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Chapter Fifteen: Skylar

W e hit the next landing, my breath burning in my chest, legs screaming for relief. Justice stumbled, catching herself on the railing, and I turned back to her. She looked like hell—sweat-slicked and pale, her clothes a dark blotch against her side—but she didn’t stop. That stubborn resolve was probably the only thing keeping her upright.

"Keep going," she rasped, waving me forward. Bash hovered close, his hand brushing her elbow, ready to catch her if she fell. He didn’t say a word, but the tightness in his jaw said everything. He was scared for her, and it pissed him off.

The stairwell door loomed ahead, and I motioned for them to stop. Pressing my ear to the cold metal, I strained to hear anything on the other side. Muffled voices filtered through, distant but getting closer.

"Shit," I whispered. "They're cutting us off."

Bash was already looking around, his mind working as fast as mine. "Back up or push forward?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

I weighed the options, my pulse hammering in my ears. Going back meant running straight into the men chasing us—and, from what I could hear, there were definitely men chasing us.

But pushing forward meant a fight—and we were in no shape for another one. Justice could barely stand, and we had no idea how many were waiting on the other side of the door.

"Forward," I said finally. "We don’t have a choice."

Justice nodded, and Bash gave her a long look before stepping in front of her. Instead of handing him a spare gun, I passed him the knife I’d taken off the guard earlier. He nodded at me.

"Stay behind me, Justice," he ordered. She didn’t argue.

I drew my gun and eased the door open a crack, peering into the hallway. The flickering light cast jagged shadows, but it was empty. For now. I stepped through, signaling for the others to follow.

The hallway stretched in both directions, a claustrophobic maze of peeling paint and cracked tile. I took the lead, keeping my footsteps light, my gun raised. Every corner we turned felt like walking blind into an ambush. My mind raced, cataloging every sound, every flicker of movement.

Justice lagged behind, her breathing labored, and I shot her a glance. "How much longer can you go?" I asked, keeping my voice quiet.

"As long as I have to," she said, her tone sharp despite the obvious strain.

Bash gave me a warning look, daring me to challenge her. I didn’t bother. We all knew the truth—she was running on fumes, and it was only a matter of time before her body gave out.

We reached a junction, and I stopped, scanning for movement. The sound of boots pounding against concrete echoed from somewhere behind us, getting closer. My grip on the gun tightened, and I motioned for them to move left.

"This way," I whispered, taking the lead again.

I peeked through the stairwell door, scanning the corridor for movement. The flickering lights cast long, jittery shadows that played tricks on my eyes. I motioned for Bash and Justice to hold, then slipped into the hallway, keeping low and to the side. My heart still raced from the climb, but I forced my breathing to steady. We couldn’t afford any mistakes.

The corridor stretched into a labyrinth of back entrances and industrial storage spaces, all abandoned and decaying. I paused at a corner, listening for the telltale signs of guards—heavy footsteps, walkie-talkie chatter, the jingle of keys. Nothing. I waved the others forward.

Justice moved with the cautious grace of a wounded animal, every step a calculated risk. Bash stayed close, his eyes darting between her and our surroundings.

We reached a set of double doors marked "Service Entrance." I tested the handle—locked. Bash pushed me aside and slammed his shoulder into the door. The wood splintered under his weight, and with a second push, it gave way. The doors creaked open, and a rush of cool night air met us. I could almost taste the freedom.

"Wait," I said, pulling them back. I pointed to the loading dock below, where a group of armed men milled around a truck. One of them lit a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating his face. They were too relaxed, too casual. It was an ambush, and we were the prey.

"Shit," Bash muttered. "We need another way out."

I closed the doors softly, then turned to face them. "We can cut through the kitchen and circle back to the main lobby. It’ll be risky, but—"

We started back down the corridor, moving faster now. The building was a decrepit maze, a relic of better days that reeked of mildew and abandonment. I didn’t have the luxury of familiarity with its layout, but I trusted my instincts and scanned for anything that could give us an advantage—an open door, an unlocked window, anything.

Justice stumbled again, and Bash grabbed her arm to steady her. “Keep up,” he urged, his voice low but firm. She shot him a glare, but it lacked her usual fire.

“Don’t push me,” she hissed, though her steps quickened.

The sound of boots on concrete echoed faintly behind us, a grim reminder that the clock was ticking. My mind raced, piecing together a mental map of every twist and turn we took, hoping to find something that resembled an exit. The building was a rat’s nest, but every structure had to lead somewhere. We just had to find it before they found us.

“Where are we going?” Bash asked, his tone sharp, demanding clarity.

“Anywhere but here,” I shot back, my grip tightening on the gun. “We keep moving until we find a way out.”

