Page 49 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

The noise outside the control node turns into a pounding rhythm, heavy boots and shouted orders rattling the walls.

Elias shifts his stance, weight favoring his uninjured side, eyes sharp on Lydia as she shuts down the last corridor.

He’s pale but steady, his jaw locked in that way that warns me not to question him right now.

Lydia slings her pack over one shoulder and jerks her chin toward the map still glowing on the console. “Freight elevator’s our best shot. South end, drops straight into the vehicle bay.”

I glance at Elias, reading the unspoken warning in his expression. This is going to get bad before it gets better.

Kinley checks his rifle and moves for the door first. The moment it opens, the heat from the corridor hits us.

The air smells of metal and something sharper, like the walls themselves have been scorched.

We fall in behind him, Elias in front of me, my fingers hooked into the back of his belt to keep from losing him in the dim.

The hall is narrow, every step carrying us deeper into the belly of the wing.

When the first figure bursts from a side passage, the fight is sudden and close.

I catch the glint of a blade before I even see his face.

Jori freezes for half a second—too long.

I slam my shoulder into the attacker, knocking him back against the wall.

His arm swings wide, but my grip finds his wrist, twisting until the knife clatters to the floor.

My knee drives into his ribs, once, twice, until he crumples. The sound he makes is wet and ugly.

Elias is already moving again, not slowing for the kill. “Stay with me, Mara.”

I kick the knife down the hall behind us and catch up, my pulse hammering. The heat builds with each turn, the low drone of machinery vibrating up through the floor. Ahead, the freight elevator waits, a hulking slab of steel set into the far wall.

Lydia is on it in seconds, her tools sparking against the panel. “Two minutes.”

We don’t have two minutes. The pounding behind us is closer now, echoing through the corridor. Kinley falls back to cover the approach, rifle raised. Jori presses himself against the wall, still breathing too fast.

The panel hisses and the elevator doors slide open.

We push inside, weapons still trained on the hall until the doors grind shut.

The air inside is close, smelling faintly of oil and dust. I stand near Elias, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

His eyes flick down to mine, and for just a second, the noise outside feels far away.

Then Volker’s voice cuts in, deep and unhurried, spilling from a speaker hidden somewhere above us. “Going somewhere, Eidolon?”

Elias doesn’t answer. His knuckles are white around his weapon.

Volker laughs, low and knowing. “You drove here, didn’t you? Thought you’d walk right in and out again. I should thank you for bringing the perfect getaway vehicle. My men will enjoy it.”

I feel Elias stiffen beside me. Our SUV is parked less than fifty meters from the bay. If Volker’s already got men on it, we’re walking into a noose.

The elevator jerks, descending deeper into the facility. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I don’t know if it’s dread or anticipation, but either way, it’s thick enough to choke on.

When the freight elevator doors grind open, the vehicle bay is there, waiting, revealing a dim, concrete-walled vehicle bay that smells of exhaust and rust.

The place is stocked with whatever Volker’s people used to shuttle cargo topside. Rows of older sedans and utility vans line one wall, dust coating their windshields, the air thick with stale fuel.

Elias’ gaze sweeps the line of vehicles, sharp and calculating. Kinley moves ahead toward a battered gray sedan, checking under the chassis before pulling the driver’s side door open. “Keys are in,” he calls. “The tank's not empty.”

Maybe it's not much, but hopefully, it’s enough to get us to our own SUV outside the perimeter, hidden beneath brush and rock on the old service road. The real escape is still there, waiting. This is just the bridge to reach it.

Jori hovers near the passenger side, his eyes fixed on the upper levels. Lydia stays close to the rear of the sedan, rifle angled toward the shadows. I keep my hand near the knife tucked into my jacket, my heartbeat drumming against my ribs.

Kinley pauses, scanning the catwalks above. That’s when I hear it—a faint shift of weight, the scrape of a boot against steel. My gaze lifts. A man steps into view on the far railing, broad-shouldered, smirking like he’s been waiting.

“Long way to come just to steal the wrong car,” he says.

Elias raises his chin toward him. “And who the hell are you?”

The man rests his forearms on the railing. “The one Volker sent to make sure you never make it back to yours.”

The echo of his voice clings to the steel and concrete, as if the walls want to remember him. Elias doesn’t flinch. His hand comes up, not toward his gun but in a small motion that sends Kinley circling toward the far stairwell. Lydia adjusts her stance, sighting upward.

