Midnight,Moretti said.The Old Foundry.
Konstantin is coming. He’s coming for me. And he’s walking straight into a kill box that I helped build.
I close my eyes. I don't pray.
I just hope the Devil I married is smarter than the woman who betrayed him.
19
KONSTANTIN
I drive the Ferrari like I'm trying to outrun my own sins.
The speedometer flickers past one-sixty. The world outside is a smear of asphalt and industrial steel, blurring into a tunnel of motion.
The engine screams behind my head, a twelve-cylinder choir vibrating through the frame and into my spine.
But I can't hear it.
The only sound is the blood rushing in my ears. Louder than the wind. Louder than the engine. It’s the frantic rhythm of a man who is watching his world dissolve.
I didn't take an SUV. I didn't wait for a convoy. I didn't wait for Lev to check in, because Lev isn't answering.
I took the fastest machine I own because every second the GPS tracker on the Sentinel stays static is a second I'm losing her.
The distress beacon hit my phone minutes ago. It wasn't a text or a call. A digital death knell sent directly from the car's computer to mine.
CRITICAL HULL FAILURE. G-FORCE IMPACT > 50G. AIRBAG DEPLOYMENT. HULL INTEGRITY ZERO.
I knew what it meant before the car even stopped moving on the map.
The Sentinel is a tank. It's built to withstand landmines. To shrug off sniper fire. For the hull integrity to be zero, something godlike had to happen.
The city blurs. I weave through the midday traffic, cutting off trucks, forcing sedans onto the shoulder. I don't care. I’m a King, and today, the laws of the road are just another thing to break.
My grip on the leather steering wheel tightens until it groans.
Please,I think.Please let it be a false alarm. Please let her be safe inside the shell.
I tear onto the Narrows Bridge.
The smell hits me instantly, penetrating the cabin filtration of the Ferrari. Acrid, melting plastic, scorching leather, the copper tang of coolant boiling on the asphalt.
I slam the brakes. The tires lock and screech, leaving black scars on the roadway as I skid to a halt ten yards from the wreckage. The car is still rocking when I'm out of the door.
"Helena!"
My voice tears the silence.
I sprint toward the wreck. The heat hits me in a wave, singeing the hair on my arms, drying my eyes.
"Helena!"
No one answers. Only the crackle of fire and the hiss of steam.
I reach the vehicle. The Sentinel, the fortress I promised would keep the world out, is lying on its side, crushed against the concrete median like a discarded soda can.
I stop cold. Air leaves my lungs.
