Page 163 of Fallen Empire

“Mills!” Ben’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. “We have to fucking move, now!”

I barely had time to register it before another sound bled into the air—a steady, mechanical beeping.

Nic turned toward us. “Forty-five seconds!”

Jaxson limped past, Savannah slung over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, his jaw set against the pain. Her body still limp and lifeless.

Before I could react, Ben’s arms were around me, lifting me from the ground like I weighed nothing. He held me tight, careful of my wound, and didn’t slow until we burst through the main exit—just as the world exploded behind us.

The roar was deafening, a bone-deep vibration that rolled through my chest. It was the kind of sound that didn’t just belong to fire—it belonged to a building collapsing in on itself, concrete and steel groaning before it gave way.

I didn’t have to look back to know Ben had done it.

Ben set me down on the sidewalk, just far enough from the falling debris. Medics were already rushing past, shouts filling the air. He leaned in clothes, his breath hot against the side of my face. Close enough to whisper.

“Damn it, Mills,” he rasped. “Don’t ever do that again. I won’t live in a world you’re not in. I can’t. I don’t care how messy it gets—I’m in this fight. With you, for you.”

For a heartbeat, the noise around us faded. I wanted to believe him. To let him in. To believe that maybe, after everything, we could survive each other.

But right now, the screams still echoed in my head, and all I could see were the bodies crushed under rubble. And all I could hear were Costa’s words—the promise he made by letting us live.

Because whatever war we’d just ended was only the opening move of the next.

Epilogue

Ben

Sunday dinner at Jaxson’s was now a thing. Not that anyone had officially called it that, but here we were—our own little family gathered in the living room of his Penthouse, plates balanced on knees, the smell of roasted chicken and garlic bread mingling with the faint sting of antiseptic.

The Giants game blared from the TV, Reaper yelling at the refs like they could hear him through the screen. Jaxson was focused, eyes narrowed, a beer dangling from his hand.

Savannah sat curled against his side, a blanket around her shoulders. She still looked pale, the long weeks of recovery from Bruce’s hell not erased by a couple of days of rest.

When Nurse Ruth saw her in the hospital after this last stunt, she’d nearly blown a gasket. And when she got to Jaxson’s wounds? Let’s just say she wasn’t gentle. He’d gritted his teeth through every stitch without a word, but I caught the wince he tried to hide.

Millie walked past me with a plate in her hands. No eye contact, just a faint brush of air as she passed. The purple shadows still mottled her skin, reminders of the moment my fist had struck her, even if it had been under Koslov’s control. And no matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t my hand, it still felt like mine. The bruises would fade long before the apology was ever accepted. And trust… trust would take a hell of a lot longer.

I could still see her in that chair, hands bound behind her back, blood pooling faster than I could stop it. Helpless. I’d thought I was watching the last seconds of her life, and it ripped something out of me I didn’t know I had left. But when she laughed—right there, with Aleksei’s rage bearing down on her. Itpissed me off beyond reason, but God, it also burned her into me deeper. Defiant. Untouchable. Impossible not to want.

And when Koslov raised his gun to take her out once and for all, it wasn’t me who stopped him. It wasn’t Jaxson. It was Costa. The devil himself, pulling the trigger on a man none of us could bring down in time. None of us expected that. Not from him. Not ever.

I glanced back at Savannah and Jaxson. She smiled faintly when he kissed the top of her head. It was the kind of moment I wanted with Millie. Hell, it was the kind I’d wanted for years. If I had to wait the rest of my life, I would. But that didn’t make the distance any easier.

We still had things to talk about. Hard things. About Costa. About what we’d do when he came… because he would. And when he did, he wouldn’t come empty-handed. He’d come to collect. One favor for each of our lives. Five debts written in blood.

And whatever he asked of me, I’d give. Because as evil as the man was, he was the reason Millie was still breathing. The reason my heart was still beating. And now, I was his.

All of us were. All except Layla.

Her face flashed in my mind. That smile she gave before walking into danger. The way she never got the chance to walk back out. My jaw tightened. We were all carrying guilt for sending her in, but mine was heavier. Because I knew she wouldn’t make it out. And I’d let them do it anyway.

And after all of that, I left her.

People can call it cold. Reckless. Hell, maybe it was. But it was the only choice I had that day.

I’ll never forget the sound. Not the blast—though that still rattles around in my head like shrapnel—but the silence right before it. The knowing.

Layla was still in there. And her ghost would follow us into whatever came next, because debts don’t die with the dead.