“Funny,” Elias says, voice even. “Volker usually sends someone who can make me bleed.”

The man grins wider. “That’s the plan.”

A second shape shifts in the shadows above him, then another. Three in total. They fan out along the catwalk, rifles slung forward. The sedan is now boxed in by elevation and angle.

Elias takes one slow step back toward me. “Get in the car,” he says without looking.

“I’m not leaving you out here.”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp enough to pin me in place. “You won’t be. Drive when I say.”

Before I can answer, Kinley’s first shot splits the air.

One of the men jerks back, dropping his rifle over the edge.

The other two open fire, bullets snapping off metal and cement, sending sparks down like a cruel imitation of snow.

Elias moves—fast, fluid—using the sedan’s hood as cover while returning fire with controlled precision.

I duck low, yanking the driver’s side door open. The engine coughs to life under my hands. Lydia backs toward us, still shooting in tight, efficient bursts. Jori dives into the back seat, keeping his head down.

Elias drops into the passenger seat without warning. “Go.”

The tires screech against the stained concrete, and we shoot forward toward the far exit ramp. Shouts rise behind us, boots pounding along the upper level. A round cracks the rear window, glass spraying across the back seat. Jori curses and ducks lower.

“Faster, Mara,” Elias says, not shouting, just certain.

I push the pedal harder. The bay narrows to the ramp, the incline curling us up toward the night. Somewhere past the last bend, our SUV waits in the dark. But the way the air feels now—thick, charged—I know we’re not out yet.

The sedan’s engine strains as we climb the ramp, each turn of the wheels echoing through the concrete throat behind us.

My grip is welded to the wheel, eyes flicking between the curve ahead and the fractured glass of the rear window.

Shadows move above, rifles barking short bursts that chip the car’s paint and scream off the frame.

A shot takes the side mirror, the metal snapping away into the dark.

Elias braces against the door to return fire, his jaw set against the pull in his injured shoulder. “Keep it straight,” he orders, voice a steel line in the chaos. “No sudden turns.”

We crest the ramp, the night swallowing us in a rush of cold air. For one breath, I think we’re free—until an engine roars from below. Headlights flare, carving through the black, closing fast.

“On us,” Lydia calls from the back, sliding a fresh mag home.

“Not for long,” Elias says, nodding toward a narrow break in the fence ahead. “Cut right.”

I wrench the wheel. The sedan lurches over a shallow ditch, jolting hard onto a dirt track hemmed in by clawing branches. Behind us, the pursuing beams stutter through the trees, relentless.

The path bursts into a clearing. There—our SUV, crouched low in the overgrowth exactly where we left it. Relief is a hard punch in my ribs.

I slam the brakes. Kinley’s out before we’ve fully stopped, sprinting to the driver’s seat of the SUV and he starts the engine. Just as the sedan stops, Jori bails from the back, keeping low, his hands over his head as he sprints to the SUV. Elias gets out and yanks my door open. “Move.”

I’m moving before the word finishes, but before I can fully step out, the chase vehicle bursts from the path, suspension groaning as it clears the ditch. Its headlights rake the clearing, pinning Elias in their glare.

He raises his weapon.

This time, the shot isn’t a warning. It’s the full stop.

The muzzle flash sears against the dark, and the pursuing car jerks hard, one of its headlights winking out. It swerves, tires clawing at the dirt before slamming into the tree line with a grinding shriek. Steam billows from the crumpled hood, white and ghostlike against the night.

Elias doesn’t wait to see if they’ll climb out.

He’s already dragging me toward the SUV, his body between me and the wreck.

As I sprint, I veer back to the sedan we brought here, drawing my knife and sinking the blade into one tire, then another.

Air hisses out in sharp bursts, ensuring it won’t be going anywhere if our pursuers survive the wreck.

Lydia’s voice cuts through the rush of blood in my ears, sharp and urgent, “Move, move, move!” as she occupies the passenger seat.

I dive into the back seat just as Kinley puts the car into gear, Elias coming in behind me.

The SUV surges forward, swallowing the ground between us and the far tree line.

Branches whip at the windows. Behind us, movement stirs in the wreck—figures spilling out, shouts cutting through the thrum of the engine.

A shot cracks, hitting somewhere low on the tailgate, but it’s distant now, fading with every yard.