Percy was our only guard on duty. While most of our forces are in the wind, ready to attack tomorrow, we’ve been running with a skeleton crew in the mansion. Most of them have been assigned to the families we took in to protect them from Empire retaliation.
If Emily truly killed every guard she met on the way in, then no one else knows she’s here.
No one knows she has us trapped.
“We’ve got guns on you, Emily.” Matt gestures with his weapon. Do you really think you’re getting out of here alive?”
She shrugs and squeezes Percy’s throat, choking him. “Maybe none of us will leave here alive. Maybe we’ll all go down in a blaze of glory.”
What is she talking about?
Percy gags and coughs, and Emily lets up on his throat just enough for him to speak.
“She’s wired, boss.”
Chapter 14
Matt
Shit. I should’ve known Emily wouldn’t come in here without a plan to take us all out.
I run a quick assessment of the situation. Aron is closer to the window, so he has an out. It’s a two-story drop, but it’s an out. I might—might—get lucky and be able to dive through the door at the last second. That leaves Percy vulnerable, though, and I can’t just abandon him to her sick whims.
Meeting Aron’s gaze across the room, I can see in his eyes that he’s made the same decision as me when it comes to Percy.
Damnit, Aron! You have the best avenue of escape. Use it!
As if he can read my mind, he shakes his head. He won’t leave our faithful guard.
Now comes the big question: How is she wired? Is it a Deadman’s switch? A remote detonator? Is it timed? Does she control the detonation herself? So many important yet unknown variables.
Shooting and killing Emily could set off the bomb, but at the same time, not shooting her and allowing her to choose the moment of her demise could end us all.
To keep the conversation moving and potentially distract her, I ask Aron a question I already know the answer to.
“When did you last defuse a bomb, Aron?”
“Couple months ago, but I’ve been reading up on new techniques.”
“Good.”
Emily barks out a high-pitched laugh.
“You think you can defuse this? Oh, Aron, no amount of reading will help you. I designed this bomb myself. I’m actually quite proud of it. There are redundancies, fail-safes, and hidden triggers galore.”
Well, that’s comforting. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as my sister’s cocky claims.
“Since when did you become a munitions expert, Em?”
“Oh, Matt. Mattie. Don Matteo. There’s so little you know about me.” She waves the knife around, spreading more droplets of blood. “Aron met me after college. I was a smart little cookie, you see. I specialized in bioelectronics and, yes, munitions. I can jury-rig just about anything, given the right components.”
It figures that Mom would mold Emily into a psychotic little killing machine. It makes me wonder if she was responsible for the bombs that killed my father and many of our top officers that fateful night.
She probably rigged the bomb that killed the poor pregnant woman to fake her death.
While Emily talks, Aron inches closer, moving away from the window and potential freedom. He’s not quite close enough to wrestle the knife from her grip, but it seems I’ve got enough of her attention that she hasn’t noticed him creeping closer. I need to keep her talking, keep her distracted.
“You graduatedmagna cum laudetoo, I presume?”
