Page 37

Cassian crashes onto the cold concrete floor with a sickening thud, gasping for air, face flushed red, his limbs twitching as blood finally rushes back into them. I watch him carefully, eyes narrowed, my own breathing steady despite the raw burning that lingers from the lashes across my back.

For five agonizing hours, I’ve guided him through it.

“Don’t let your head hang, Cass,” I’d told him over and over. “Keep flexing your calves. Roll your ankles. Breathe shallow; keep the blood circulating.”

He had obeyed, gritting through the pain, his face purple at times, but alive. His cufflinks had been our only chance—small, heavy, sharp enough if pressed right.

“Use the edge, Cass. Work it against the knot,” I’d instructed him as the minutes dragged into hours. His arms, though bound behind his back, were not useless.

He had wriggled his wrists enough to create friction with the cufflink edge, sawing at the tightly wound rope strand by strand.

I know how hard he worked for that snap.

He lifts his head sluggishly, panting like a man who’s run a marathon upside down.

“I got it—” he wheezes. “I got it, Boss.”

Using the wall, he drags himself upright on trembling legs. His skin is flushed, the veins in his arms bulging under the strain. His lips tremble as he reaches behind his back, pulling out what remains of the cufflink—bent, twisted, jagged.

“Don’t faint,” I tell him.

“No promises.”

He crawls toward me and fumbles for the padlock chaining my wrists and torso to the steel ring hammered into the wall. The chains are thick, the lock heavy.

Cassian steadies his breathing, wiping blood and sweat from his eyes, and jams the jagged cufflink into the lock’s keyhole, twisting hard.

The lock refuses at first, stiff with rust and blood. I see his knuckles go white as he leans into it, teeth clenched.

“Come on,” he hisses. “Come on, you fucker—”

Click.

The lock breaks loose with a sharp metallic clatter, the chains coiling off my chest and legs like dead serpents. My arms fall forward, heavy from the weight that had bound them. My skin underneath is raw, with filthy red welts where the iron bit deep into me.

I breathe. Not relief. Just air.

Cassian slumps to the ground again, his breath ragged and shallow. I push through my own pain and grab his arm, dragging him upright until he leans against the damp stone wall, steady but shaking.

“You look horrible,” he gasps.

I glare. “You look worse.”

My ribs ache as I straighten fully. My shirt sticks to my skin in patches—blood dried from the whippings Gustavo laid into me hours ago. I flex my fingers, feeling every laceration on my back tug with every movement.

We scan the room. This dungeon is small. Stone walls, iron shackles, a single bulb swinging faintly from above, throwing flickers of light that make every shadow stretch like a threat.

But then, I spot it.

“Cassian,” I breathe. My voice lowers as I tilt my head upward. “Look.”

In the far corner near the ceiling—barely noticeable—thin slats cut into a metal square. An air vent. Narrow, but it’s there.

“No,” Cassian croaks beside me, his voice a broken whisper. “No, I’m not going into an air vent. There’s mice in there. I hate mice.”

I don’t answer him. I grip the edge of the vent and hoist myself up. The jagged metal bites into my fingers as I squeeze my bruised body into the narrow shaft. My ribs scream. My back burns where Gustavo’s whip split skin. But I push forward.

“Cassian,” I call, voice echoing in the vent, “get your ass up here.”

“This is how I die,” he mutters behind me, but I hear his grunt as he forces himself into the crawlspace.

The vent is tight. My shoulders scrape against the metal walls with every breath. The stale air tastes of dust and rust. My elbows drag along the bottom, metal cutting into my skin, but I keep moving forward, ignoring the ache. Cassian groans behind me like a dying animal.

“This is fucking horrible,” he whines. “Why is it always me? We could’ve died like men, you know? No rodents. No tiny tunnels.”

“Keep moving,” I snap.

Something skitters above us. Cassian lets out a muffled yelp. “That was a mouse, Serevin. I swear to God. I felt it brush my hair.”

I grind my teeth, dragging myself forward as my stomach twists with every movement. The vent creaks beneath our weight, groaning louder the farther we go. Metal flexes, bending slightly.

“Don’t stop,” I growl.

Cassian mutters curses under his breath, his palms slapping against the vent as he crawls after me.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp metallic crack behind me. I freeze. Cassian gasps. The vent shifts beneath him.

“No, no—”

CRASH.

The vent beneath Cassian gives out completely. A jagged tear opens, and he drops straight through it. The metal screams as it rips open like paper.

“Shit!” I curse, my voice echoing.

