps thud round the corner into the second hallway as he makes a break for his accomplice.
When I skid into the room, the despair in Alex’s eyes almost brings me to my knees. He spits blood from his mouth, a desperate plea in his voice. “Go, Twist. Please go.”
“I’m saving you,” I whisper, though I doubt it comforts him. I squat behind his chair, frantically untying his hands.
“Go. He’ll be back.”
“I’m not leaving you here.” I pull one rope loose, grappling for purchase with the other. Alex’s head slumps forward, breathing labored. I shake my head, voice a whole lot surer than I feel. “Stay with me, Corbeau, I’m getting you out of here.”
His voice is barely audible when it comes. “He built a model train with me on my eleventh birthday.”
My hands blur, eyes sting, but I force away the tears. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”
“He built a train with me and nowthis.”
The second restraint drops to the blood-spattered floor. I round the chair to face him, hurriedly glancing over my shoulder. Bruises are forming above his right eye, and I’d do anything to take away his pain. I’d suffer for a lifetime if it meant he’d be happy. “Can you walk?”
“Get out of here, Ophelia.”
I hook my arms beneath his and haul him to his feet, a hand on his waist as I drag him on shaky legs into the hallway. The elevators. I just need to get us into an elevator.
“Are you hurt?”
I can’t help letting slip a disbelieving laugh as we near the silver doors. I leave him leaning against the wall and lurch to hit the elevator button, fumbling at his waist to get his ID badge from his belt. “Let’s worry about you before we—”
A lazy drawl caresses my back, a voice so similar to his son’s. “Ophelia Winters. What a delightful surprise.”
I freeze where I stand, lashes drifting shut for just a moment. “Cain.”
“You wouldn’t be taking my son from me, would you?”
I turn to face him, square my shoulders, and keep my gaze level even as he raises his gun. Alex steps in front of me.
“Out of the way, Alex. I wasn’treallyplanning to kill her, but since she’s flown all this way …”
I try to move, try to push Alex toward the elevator but he’s a wall of solid muscle, even injured and dazed.
Cain only smiles wider, and just the sight of him makes me sick. He has been the rotten core of my life for so long, the epicenter of all that is bad. “I warned you about distractions, son. Look what she’s turned you into. Don’t make me go through you.”
