They’re pointing assault rifles at us and quickly secure Callum. It’s all too easy, don’t they see?
The rapid beats of my heart drum through my ears as one of the guys grabs my arm roughly and pushes me to the floor beside Callum. They’re treating me just like him.
I stare hollowly at the floor. Some small, ignorant part of me still believes that they’ll see the truth.
Callum laughs and licks his lips. “Which one is Roman? You’re in charge, right? Oh, our sweet Chloe told us all about you. She got in your head, didn’t she?” I flash Callum a mortified look before snapping my eyes at the masked soldier leaning against the far wall, watching all of this unfold. His arms are crossed, and he has an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Yes, she did,” Roman states, sounding completely devoid of emotion. It hits me like a bullet.
“Too bad you have to take me in alive. But what about our Chloe?” Callum pushes him further. It makes my stomach turn. What’s he trying to do by provoking him?
Roman pushes off the wall and walks over to us until he’s standing a few feet away. I can’t see his face past his helmet, but I can hear the hatred in his voice as he says, “Our orders are to terminate her.”
My pupils dilate, and all I can do is stare up at him. I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but it feels a lot like being buried alive. I can’t fucking breathe, because I know he’s not lying. Roman said he always follows orders no matter what—no matter who is in his way, even if that person is me.
Callum is about to goad him more when a huge explosion shakes the ground and shatters all the laundromat’s windows. It’s so loud that I can’t even hear my own scream.
Smoke and dust hit the back of my throat instantly. I try opening my eyes, but it’s hard to see anything through the cloud of debris.
If I don’t escape right fucking now, this place will be my grave. Roman is going to tie up the loose end: me.
My heart pounds as I crawl over shattered glass and rocks. I know they are piercing my skin, but I can’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. Shouting ensues, and a few of Callum’s men rush by me, unsuspecting that I’m making a break for it.
My throat burns as if it’s on fire, and tears sting my eyes, but I hold in my coughs the best I can and head toward the closest broken window.
Someone grabs my ankle and I gasp, kicking and looking over my shoulder. My eyes meet Roman’s. His helmet’s glass is broken, and there’s blood trickling over the arch of his nose.
The same fear I felt the night Callum tried to kill me resurfaces. The adrenaline rushes through my veins and makesevery cell in my body scream to get as far away from him as possible—from both of them.
I kick him again and knock his hand off my ankle. My knees are bleeding and my legs are stiff, but if I’m injured I don’t feel it yet. I need to use this time to survive. I force myself to my feet and limp as hard as I can to get away.
“Briar!” Roman shouts. He sounds angry—not desperate for me not to leave or to protect me like he promised. He grunts as someone comes down on him. I look for only long enough to see Callum attacking him with a KA-BAR. The two struggle on the ground, and it’s the last I see of them before I turn a corner.
Tears cut through the dust and blood on my cheeks, tasting bitter when they reach my lips.
The second I break free from the building, all other sounds start to hit me. Men shouting, gunfire, and the clinking of metal in close combat. My heart races, and I go in the direction that has the least amount of fighting.
I don’t realize I’m being followed until I reach the edge of the field where there’s less smoke, and weeds rustle behind me.
My hand flies to my waist, where Icarus at least left me a knife to protect myself. I unsheathe it and clench it tightly. I’m wishing I would’ve listened to Taylor and practiced more with it and not just focused on shooting.
I turn sharply and come face-to-face with a huge man in tactical gear. It’s not like Icarus’s, where it’s more tailored to look like motorcyclist gear; this guy looks like a SWAT officer mixed with military. He’s at least six feet tall and muscular beyond all reason.
A terrified scream tears from my throat when I see him. He’s made of nightmares, and there’s no mercy in his eyes. He must work for the underworld, whoever Callum works for.
I run as fast as I can and try to put distance between me and the Sub-Rosa soldier. But with my limp and the length ofhis stride, he swallows up the space I manage to achieve in four steps.
He strikes with his knife, cutting the back of my shoulder blade, and the force of his attack sends me straight to the ground. I gasp from the pressure that spreads over my back.Holy shit, the vest saved my life.
I roll to my back quickly before he comes down on me. I try stabbing him in the throat, but the knife only nicks the fleshy part of his neck just beneath his Adam’s apple. He wraps his gloved hand around the blade and tears it from my hand, tossing it into the weeds.
Panic takes over, and I try thrashing as hard as I can to get out from beneath him. But it’s futile. This guy must weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds.
“Stop fighting. It’ll be quick,” he says with a laugh as he pins my throat down with his palm and raises his other arm for a fatal thrust of his knife.
My hands are wrapped around his wrist, and as I stare up at the fire that reflects off the sheen of his blade, time seems to slow.
No one is coming to save me.