I don’t think. I just move. I shift back, slide my legs into the gap and drop after him, landing hard on my side. My shoulder screams as I hit the ground, rolling over into a low crouch. My pulse spikes.

We’ve fallen straight into a private chamber.

In front of us, Gustavo freezes, lips still pressed against a half-dressed woman tangled beneath him on a leather couch. His shirt’s half-open, pants loose, a wine glass perched dangerously on the table nearby.

Cassian mutters beside me, “Well. Shit.”

Gustavo’s eyes snap wide in recognition and then fury. His face flushes a deep red.

“Guards!” he screams, voice shrill with panic.

I’m already moving, grabbing Cassian’s collar and yanking him to his feet as the bedroom door bursts open.

“Run!” I snarl, dragging him with me toward the exit.

I bolt down the hall, dragging Cassian behind me, my bare feet pounding against the floors. But the guards pour in too fast, a wall of men in black, guns raised.

“Shit—” Cassian huffs beside me.

Two men rush from the left corridor. I throw a wild punch at the first, my fist cracking into his jaw, sending him stumbling into the wall. Cassian tackles the second, driving his shoulder into the man’s gut and slamming him into a cabinet. But they keep coming.

An arm hooks around my neck from behind. My windpipe compresses. I claw at the forearm cutting off my air and ram my elbow backwards into ribs until I hear a sharp grunt. The hold loosens, but not enough.

Cassian’s voice cuts through my haze. “Behind you—”

Another man charges. My legs buckle under the weight of both attackers, and they slam me into the floor. My shoulder hits first; agony shoots up my arm.

Hands grab my wrists, twisting them behind my back with brutal force. Metal cuffs bite into raw skin as they clamp tight. I thrash, but it’s useless. They’re stronger. I can’t breathe.

Cassian’s taken down beside me, face bloodied, panting. I see the gun stock collide with his temple before they yank him upright.

We’re both forced onto our knees, heads yanked back by fists gripping our hair.

Then I see him.

Gustavo steps into view, his smug grin wide, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His knuckles are already wrapped in leather, prepared. Like he was waiting for this.

“Going somewhere, cousin?” His voice drips with venom.

I don’t answer. I glare.

His punch lands square across my cheekbone. My head whips sideways, white flashing behind my eyes. Warm blood spills into my mouth from my split lip. The men holding me yank me upright again.

“Didn’t quite hear you,” Gustavo mocks. “Where the fuck were you running off to?”

My chest heaves. I spit blood at his feet.

Gustavo’s face twists in rage, and he slams the butt of his pistol across Cassian’s face. Cassian drops again, coughing out blood.

The guards tighten their grip on both of us. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I keep my head up.

The windows behind him shatter.

A violent, sharp crack fills the air, glass spraying like jagged rain across the room. The guards react instantly, guns swinging toward the breach.

A small black canister sails through the open window.

It hits the floor and rolls once.

The blinking red light on top flashes. Fast.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shit!” Gustavo stumbles back.

“DOWN!” I roar. The blast is deafening.

A concussive force tears through the air, the shockwave knocking guards off their feet. Shards of marble explode upward like shrapnel. Smoke swallows the room whole, thick and blinding.

In the confusion, the grip on my arms loosens. I twist free, swinging my fists hard into the closest guard’s temple. He drops like a stone. Cassian stumbles up, bleeding and dazed, and I hook an arm under his.

We sprint through the smoke-choked air, stumbling into the hallway as shouts erupt behind us. The air is thick, burning my lungs. My ribs scream with every step, but I drag Cassian along, both of us moving like hunted animals.

The hallway is chaos. Smoke billows from the shattered room behind us, fire alarms blaring like screaming sirens, and then I hear them—boots pounding, men yelling, the metallic clatter of magazines being slammed into rifles.

Cassian staggers next to me, blood dripping from his brow, his face pale, but his grip is tight on the pistol he’s just pulled off one of the guards.

“They’re coming.” His voice is hoarse.

“No shit.”

The first of Gustavo’s men round the corner, weapons raised. Three of them. I lunge forward before they can aim, using the momentum of my wrists like a club.

The second lifts his rifle, but Cassian’s faster.

One shot to the throat. The man gurgles, clutching at his neck before collapsing.

The third charges, screaming like a madman, swinging a blade instead of firing.

I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him forward, and I hook my arms around his neck, snapping his head back until something pops. He falls limp to the floor.

We stumble down the corridor, turning toward the west wing where the service entrance should be—but more men pour in from side halls, firing blindly through the haze.