“Thomas!” Luka’s voice cracks through the noise, loud enough to slice through the alarms. “You are finished.”
Thomas brings his arm around, angling the gun toward me.
“No!” Luka launches forward, water exploding from the floor under his feet.
Thomas fires a shot, the sound shattering through the warehouse like thunder.
I yank Hope down behind a crate, my heart slamming so hard it feels like it might break free. The bullet tears through the wooden crate beside us, splintering the wood into flying shards. Hope curls into me, shaking violently as water pours over us.
“Sage!” Luka’s voice rips through the space, panicked and raw.
“I’m here!” I call back, raising my head long enough to let him see me before ducking again.
Thomas moves toward us with a furious, determined stride, his eyes blazing with nothing human left in them. He grips the gun tighter and forces his way through the crates. He is coming to kill me, my baby, and Hope.
My grip tightens around the metal rod until my knuckles ache. “Move,” I whisper to Hope, pulling her slightly to the side so her body is tucked even further behind the crates. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Just keep your head down.”
Her breathing comes in quick, uneven rushes, but she nods in understanding.
Thomas steps closer, the water pouring over him, the gun unwavering in his grip.
“It’s time to end this,” he mutters.
I rise slowly, placing myself between him and Hope. My arms shake, and my legs feel unsure, yet a fierce instinct holds me upright. “If you want us,” I tell him, “you’re going through me.”
He lifts the gun toward my chest. Gunfire erupts across the warehouse again, and Thomas jerks his head toward the noise, just for a breath.
It’s the opening I need. I surge forward, swinging the metal rod with both hands. The first strike cracks across his forearm, hitting the spot where the gun rests in his grip. The impact jolts through my arms, forcing his aim off target.
He snarls and tries to raise the gun again, but I swing a second time, the rod connecting with the side of his head. The blow lands with a sickening thud, and Thomas reels backward, disoriented.
His feet slip on the wet floor. He stumbles, barely catching himself, the gun faltering in his grip.
“Cover the right aisle!” Luka shouts as he and his men rush forward.
Boots thunder. Men shout orders. Gunfire trades in bursts. Smoke from ricocheting bullets mixes with the mist from the sprinklers, turning the air thick.
I hold the metal rod against my chest, my heartbeat rising fast as Thomas steadies himself with a furious glare. His gun lifts again, trembling with rage, and the alarms above us scream while water pours down in heavy sheets. Hope lets out a frightened whimper, and Thomas’s finger starts to tighten on the trigger.
Before he can fire, Luka reaches us, his voice breaking through the noise. “Sage!”
Time seems to lock in place. The roar of water, gunfire, and shouting blends together while I keep Hope tucked close and tighten my grip on the rod. I don’t know what will happen in thenext heartbeat. I only know Luka is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.
17
LUKA
The moment Sage’s voice reaches me, thin and strained and wrapped in terror, the world slams into a single point of focus. Everything else fades. The alarms, the pounding water, the gunshots ricocheting off metal beams, the shouts of my men pushing through the warehouse… all of it transforms into a distant roar beneath the only sound that matters. Her voice.
I move without thought, my body functioning purely on instinct, sharpened by years of violence and the sudden, vicious realization that she is in danger I might already be too late to stop. The concrete floor is slick beneath me, puddles splashing high against my legs as I sprint toward the far aisle. Sprinklers unload a relentless downpour, drenching my hair, jacket, and skin. The cold lashes across my face, but it hardly registers. My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat driving me forward with greater urgency.
Water streams into my eyes. I swipe it away with the back of my hand, never slowing or hesitating. My boots find purchase on the wet concrete through sheer force of will. The warehouse stretches before me like a maze of death, but I know exactlywhere she is. I can feel her terror like a physical presence pulling me toward her.
I see her between the crates. Sage crouches in front of Hope, drenched and trembling, her shoulders curved as if her body alone can shield her sister from bullets. She grips a metal rod in her hand, knuckles pale, with fear and defiance fused into every inch of her posture. Hope clings to her, blinking weakly through the sheets of water, her breaths unsettling and uneven. The sight of them huddled together, vulnerable and exposed, sends rage coursing through my veins.
And Thomas Bellamy stands over them with a gun raised.
A chilling calm spreads through me, dangerous, lethal, familiar. The same calm that has pulled me through firefights, ambushes, executions, and last-stand battles. The kind that makes me unstoppable. My vision narrows, and my breathing evens. The chaos around me dissolves into perfect clarity.
