Page 74 of Devil's Azalea

A real shame we can’t use live rounds. We could have ended this whole thing in seconds. But Greg was crystal clear during his briefing when he said, ‘I want them all alive.’ His glare burned into me specifically—still hasn’t forgiven me for openly shooting at Maximo and his men last year.

Some mistakes follow you forever.

“Emily!” Katie’s horrified scream pierces through the chaos, just as a bullet whistles past my ear. I whip around to see a man a few feet behind me crumpling to the floor, his gun slipping uselessly from his lifeless hand.

He was about to shoot me.

My heart rockets into my throat as the horror sinks in and I realize how close I came to death. Following Katie’s wide-eyed stare upwards, I see what I thought was a mirrored wall is actually a window. A window that’s been pushed open.

And there he stands.

Rafael. Like some fallen angel of death, gun raised, smoke still curling from the muzzle. His eyes are fierce, locked on the man who nearly killed me.

He saved me.Again.

Our gazes collide for a heartbeat, and something electric passes between us before he looks away and puts another bullet in the corpse, making sure it stays dead. Then a hand appears, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him from my sight.

“What the hell? That guy’s not one of us, is he?” one of the agents mumbles somewhere behind me.

Shit. Shit. Shit.My mind races for a plausible explanation, but I’m saved from having to fabricate some half-assed lie by Matt’s loud, “Now!”

I tear my attention from Rafael’s vanishing form and fumble for my oxygen mask, struggling to secure it with trembling fingers. After his warning, we have exactly sixty seconds before nitrogen grenades transform this restaurant into a high-end sleeping chamber.

The backup agents must have finally arrived. About fucking time.

Our plan was simple: gas them all, arrest them while they’re out cold. But fate, that cruel bitch, had other plans. The car carrying our agents with the nitrogen grenades got a flat tire, and we waited. And waited. When it became obvious the meeting was wrapping up, we had to move or lose our shot at Jason and his mysterious dinner companion.

Jason Moore was always the primary target. But getting theman with him—clearly a hardened criminal—is a stroke of luck we can’t dismiss.

Grenades sail through the air, hitting the floor with soft clinks before releasing their payload in a gentle hiss.

Rafael.

He wasn’t part of the equation, but now that he’s here, I’ll be obligated to arrest him as well. I glance up in alarm, but he’s gone.

My stomach twists into a knot of dread, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m charging towards a door I hope leads to that upper-level room. It must be a secret VIP section that wasn’t included in the restaurant’s blueprint.

The door opens to a janitor’s closet where a terrified employee is cowering against cleaning supplies. He whimpers when I grab him by the collar.

“How do I get to the upper section?” I demand.

“K-kitchen,” he stammers. “False w-wall. Stairs behind it.”

I release him and sprint towards the kitchen. The staff there scatter like startled mice when I burst through the swinging doors, but they quickly point towards the false wall when I wave my badge around.

My thighs burn as I take the stairs two at a time, sweat drenching my back, heart working overtime. When I reach the upper room, it’s empty, but a section of the wall stands slightly ajar.

A hidden passage.

I rush inside and hesitate for just a beat before pulling it closed behind me. I don’t know which agent might have followed me up here.I can’t risk them finding him. There’s no time to analyze that thought—or why I’m suddenly protecting him—because now I’m swallowed by pitch black. I fumble in my pockets for my phone, cursing under my breath when my trembling fingers nearly drop it.

The flashlight beam cuts through the darkness, revealing anarrow passage that seems to stretch into infinity. I bolt down it like the world’s ending behind me, desperate to reach him before he disappears. After what feels like forever, I finally come across a door.

Grabbing the handle, I wrench it open with strength born of pure adrenaline, flinching as the harsh light of the setting sun assaults my eyes. I rip off the oxygen mask, sucking in a full breath of open air as my lungs burn from the sprint.

As my vision adjusts, I realize I’m standing at the top of emergency stairs that zigzag down to the alley behind the restaurant.

I look down just in time to see Rafael and several men piling into cars parked along the alley.