Page 27 of Oliver

Not anymore.

I’d survived once.

And I would do it again.

Because I wasn’t the scared girl they thought they’d broken.

I was Emery Blake.

And I was done running.

Oliver would be here soon.

15

Oliver

The second I read Emery’s message, I was moving.

“Viktor’s here,” I barked to River and Cyclone as I sprinted to the truck. “She’s locked in the panic room. Let’s move.”

We tore down the coastal road, tires screeching as we hit the gate. The compound lights were off—Tag nowhere in sight.

Damn it.

I shoved the truck into park and was out the door before the engine stopped humming. Cyclone took the back. River flanked left. We moved in silence, weapons drawn, years of training pulsing through every step.

I kicked open the front door.

The house was still.

Too still.

I motioned forward—cleared the hallway, the kitchen, the living room.

Then I heard it.

A creak on the stairs.

Viktor.

He turned the corner, gun raised.

Too late.

Crack.

My shot hit his shoulder, spinning him into the wall. He grunted, dropped his weapon, and tried to run.

River was on him in two seconds, pinning him with a knee to the neck and a pistol to the base of his skull.

“You’re done,” I growled.

Cyclone cuffed him. “He had a communications unit. Someone was listening in.”

“We’ll trace it later,” River said. “Get to her.”

I was already gone.

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