Page 52 of Forbidden Empire

He grabbed my wrist, shoving the fabric tighter against his wound and shaking his head.

“Go get Esme!” His words were sharp, cutting through the haze. “Go! I’m fine!”

My eyes flicked to the room behind me, the panic, the noise, the violence.

Esme was fighting for her life, locked in brutal combat with a linebacker-sized bastard who hadn’t a clue death was breathing down his neck.

“Fuck,” I spat, pushing off the floor and leaving Ares behind, everything in me surging toward Esme and the man stupid enough to lay hands on her.

I came up behind the man, my hands finding his head with brutal efficiency.

The crack of his neck snapping reverberated through my fingers, a sickeningly familiar jolt.

He dropped to the floor, a dead weight, and there she was.

Esme. Blood smeared across her face, eyes wild as a cornered animal.

“I could have taken him,” she muttered, defiant even in defeat.

“No time to argue,” I ground out, grabbing her hand. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Pulling her after me, I leapt over overturned tables and broken furniture.

The bedlam from the floor below faded with every frantic step we took.

My mind spun, rage coursing through my veins, hotter than anything I’d ever felt.

How the fuck had this happened? Was this Rhea’s handiwork? Whoever it was, they wanted to make a statement.

A bloody one.

But whatever message they were sending, I couldn’t give a damn, not right now.

All that mattered was Esme.

Getting her out. Keeping her alive.

We burst out of the office, and I yanked her down a narrow hallway, fury boiling inside me, uncontrollable, volcanic.

I found the hidden door and shoved her through, slamming it behind us. The heavy bulletproof lock clicked into place, sealing us off from the hell outside.

"What the fuck?" she muttered, eyes darting as she scanned the room.

"I like to be prepared," I said, and before she could react, my hands gripped her shoulders.

One hard shove and she hit the wall with a gasp, wide-eyed, her fear bleeding through.

Let her be scared.

If my gut was right, all of this was her fault anyway.

"You tipped them off," I accused, slicing through the space between us.

No mercy, no doubt.

Her green eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, and her lips twisted into a savage little grin, blood painting her mouth like warpaint, and something inside me snapped.

She was fucked up from the fight, her mouth split, swollen, and seeping red, but worry was the last thing I felt.