Page 238 of Fractured Allegiance

“Hours.”

My stomach knots. If Drazen wanted to bait us, this is the perfect stage.

We regroup at the main doors. Elias and Jori from the right, Jax and Ren from the left. Six bodies now facing one slab of steel. The doors are chained, padlocked, but the links look new—too new against the rust.

“Inside,” Elias mutters. “That’s where the truth is.”

Silas eyes the chains. “Or where the trap is.”

No one laughs. Not even Jax.

Elias stops a few paces back, scanning the roofline with a soldier’s patience. His men fan out, boots crunching over broken glass, weapons loose in their hands. Ren and Jax drift toward the far corners, taking angles as they stand guard. Jori lingers near the door, eyes narrowed, like he’s seen this picture before.

“Place has been cold for months,” Elias mutters. “If Drazen’s sniffing here, he’s sniffing for a reason.”

Silas moves past him, toward the lock. His steps are too confident, too deliberate, like he wants Drazen’s ghosts to knowhe’s here. I follow, because I can’t stand the thought of being left three paces behind. The air stinks of mildew and iron, and the closer I get, the heavier it feels.

He crouches at the door, gloved fingers brushing the new lock. It gleams against the rusted steel like a fresh scar. “Not yours?”

Elias shakes his head once. “I shut this place down when Mara moved in with me. Didn’t want old ghosts dragging through her front yard.”

“Then somebody else is paying rent.” Silas’s voice is flat, his hand already reaching for the cutter strapped to his thigh.

I watch the line of his shoulders as he bends over the lock. The movement is efficient, practiced, like he’s done this a thousand times. I can’t stop the sting of memory: Drazen making me watch his men change locks on doors I wasn’t allowed to open. Locks always meant cages.

The cutter bites. Sparks spit against the concrete, bright in the gloom. Elias stands to the side, gun raised, gaze sharp. Jori edges back toward the SUV, too slow, like he doesn’t want anyone to notice the distance he’s putting between himself and the door. My stomach twists, but there’s no time to call it out.

The lock snaps, clattering to the ground.

Silas pushes the door open, the hinges groaning like an animal in pain.

Dust billows out. It’s dark inside, darker than it should be for a place that’s supposed to be empty.

“Stay tight,” Elias says.

The first step inside is the last clean one.

I hear it before I feel it: the soft click of weight shifting overhead, the snap of a trigger pulled. Then the world erupts.Gunfire rains from the rafters, bullets chewing through wood and steel, sparks exploding off the concrete floor. Jax shouts, dragging Ren down behind a stack of rotted crates. Elias fires upward, muzzle flashes lighting his face in discordant bursts.

Silas’s arm slams into my chest, shoving me behind the doorframe as splinters spray explode around us. The smell of cordite and dust floods my lungs. His body covers mine, pinning me against the wall, his voice hoarse in my ear. “Stay down. Please, Lydia.”

There’s no time to breathe, no time to think. Just the thunder of gunfire inside the hollow belly of Bellamy and the realization that we didn’t find Drazen’s men.

They found us.

The world fractures into noise and chaos.

Bullets rip through the crates across from me, splinters flying like shrapnel. Ren curses from his cover, shouting something I can’t hear over the racket. Jax roars back, his scarred face twisted in fury as he pops up to return fire.

Elias drops beside him, his stance calm and lethal, every shot precise. He doesn’t waste bullets. Doesn’t flinch when one sparks against the steel inches from his head. He’s a man who’s bled through worse.

Silas keeps me pinned against the doorframe until the angle clears. His chest crushes against mine, all muscle and heat, his heartbeat hammering through me like it belongs to both of us. His hand cups the back of my head, forcing me low as bullets snap past the doorway.

“You move when I move,” he growls, words brushing the shell of my ear. “No hesitation. Understand?”

I nod. He doesn’t wait to see if I mean it. His arm locks around my waist, dragging me with him as he rolls us into thenearest shadow of cover. We hit the ground behind a rusting barrel that smells like oil and rot. My palms sting against the concrete, my knees scrape raw, but I don’t care.

He leans out, fires three shots into the rafters. A scream answers back, high and broken, followed by the heavy crash of a body hitting the floor.