Page 34 of Rusty's Command

Rusty grabbed Sienna’s hand and yanked her behind him. “Soda, here,” he commanded, and they darted into the nearest open doorway.

Inside yet another room lined with equipment that turned his stomach, Rusty led Sienna to the back. Squatting behind a massage table, he shielded her with his body and trained his weapon on the entrance. Soda melted into the shadows, black fur blending seamlessly with the carpet. Muscles coiled, she was a predator waiting to strike.

The shelf digging into his shoulder was stocked with rows of pharmaceutical boxes. The sleek, unbranded packaging screamed black market—designer drugs meant for the worst kind of buyers.

Radio static cracked through the darkness, followed by cold, professional voices.

“. . . intruder alert in tunnel four . . . three men down . . . sweep the area and kill those bastards.”

Blood roared in Rusty’s ears as heavy boots thundered past the doorway. Shadows moved across the walls as a squad of men raced down the passage, their footsteps echoing off the concrete. They didn’t stop to look inside—thankfully.

Sienna pressed against him, frozen, but her quick, shallow breaths betrayed her fear. Through the doorway, Rusty caught sight of their gear: semi-automatic weapons, tactical vests. His jaw tightened. Military-grade equipment. These weren’t amateurs—and they probably had training to match that equipment.

The thunder of boots faded, but Rusty didn’t move. He held position, counting his heartbeats until the silence felt real again.

Only then did he turn to Sienna in the tight, suffocating space. The urge to ask if she was okay burned on his lips, but he bit it back. She wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay.

“They found the men I dropped in the tunnel,” he murmured, voice rough.

Sienna released a shaky breath. When their eyes met in the darkness, an unspoken charge crackled between them, raw and electric.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” he said, reaching for her hand. When her fingers curled into his, the simple familiarity of her touch sent a flutter through his chest—a fragile reminder of what he was fighting to protect.

He drew his weapon, signaled to Soda, and she slipped ahead without hesitation, nose working the air. They moved swiftly down the tunnel, heading in the opposite direction from the armed men, sticking close to the walls where the shadows offered cover.

Drifting through the darkness came the sounds of female voices. But this wasn’t happy chatter, the whispered fragments were laced with fear. Although their languages were unfamiliar, terror didn’t need translation.

His gut twisted as the pieces fell into place: the military-grade security, the hidden underground complex, the terrified voices . . . and the setups in those rooms. Of all the nightmares they could have stumbled into, it had to be one of the sick operations his dad had warned him about—human trafficking and prostitution.

And now, it wasn’t just Sienna he had to protect. He had to save the victims, too.

His grip tightened on his weapon, and a white-hot fury coiled in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to find a way to hide Sienna and keep her safe before pushing forward alone and dealing with the evil waiting ahead.

But he knew her too well. If he tried, she’d either follow him anyway or do something reckless that put her life on the line.

They pressed forward, timing their movements between the pools of light spilling from doorways. The labyrinth of underground passages and privacy rooms seemed endless, butSoda’s unwavering focus told him they were getting close to something.

Something bad.

The tunnel opened onto a circular balcony hemmed in by elaborate iron railings and supported by towering marble columns. Below was a grand rotunda that was dominated by an empty circular stage. Twin marble staircases that would have cost a fucking fortune, curved down to the lower level, where massive copper planters housed palm trees. A crystal chandelier hung suspended between the levels, casting fractured light across the deserted space. Rusty pressed against the railing, scanning the vacant area below. It was impossible to fathom that all this was below ground. Whoever built this place. . . they had some serious coin.

The silence felt wrong. Like the calm before a storm.

“Where is everyone?” Sienna’s whisper was warm against his ear.

“I have no fucking?—”

“Move!” The command boomed through the chamber.

Rusty yanked Sienna back from the railing, wrapping his body around hers as they retreated behind a marble column. His heart hammered against her spine.

“I said, move!” The voice was deep, brutish, the kind that enjoyed causing pain.

A woman’s terrified cry split the air. Sienna went rigid in his arms.

They crept forward together, crossing the carpeted balcony to the railing so they could peer over the edge. Rusty’s breath froze in his lungs. On the lower level, women stumbled out of a doorway, inching forward in a ragged precession. Their heads hung low, and their arms were crossed protectively over their bodies like broken shields. Behind them, a mountain of a manjabbed his assault rifle at anyone who faltered, driving them forward like livestock.

Rusty clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

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