With a final, convulsive shudder, he goes limp. His massive body slumps against me, a dead weight that nearly sends us both to the floor.
Panting, bleeding, I let him fall.
He lands with a heavy, satisfying thud, unconscious but still breathing. For a moment, I can only stand there, shaking violently, my body screaming in protest.
I did it.
I won.
I force my trembling, blood-slicked hands to move, patting down his body. My fingers close around a cold metal ring of keys. With a fumble, I find the right one and unlock the shackle on my ankle. The chain falls away, and the feeling is so profound, so sudden, I almost sob with relief.
Freedom.
I don't hesitate.
Creeping up the stairs to the cell door, I peer out.
The hallway is empty, littered with the bodies of the alphas I’d set against each other. My eyes land on a holster on one of them—a gun. I scramble over, my bare feet silent on the cold floor, and wrench the pistol free. It's heavy and solid in my hand, the most beautiful thing I've ever felt. I check the magazine and have to choke back tears when I realize it’s full.
I look back at Pedro’s unconscious form.
Aiming the barrel at his head, I fire. But my trembling hand makes the gun slide left a little, and I hit his neck instead. His body spasms, and the trickle of blood tells me that I’ve still accomplished my goal.
He’s done for.
My attention moves from him down the long, dark corridor leading out of this hell. I don't know what's beyond that door, but I know one thing for certain. I am not a prisoner anymore. I am the princess, and I am armed.
I'll either escape this hellhole or die trying.
11
RIDGE
The world is fading,dissolving at the edges into a hazy crimson. The pain is a distant, throbbing thing, a monstrous drumbeat in my side where the bullet tore through me.
I’m on my back on the cold, dusty ground, the grit of this forgotten outpost grinding into my skin. Above me, the sky is a bruised purple, bleeding into the inky black of night. The firefight has stopped, leaving behind a ringing silence that’s louder than the gunfire was.
“Ridge! Stay with me, brother!”
Luka’s voice is a frantic anchor, pulling me back from the churning depths. His hands are pressing down on my wound, a futile dam against the tide of my life spilling out onto the dirt.
It’s useless. We both know it. We came here unprepared, acting on a scrap of intel, a whisper that our mate was being held in this shithole. We found nothing but a well-armed ambush and a whole lot of death.
My eyes flutter closed.
The pain recedes, replaced by a warmth that has nothing to do with my failing body. It’s her. Brylee.
Ridge.
Her voice isn't in my ears; it’s in my soul, a melody of starlight and honey. I can see her so clearly. She’s kneeling beside me, her beautiful face a mask of fierce determination. Her blonde hair is a cascade of spun gold, a halo around her head, and her blue eyes—the color of a summer sky after a storm—are burning with an inner fire.
You can’t leave me,she whispers, her ghostly fingers tracing the line of my jaw.You promised me a lifetime. You promised me sunrises and stupid arguments about whose turn it is to make coffee. Don’t you dare break that promise, Ridge. You fight.
Did I promise you that?
But I know I haven’t. Not yet. This is just what I want to hear from the omega who consumes me—mind, body, and soul.
My breath hitches, a wet, gurgling sound.
