“I’m a hostage!” she screams, stumbling toward the armed figures. “Please.”
The bastard shoots her in the chest.
Sally’s eyes go wide. She looks down at the blood blooming across her shirt, then back up at me.
She drops.
We were right. They’re going to kill us all. Bury this whole thing and pin the blame on me. Frame me as the crazy dragon who went feral and took hostages. They’ll say I killed them all. That I’m a monster.
A bullet grazes my right arm as I dive behind the remains of a file cabinet. More rounds fly over my head, punching through drywall, shattering what’s left of the windows.
I press myself flat against the floor, my chains scraping against tile.
There’s only one thing I can do now.
Only one option left.
And unfortunately, it plays right into their cover-up story. Pity I don’t have any choice in the matter. It’s do or die at this point.
19
Wren
His grip is iron-tight; one arm is wrapped around my middle, the other holds the knife. The blade at my throat is pressed a little too tightly against my skin. There is a sting, and a drop or two of blood runs down my throat, tickling me.
The male’s breath is hot and ragged. He’s breathing too fast. I think he’s nervous.
Well, join the club, buddy. I’m crapping myself as well.
They’re using us as human shields. I’m praying that Grim is wrong about all of this. I pray even harder that this is all some terrible misunderstanding. That Draig Security isn’t really planning to storm this building to kill us all.
They wouldn’t do that. They couldn’t. Surely?
This is Draig Island. These are the good guys. They protect people. They save lives.
Glass shatters, the sound comes from everywhere at once.
This is it.
They’re coming.
I cringe, every muscle in my body tensing, waiting for the knife to slice across my throat.
At least I’ll bleed out quickly.
Instead, the male holding me shoves me away with such force that I fly through the air. Then I slam into the reception desk, my hip connecting with the edge.
Pain explodes through my side.
Gunfire erupts.
The sound is deafening, making my ears ring. I slide across the desk’s surface, tumbling off the back just as bullets tear through the place.
They’re shooting at us. They don’t care about hostages…about us.
I land hard behind the desk, a wall at my back giving me some cover. I roll under the reception desk, barely fitting in the cramped space. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it over the gunfire.
I scan the room from my hiding spot.
