Page 240 of Fractured Allegiance

They’re loud, sloppy, distracting. And then I notice Jori.

He’s crouched at the far side of the crates, his gun low, his body angled too far toward the exit. Not shooting. Not even trying. His eyes flick to me, then away too fast.

My gut twists.

“Elias,” I snap, jerking my chin toward Jori.

His eyes narrow, tracking the line of my gaze. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t acknowledge, just presses his back harder against the crate, his weapon aimed high. But I see the shift in his jaw. He saw it too.

Above us, footsteps pound across the metal walkways. Then the echo of Silas’s voice—rough, commanding. “Down!”

I barely duck before gunfire rips through the rafters, his shots slamming one of Drazen’s men off the catwalk. The body crashes through a stack of rotten boards, a cloud of dust erupting around the wreckage.

Ren yells, Jax roars, Elias fires, and for a second, the whole room feels like it’s coming apart at the seams.

Through the chaos, my pulse anchors to only one thing: the sound of Silas’s gun.

Every shot he fires is a lifeline, pulling me through the storm.

The warehouse feels alive with gunfire, the walls vibrating with every echo. My palms sting from the splinters embedded when I braced against the crate, but I don’t dare look down. If I look anywhere but forward, I’ll miss the shot meant for me.

Elias drops another man with surgical precision, his face carved flat, unreadable. His movements are efficient, brutal, but he doesn’t waste a single glance. He doesn’t need to. I’m right against him, close enough to smell the copper tang of blood drying on his sleeve.

But Jori…

He hasn’t moved.

Ren yells for cover, Jax bellows curses, but Jori crouches half-turned toward the exit, his rifle slack against his thigh. His eyes keep cutting to the shadows near the broken loading dock. Not hunting targets. Watching something else.

“Elias,” I hiss again.

“I see it,” he mutters, voice clipped, pulling me closer against his side as bullets spark against the concrete pillar just feet away. “Don’t you fucking move.”

The command rakes my nerves raw, but I stay low, fingers gripping the floor so hard my nails ache.

Then a shape breaks from the smoke.

Silas, sliding down the catwalk ladder two rungs at a time, gun high, face set like stone. He lands hard, rolls to cover, and without even looking, fires off three shots that send two of Drazen’s men sprawling. He’s a storm inside the storm, moving too fast to pin down.

Relief surges through me violently, almost knocking the air from my lungs.

And then I see it.

Jori lifts his rifle at Silas’s back.

Not fast, not clumsy—but smooth. Seamless. Expertly.

My throat locks. The scream claws up, raw, and I don’t think before I shove off the crate and launch myself forward.

“Silas!”

The sound rips from me just as I slam into Jori’s side. His shot cracks wide, chewing into the wall instead of Silas’s spine.

We crash together into the dust, his gun skidding across the concrete. His hand snaps to my throat, eyes wild, spit flying as he snarls. “You stupid bitch—”

Before I can even choke out a word, the room erupts with a single, bone-shaking gunshot.

Jori’s grip slackens. His head jerks, then slams against the floor, a red halo blooming wide beneath him.