Chapter
Twelve
Lucian
Fire howls all around us, heat clawing at my spine as the wooden beams of the ceiling groan. Smoke eats the air. Screams cut off mid-breath.
I glance up to see movement nearby.
Raleigh bursts through the smoke like a ghost dragged up from hell, face streaked with ash, eyes feral. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t waste breath. He just locks eyes with me and jerks his head toward a dark smudge on the ground between the flames.
A sewer grate.
A way out.
He’s already there by the time I reach it, his fingers digging into the iron cover embedded in the concrete floor. With a snarl, he rips it free like it weighs nothing and the metal skids aside.
The stench hits immediately—rot, filth, stagnant water—but it’s an escape.
“Get going,” Raleigh barks.
I don’t hesitate. I tighten my grip on Elliot’s hand and jump, dragging her with me as we plunge into the darkness.
We hit the bottom hard. Filthy water soaks us instantly, cold and slick, splashing up my legs to my hips. Elliot gasps, choking, and I haul her upright before she can lose her footing and go under. A few of Raleigh’s men drop in after us, but only a few. Most of them were claimed by the fire.
Raleigh is last to make the leap, and the moment he hits the bottom, he starts trudging through the muck without looking back. He splashes through the narrow sewer tunnel, and we follow. The panic inside me doesn’t fade; it coils tighter, sharper, but Elliot’s hand is in mine, small but real, and I refuse to let her go. At her shorter size, it’s harder for her to move through the water, but I don’t let her fall. I don’t let her slow.
The tunnel stretches on, echoes of the commotion we left behind chasing us through the dark.
“Keep up!” Raleigh says. “There’s an exit just ahead!”
My vision sharpens to the darkness and not far in front of us I can see a rusty ladder ascending to another manhole cover.
When we reach it, Raleigh lets Elliot climb first and then gestures for me to follow. When she reaches the top, she shoves the cover aside and hauls herself out. I’m right behind her.
Night air slams into my lungs.
Cool. Clean. Crisp.
The rest of what’s left of the Rogues spills out onto the street, soaked, stinking, a bit charred but alive. Raleigh is barking orders to them, but I’m too focused on Elliot. Her dress is ruined, the beautiful silver fabric torn and seared along the hem and caked with God knows what. Her blonde curls are plastered against her face, and she’s breathing hard. Staring at me with both fear and relief on her face.
Fuck. We almost died.
I step closer to her. “Elliot… I?—”
“Lucian?”
I turn to see Andrew standing there, looking grim.
“I saw the explosion, the fire… I know you told me to stay close and not intervene, but I couldn’t.” He swallows, the scent of blood heavy in the air. When Andrew glances behind him, I see why. There’s a man lying on the sidewalk, throat ripped out, his blood pooling in a dark stain on the concrete. “I saw him running, chased him down. I’m sorry I didn’t wait for orders, but?—”
“No, Andrew, you did the right thing,” I say and walk over to the body. I use the toe of my shoe to nudge him onto his back and I see the fancy scriptSembellished into his shirt collar.
He’s one of Santiago’s.
“Andrew…fuck.” I’m going to fucking rip Santiago to pieces after this. Fury whips through me like a storm. I brush glass off my suit, ignoring the small wounds and burns that start to heal. The burn in my lungs is already starting to ease, too. “Call Vittoria. Tell her what happened. Santiago has just declared war.”
He nods and pulls out his phone.
