Page 173 of Hell Breaks Loose

The monitor goes blank.

The vault is completely silent.

“No.” I hear the desperate denial in her voice.

When I turn to look at her, I see Rachelle crumpling, collapsing in on herself.

And all I can do is walk away, out into the antechamber where Evan is still standing there, looking lost. Less intimidating. Just scared.

I’m almost back to the entrance when I hear the slap of footsteps behind me, rushing toward me.

“This is your fault!” Rachelle’s shriek is the only other warning I get as I lunge to escape her clawing fingers, the knife in her white-knuckled fist.

But her fingers snare my shirt, yanking me forward. My feet tangle, driving me painfully to my knees.

And I look up into the face of a monster, pressing the tip of a knife to my throat.

35

GAVIN

“Lena!” I’m shouting as I storm down the hallway.

We all heard the screams. We all know what they mean.

Violence.

And the stabbing alarm in my gut tells me my love is in danger. My gun is clenched in my fist, raised to take Rachelle in the head at my first chance as soon as I reach the doorway.

“Gav, hold!” Tell clips from right behind me, catching up with Ora and a slowly recovering Alaya hot on our heels.

But I can’t.

My tactical skills assess the scene as soon as I spot Evan. Rachelle. Hellena clutched in her hand, a knife pressed to her jugular.

“Drop it!” I roar, and Rachelle at least has the wherewithal to look up, to show some sense of self-preservation.

Tugging Hellena up by her hair, she positions her as a shield.

Dammit.

The five of us fan out in the entry, Alaya leaning on Ora for support. Tell is at my side, looking just as worried as I am, Sing standing sidelong, keeping an eye on the way behind us. He’s always right on point. Something I can appreciate.

Not that there’s much danger from what we left behind.

The Block rolled in with us hard and fast.

We subdued most of the Ghosts without too much bloodshed, carted the bulk of them off to holding cells for the time being. Others weren’t so lucky, but the sick bastards took their own lives in the face of defeat.

Fucked up.

But that’s how fanatics act.

Like Rachelle is acting now.

“Game over, Tyson. Let her go,” I growl, low and frosty.

“It is game over. There’s nothing! After all these years, nothing! There was supposed to be cash, bonds, gold. There were supposed to be maps to the uranium mines, bargaining chips to trade for power. To fund the war machine.”

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