Bash muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue. He was smart enough to know this wasn’t the time for it. Justice leaned against him for a moment, catching her breath, and for once, he let her.

We turned a corner and came face-to-face with another hallway, identical to the last—cracked tile, flickering lights, and an oppressive silence that made every step feel louder than it was. My stomach churned, the weight of uncertainty gnawing at me. Each second we spent in here was a second closer to getting caught.

At the next intersection, I held up a fist and we skidded to a stop. Voices echoed down the hallway, growing louder. I spotted an open door to our left and hustled the others inside. The room was filled with old cleaning supplies and broken furniture, all coated in a thick layer of dust. I shut the door and peeked through a small, grime-covered window.

Two guards rounded the corner, talking animatedly. I caught fragments of their conversation: "Vito... next move... the convoy...I think they have the baby…"

My stomach knotted. Vito was playing for keeps, and if he knew about the SJ, then Zane and Hassan were in more trouble than we were.

The guards stopped in front of our hiding spot, and I held my breath. One of them fiddled with a set of keys, then opened a door across the hall. They disappeared inside, and I exhaled slowly.

"We need to warn them," I said, turning to Bash. "If Vito's planning an ambush—"

"We'll warn them," Bash said. "But first we need to get out alive."

I knew he was right, but the thought of Zane walking into a trap made me itch with helplessness. We’d been through too much together for it to end like this.

Justice winced, the strain of standing for too long catching up with her. I moved closer to her, trying to gauge if she was about to collapse.

"Justice," I said softly, but she waved me off with a glare.

"I said I’m fine," she snapped. I didn’t believe her, but I let it go.

“Darlin’, Skylar is right—” Bash started.

"Let’s go," Justice cut him off, her voice weaker than before. She was pale, and I could see the toll her injury was taking. We needed to move fast, but we also needed to move smart.

We slipped back into the hallway and made our way toward the kitchen. The tension was a living thing, crackling in the air around us. Every corner we turned felt like a coin flip, every step a wager. My mind raced with contingency plans, escape routes, last stands.

"She’s slowing us down," Bash said quietly, but not quietly enough. "We need to carry her."

"I can walk," Justice said through gritted teeth. “Also, I’m right here. You can just talk to me instead of about me.”

"Bash," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "She needs to keep her mobility. If we have to run—"

"If we have to run, she’ll collapse," Bash shot back. "This isn’t a democracy, Skylar. We do what we need to—"

"Enough!" Justice said, stopping in her tracks. "I’m not a piece of luggage. I’m not a damsel. I’m your fucking partner. Now shut up, both of you."

She was right. God, I loved her.

We stood in a tense, awkward silence. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the soft creaks of the building settling. Justice started walking again, and after a moment, we followed.

The kitchen was a cavernous space filled with rusted appliances and overturned pots. I spotted a stack of old pans near the door and grabbed one, tossing it across the room. It clattered loudly on the tile, echoing through the space. A second later, I heard hurried footsteps retreating down the hallway.

"That’ll buy us a few seconds," I said, moving quickly toward the far end of the kitchen where an exit sign flickered weakly.

A guard burst through the door, and Bash was on him in an instant, tackling him into a countertop. The man tried to shout, but Bash silenced him with a brutal elbow to the jaw. I grabbed a meat tenderizer from a nearby station and swung it at another guard who’d appeared, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groaned, clutching his ribs, and I kicked his knife away.

"We need their weapons," I said, already stripping the first guard of his pistol and spare magazine. Bash did the same, then handed Justice the knife. She blinked at him, gripping it hesitantly before tucking it into her belt.

"Justice," Bash said, and for the first time tonight, I heard real fear in his voice. "We need you."

Bash glanced at her injury, hesitated, then handed her the knife. Justice looked at him, her fingers closing around the hilt.

“You sure you’re not wasting this on me?” she said, her voice low but sharp.

Bash shook his head. “On you? Not at all. You’ve never wasted anything. You’re the scariest person I know.”

"Rude. I’m right here.”

“Skylar, focus,” Bash said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We’re close," I said. "Just through the lobby."

We moved to the exit, and I cracked the door open. The lobby was a grand, decayed ruin, with a massive chandelier hanging precariously from the ceiling. Once-opulent furniture lay in tatters, and the front desk was a splintered wreck. I scanned the room and saw two guards near the main entrance, their backs to us.

I closed the door and turned to the others. "We have a clear shot to the front. If we’re quick and quiet, we can make it."

The tension was suffocating as we moved together toward the exit, every footstep deliberate, every breath held.

I didn’t know how we were going to get out of here. All I knew was that we had to.

And once we did, Vito was going to pay.