“We’re not alone,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
Greyson’s mind raced, adrenaline cutting through the alcohol’s fog. The apartment should have been secure, the security system engaged. Someone had overridden his protocols, which meant only one thing—Veyra.
He moved off Shadera, pressing her against the wall as he unholstered his gun.
Shadera’s eyes were wide but focused, her breathing controlled. Not fear—calculation.
“Give me a weapon,” she demanded, her voice steady.
“No.” Greyson checked the magazine, then chambered a round.
“Are you fucking insane? We’re under attack and you won’t—”
“Figure it out.” He met her eyes, saw the fury there, the disbelief, and smirked at her. “You’re resourceful.”
Before she could respond, he was moving, cracking the balcony door and firing two shots at the sniper position. Return fire erupted immediately.
The apartment broke into chaos.
Veyra officers materialized from concealment points throughout his apartment—behind furniture, from closets, from his fucking bedroom.They’d been here. Waiting. Their weapons were already drawn, faces concealed behind reflective visors.
“Don’t shoot. By order of President Serel,” the lead officer began, “we are instructed to—”
Greyson didn’t wait for him to finish. He fired twice, hitting the man center of mass. The officer staggered back, his sentence ending in a wet gurgle as blood bubbled from beneath his visor.
The remaining four opened fire simultaneously, filling the air with the deafening crack of gunshots. Greyson rolled behind the coffee table and overturned it, splinters flying as bullets tore into the wood.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Shadera moving—a blur of deadly grace as she used the chaos to her advantage. She slid across the floor, grabbing a decorative metal sculpture from a side table, and hurled it with precision at the nearest officer. It connected with his visor, cracking it and momentarily blinding him.
In that split second of distraction, she was on him, her legs wrapping around his torso as she used her momentum to bring him crashing to the ground. She grabbed his gun as they fell, twisting it from his grip and firing a single shot through his throat before rolling away from the spray of arterial blood.
Greyson took down a second officer with a clean head shot through the helmet, exploding out the back of his head. Blood sprayed across the white wall behind him, a violent Rorschach test on the pristine surface. The third managed to get off a shot that whistled past Greyson’s ear before taking two rounds to the chest as he turned his attention to Shadera. The fourth was more cautious, retreating to the kitchen where he had better cover.
“Executioner,” the man called, his voice distorted by his helmet. “Stand down. These are the President’s orders.”
“Fuck the President,” Greyson replied, signaling to Shadera with his free hand. She nodded once, understanding passing between them.
Greyson fired three more shots to keep the officer pinned down while Shadera circled around, coming at him from the opposite side. The officer, focused on Greyson, didn’t see her until it was too late. She fired twice, the bullets finding gaps in his armor at the neck and armpit. He crumpled, weapon clattering to the floor.
Another two officers appeared from their places on the balcony while Greyson was distracted, and one was on him before he could stop it. He tackled him backward into the entryway table, the glass mirror shattering as they fell to the floor.
Shadera was rolling behind the island as shots rang out above her but she kept moving toward him, launching herself at his legs. They went down together, a tangle of limbs.
Greyson couldn’t help, couldn’t even watch as the Veyra’s fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back against the ground. Stars bloomed across his vision, but instinct kept him moving. He brought his knee up hard between the man’s legs, earning a strangled cry of pain. As the officer’s grip loosened, Greyson twisted, reversing their positions.
His gun was gone, knocked away in the attack. It didn’t matter. He brought his elbow down against the man’s throat with crushing force, feeling cartilage give way beneath the impact. The officer’s eyes bulged, hands clawing desperately at Greyson’s face, at his arms, at anything they could reach.
Greyson struck again. And again until the hands fell away. He wrapped his fingers around the Veyra’s head, breaking his neck in one motion, and the body beneath him went still.
His focus snapped back to Shadera, watching as she pointed a gun beneath the officer’s helmet and pulled the trigger. His eyes caught movement behind her as an injured officer rose to his knees, blood streaming out of his body in heavy rivers, and raised a gun at Shadera’s back.
“Down!” Greyson shouted, diving for his fallen weapon.
Shadera dropped instantly, the officer’s shot passing through the space where her head had been. Greyson’s fingers closed around his gun, rolling to his back as he slid across the floor toward her and fired a shot.
One. Two. Three rounds.
The officer’s chest blossomed red, bullets tearing through flesh. He stayed upright for only a second before collapsing onto his back with a heavy thud.
