Page 33

Sean

I stare at the blinking red light that’s been flashing green as long as I’ve been stationed here, now indicating that the system is down.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I focus on breathing to the rhythmic cadence of the siren wailing through the prison.

Breathe in for four counts, breathe out for four counts.

Inhale. Exhale.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told myself that this is the right thing to do—for Lou, anyway. I’ve accepted the risks. There’s a possibility of peril for myself, for Jace—even for Louhi—and I’m positive that a lot of the fuckheads residing behind their own bars will meet their end tonight. While I’m more settled about the inmates’ deaths, it’s putting the guys who work for me at risk that leaves a sour, acrid taste in my mouth.

Most of them don’t deserve the chaos landing in their laps. I couldn’t warn them, couldn’t tell them to make sure they’re armed more heavily than usual. They’re on their own.

Not that they’d take anything I said into consideration anyway—not now.

I’ve betrayed each of them, committed treason against my country. I’ve broken the code and smashed through it with a battleax .

“I thought you were going to meet me at the rear exit.” I whip around to see Jace in the doorway, his chest heaving like he just ran here, before adding, “We’ve got to get to the boat.”

Dammit, I must be running later than I thought. As I stared at that switch, my fingers hovering over the plastic that would unlock the cells, I swear every one of my senses was alive with the ticking of the clock. All I needed to do was flip the lever.

But while flipping the switch meant Louhi’s freedom, it also meant lives lost. It meant putting nearly forty prisoners and even more of my men in Death’s grasp. That’s a heavy weight to bear, even if parts of this place and job don’t bother me nearly as much as they should.

Clearly, as evidenced by Jace’s presence, I’ve lingered a bit too long before eventually shutting off the power.

Nodding, I scan the control room once more before taking a step in his direction. “Did you unlock all the exits?”

He snorts. “Yes, Dad,” he replies derisively, rolling his wheat-colored irises, and though I can’t see the rest of his face through his mask, I know he’s grinning.

It’s not a foolproof plan, by any means, but it was the best we could do with a few hours’ notice. Jace was to unlock the exits while I shut off the power, and we both pray that Lou steals someone’s mask and uniform, allowing her to get her fine ass to the other side of the island.

Our plan hinges on Lou’s ingenuity and craftiness, but we’ve laid the groundwork for her, opening all the doors—metaphorically and literally—for her to escape. I’ve never seen the assassin at work before, but Jace reminded me that if she was a shitty hitman, she would’ve ended up here far sooner. If it’s to be believed that she’s flown under the radar after killing one hundred and seventy-three people, then she should have no problem escaping this place.

Right ?

The pressure of the situation is so thick that it threatens to choke us out, so I grasp at levity with sweaty palms, retorting, “Last time I checked, you didn’t have a dad.”

Jace laughs openly. “Well, neither do you, asshole,” he remarks as we approach the doorway, needed to get the fuck out of here.

She’ll be fine, I remind myself.

Gunfire rattles in the distance, sobering us both as my gaze cuts to Jace, who simply dips his head in a nod as if to reassure me that she’ll be fine.

As soon as we step into the hallway, Martinez is there, his cocked Glock trained on my chest. His brown eyes blaze with hatred and disgust, and I can’t say I blame him. I’d want to shoot me, too, if I’d found out my commanding officer was a treasonous fucker.

“Martinez,” Jace starts in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Like fuck I don’t,” he spits, his eyes twinkling with truth. “I didn’t believe Borman when he said that you had a thing with Koskinen.” He snorts, his finger curling around the trigger, ready to press the lever at any moment. “None of us really give a shit if you’re fucking her. We’re all fucking the inmates.”

“Not all of us,” Jace mutters next to me, his proclamation laced with horror, not jealousy, and I am right there with him—with the exception of Lou.

Ignoring Jace, Martinez barrels on. “If only you’d have thought with your head and not your dick, you wouldn’t have to die, but you fucking deserve to now. How could you do this?”

How could I do this? Easy, I could, and would, do anything for Louhi.

Although, he’s right about one thing. I do deserve to die for what I’m doing. I deserve to die for everything I’ve done—the torture, suffering and murder I’ve inflicted—here. I deserve to die for not being the man my mother raised me to be.

I deserve to die for choosing my heart over my head.

As if my hammering heartbeat was some kind of detonation timer, it counts down —three, two, one— the concrete hallway suddenly splattered in blood, carnage, and death.