Page 35 of Breeding Justice

We hit the next landing, my breath burning in my chest, legs screaming for relief. Justice stumbled, catching herself on the railing, and I turned back to her. She looked like hell—sweat-slicked and pale, her clothes a dark blotch against her side—but she didn’t stop. That stubborn resolve was probably the only thing keeping her upright.

"Keep going," she rasped, waving me forward. Bash hovered close, his hand brushing her elbow, ready to catch her if she fell. He didn’t say a word, but the tightness in his jaw said everything. He was scared for her, and it pissed him off.

The stairwell door loomed ahead, and I motioned for them to stop. Pressing my ear to the cold metal, I strained to hear anything on the other side. Muffled voices filtered through, distant but getting closer.

"Shit," I whispered. "They're cutting us off."

Bash was already looking around, his mind working as fast as mine. "Back up or push forward?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

I weighed the options, my pulse hammering in my ears. Going back meant running straight into the men chasing us—and, from what I could hear, there were definitely men chasing us.

But pushing forward meant a fight—and we were in no shape for another one. Justice could barely stand, and we had no idea how many were waiting on the other side of the door.

"Forward," I said finally. "We don’t have a choice."

Justice nodded, and Bash gave her a long look before stepping in front of her. Instead of handing him a spare gun, I passed him the knife I’d taken off the guard earlier. He nodded at me.

"Stay behind me, Justice," he ordered. She didn’t argue.

I drew my gun and eased the door open a crack, peering into the hallway. The flickering light cast jagged shadows, but it was empty. For now. I stepped through, signaling for the others to follow.

The hallway stretched in both directions, a claustrophobic maze of peeling paint and cracked tile. I took the lead, keeping my footsteps light, my gun raised. Every corner we turned felt like walking blind into an ambush. My mind raced, cataloging every sound, every flicker of movement.

Justice lagged behind, her breathing labored, and I shot her a glance. "How much longer can you go?" I asked, keeping my voice quiet.

"As long as I have to," she said, her tone sharp despite the obvious strain.

Bash gave me a warning look, daring me to challenge her. I didn’t bother. We all knew the truth—she was running on fumes, and it was only a matter of time before her body gave out.

We reached a junction, and I stopped, scanning for movement. The sound of boots pounding against concrete echoed from somewhere behind us, getting closer. My grip on the gun tightened, and I motioned for them to move left.

"This way," I whispered, taking the lead again.

I peeked through the stairwell door, scanning the corridor for movement. The flickering lights cast long, jittery shadows that played tricks on my eyes. I motioned for Bash and Justice to hold, then slipped into the hallway, keeping low and to the side.My heart still raced from the climb, but I forced my breathing to steady. We couldn’t afford any mistakes.

The corridor stretched into a labyrinth of back entrances and industrial storage spaces, all abandoned and decaying. I paused at a corner, listening for the telltale signs of guards—heavy footsteps, walkie-talkie chatter, the jingle of keys. Nothing. I waved the others forward.

Justice moved with the cautious grace of a wounded animal, every step a calculated risk. Bash stayed close, his eyes darting between her and our surroundings.

We reached a set of double doors marked "Service Entrance." I tested the handle—locked. Bash pushed me aside and slammed his shoulder into the door. The wood splintered under his weight, and with a second push, it gave way. The doors creaked open, and a rush of cool night air met us. I could almost taste the freedom.

"Wait," I said, pulling them back. I pointed to the loading dock below, where a group of armed men milled around a truck. One of them lit a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating his face. They were too relaxed, too casual. It was an ambush, and we were the prey.

"Shit," Bash muttered. "We need another way out."

I closed the doors softly, then turned to face them. "We can cut through the kitchen and circle back to the main lobby. It’ll be risky, but—"

We started back down the corridor, moving faster now. The building was a decrepit maze, a relic of better days that reeked of mildew and abandonment. I didn’t have the luxury of familiarity with its layout, but I trusted my instincts and scanned for anything that could give us an advantage—an open door, an unlocked window, anything.

Justice stumbled again, and Bash grabbed her arm to steady her. “Keep up,” he urged, his voice low but firm. She shot him a glare, but it lacked her usual fire.

“Don’t push me,” she hissed, though her steps quickened.

The sound of boots on concrete echoed faintly behind us, a grim reminder that the clock was ticking. My mind raced, piecing together a mental map of every twist and turn we took, hoping to find something that resembled an exit. The building was a rat’s nest, but every structure had to lead somewhere. We just had to find it before they found us.

“Where are we going?” Bash asked, his tone sharp, demanding clarity.

“Anywhere but here,” I shot back, my grip tightening on the gun. “We keep moving until we find a way out.”

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