My head snaps up, and there’s Priest, towering at the top of the staircase, surrounded by his crew. His hand motions us forward, but his face is anything but inviting. He doesn’t look like he’s offering help; he looks like he’s ordering us not to waste his damn time.
I hesitate.
Every instinct screams not to trust him. Sovereigns don’t save people—they leave bodies. But the bullets below are louder than my fear of him. Before I can decide, Priest starts laying down cover fire. The cracks of his rifle punch through the air. Roxy flinches beside me.
“Move your ass!” he barks.
My legs obey before my brain can catch up.
Roxy’s fingers dig into my arm as I drag her up the stairs. Priest barrels past us, slamming the rooftop door shut behind him. The old, rusted lock barely holds, but it’s not about stopping them—it’s about buying seconds. Seconds we’ll need.
The chaos below fades to distant pops and screams. My lungs burn. Every breath tastes like blood and smoke. Beside me, Roxy’s shaking so hard her teeth chatter. Her eyes are empty.
“Keep moving,” Priest snaps, shoving my back. I spin on him, ripping out of his touch.
“Touch me again and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
“I saved your life. Twice.”
“And I didn’t ask you to.”
I step in close, rifle tight in my grip, glare locked on his. “When this is over, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
That earns me a slow, twisted smile.
“You’d be dead without me,little girl. Don’t forget that.”
“Fuck you.”
His gaze drops to the rifle in my hands. Then back to me. He leans in, lips brushing my ear as he speaks.
“If you ever point that at me, I’ll snap your neck. Then fuck your corpse raw. Maybe even leave you propped up for the next idiot who thinks they can challenge me.”
Revulsion tears through me. But so does rage.
“Jesus Christ, Priest,” someone says from the shadows. “We don’t have time for whatever the fuck this is.”
Roxy chokes out a question in Russian between sobs. Her wide eyes darting from me to the men around us.
Shit. She wants to know who they are. How the hell do I explain that these aren’t men? They’re the kind of monsters you pray you never meet. Soulless. Worse than the devil himself.
I’ve been so laser-focused on wanting to murder Priest that I barely registered the rest of the Sovereign bastards. There are three of them—each massive, armed to the teeth, and radiating the same lethal aura as Priest.
The bulkiest of the group has a thick beard and tattoos running down the side of his face. “They’ll be up here any minute,” he rumbles.
The other two are equally towering, but their look screamspolished killers. Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with neatly trimmed hair. The blonde and leanest one closest to me radiates—old money and inherited arrogance as if they were bred for Sovereign royalty. Sovereign wealth always reeks, and this guy’s New Orleans accent seals it: purebred privilege with a side of bloodstains.
“Priest, we need to move,” New Orleans drawls. He looks ready to spit out another order when gunfire shreds the rooftop door, scattering bits of metal and rust.
“Ladder, east side!” one of them shouts, already sprinting.
I grab Roxy’s arm and yank her after me. Every instinct I have screams that this is a terrible idea—following a pack of Sovereign wolves—but I’m out of options.
We reach the ladder as the Sovereign crew descends quickly. Roxy and I scramble after them, the metal rungs biting into my palms. The second we hit the ground, chaos finds us again. Bullets rain down from the rooftop, sparking off the pavement and slamming into walls.
“Move! Now!” Priest’s voice crashes down the alley.
Sirens close in. Finally. My legs burn, lungs clawing for air as we turn the corner. Shadows stretch long and jagged across the street, but we don’t stop.
