“It haseverythingto do with me,” he replies with a terrifying calm. “It is Barinov blood. It cannot be allowed to continue.”
My knees weaken. “You’re talking about killing your grandchild.”
Thomas’s lip twitches. “Do not use that word. The child is a threat. That’s all.”
Hope lets out another muffled cry, her chair rattling as she fights against the ropes. Her fear pulls something fierce and bright through me. I step in front of her before I even realize I moved.
“You’re not touching her,” I tell him. “And you’re not touching my baby.”
Thomas lifts a hand, signaling to his men. “Take them to the back room. Both of them.” He narrows his gaze on me. “I’ll decide the final steps shortly.”
Two guards close in with their hands out, and one slices through the ropes binding Hope, the cut barely finishing before her body slumps to the side in the chair. In that instant, the fear, the years of taking care of her on my own, the new life growing inside me, and the memory of Luka’s hands on my shoulders promising she would be found all collide at once, rising into a single surge of pure instinct.
I wrench my arm free from the guard’s grip and lunge toward Hope before she hits the floor, catching her just in time. I peel the tape from her mouth in one quick motion, and her breaths rush out in fast, uneven bursts against my shoulder. She folds into me as if her bones can no longer support her, her body pressing against my chest while panic climbs into my throat so quickly I struggle to swallow it back. Her skin burns under my hands in a way I recognize far too well. She is slipping toward a dangerous point I have seen before, and every instinct inside me screams to keep her here with me.
“Hold on,” I whisper to her, though I can barely hear my own voice over the pounding in my ears. “I’m right here. I’m not letting go.”
The guard nearest me reaches out again, his hand closing around my arm. The pressure is rough enough to bruise, and a tremor of fear rushes through me, but a stronger force pushes back. I twist to yank free, my shoulder burning with the effort.
The guard curses under his breath and lunges forward again. My elbow brushes a solid metal box mounted on the wall, the red one I noticed earlier. The fire alarm. A jolt of instinct runs through me. I don’t think or plan, I just slap my palm against the lever.
The alarm erupts with a shriek that slices through the warehouse like a blade made of sound. The lights flicker overhead, and a second later, water bursts from the sprinklers in a sudden downpour. Cold drops smack against my face, clothes, and shoulders. The water falls in sheets, soaking everything within seconds.
Cries of confusion echo through the warehouse as Thomas’s men lift their arms to shield themselves, shouting over one another. The guard gripping me loses focus for just a breath, and I shove him away with every ounce of strength I have.
Thomas turns sharply toward me, water streaming down his face, his expression tightening with fury.
“Enough!” he snaps, his voice rising above the alarm’s howl. “Grab them.”
Two men rush toward us, their boots sliding on the wet floor. I pull Hope against me, trying to keep her upright, her face buried in my shoulder as she struggles to breathe through panic and exhaustion. The water drips from her hair into her eyes, making her blink rapidly.
“Hope,” I murmur, brushing the wet strands away from her forehead. “Focus on me. I need you to hold on.”
She shakes violently, her breath turning more erratic. “Sage,” she tries to whisper, the sound fragile and desperate.
“I’m right here,” I promise her again.
When the nearest guard reaches for her, a power deeper than fear moves through me, a fierce heat climbing from my ribs outward. I won’t let them touch her.
My hand drops to the ground, searching for anything I can use. My fingers land on a long metal rod half-hidden under a collapsed crate. The guard lunges forward, and I swing. The rod connects with his forearm with a crack that vibrates through my bones. He jerks back, clutching his arm as water drenches him from above.
The second guard hesitates, thrown by the sudden fight in me, and I use the moment to pull Hope toward the nearest stack of crates. Her legs buckle again, and I practically drag her through the water pooling across the floor.
“Sage,” she tries to mutter again, her voice thin. She reaches for my shirt and grabs a fistful of it, clinging to me like she’s afraid she’ll disappear if she lets go.
“I’ve got you,” I reassure her, tightening my grip around her waist. “Just a little more. Stay with me.”
My breaths come fast and rough as I maneuver us behind the crates. I shove one heavy box forward, letting it crash to the ground to start a barricade. Then another. The water makes the floor slick, but it also muffles the movement as I push and pull each crate into place.
Hope slumps against the wall, exhausted, her head leaning against my shoulder. She is awake but fading, her eyelids fluttering as she tries to stay present.
“I’m going to get us out,” I whisper, brushing my hand over her cheek. “Just keep breathing. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
The alarms keep blaring, and the water streams from the ceiling like a storm trapped indoors. The sound is overwhelming, but it gives me cover. It keeps Thomas’s men disoriented.
Movement catches my eye. Thomas stands across the warehouse, his hair slicked to his forehead, and his clothes drenched. But he doesn’t rush. He moves with the slow certainty of someone who believes the end is already decided. His gaze locks on us, assessing the makeshift barricade I created.
He reaches behind him and lifts a gun. Hope’s body jolts, and she grips the fabric of my shirt even harder. Fear shoots through me, but it fuels me instead of stopping me. I crouch in front of her, positioning myself to shield both her and my stomach.
