Page 53 of Pride
“Can you see them on the camera? How many?”
“I’m in the stairwell. You stay put, and I’ll come to you.”
“But how many?”
He slid the flexible screen back into the forearm of his suit. “Twenty hostiles and counting. More coming up the stairs. Stay safe until you get the okay.”
She tried to protest, but he cut the call. He needed to concentrate, and he needed to be the one in control. Holding his bionic hand before his face, he willed the fingers to curl into a fist and then open. It took time, and the reaction was off, but it worked. He might have to keep the left for striking, and the right for dexterity. Or… he could summon The Beast.
If he did, claws would shoot out of both hands, one metal, one natural.
But that would have to be a last resort. The Beast would be messy, irrational, and instinctual. It would decimate anyone it perceived as a threat, and to that primal part of him, anyone between him and Alice was a threat, even if they were bystanders. No. It was better he handled this with as much finesse as Pride usually gave.
With class.
The sound of gun fire exploded beyond the door and an almighty roar of fury burst from him.Fuck class.
He pulled his face mask up, only to realize it wasn’t there. Frantically, he patted about his suit, looking for it in case it had fallen. Damn it. In his haste to leave the penthouse, he’d failed to collect the purple face mask. If he went out now, he’d be recognized.
If just one person, one staff member saw his face…
More gunfire. A scream. Not Alice—
“AIMI, call 911,” he said.
“On it.”
“And call…” If he called in backup, he might compromise everyone’s identity. And waiting for them wasn’t a viable option. Alice needed assistance now.
With a plan formulating in his head, he checked his hood was up and then pushed through the door.
“Call the team and tell them to stand down,” he finished. “I’ve got this.”
20
With her backagainst the door, Alice jolted as the enemy tried to batter their way through. Littered around the office lay multiple men with their white masks fallen to the side. For one attacker, she’d shoved the mask into his neck, breaking his larynx. He’d passed out from the pain.
They were all sick, scarred, or deformed men. All members of the Faithful, their vulnerabilities preyed on by the Syndicate. None of them were truly a danger to her. None of them knew the first thing about hand-to-hand combat, so this first wave had been a numbers game. Come at her and try to overwhelm her.
She frowned at them, all on the floor, feeling more guilt than she’d ever felt after taking down an opponent. They had never stood a chance, and she’d shown no mercy. They were the fodder. Next came the cavalry.
Gunfire blasted the door, and she dove to the right, taking cover behind a cabinet by the wall. Screams and shouts beyond filtered through the cracks in the door. She supposed most of them looked normal, apart from minor deformities or injuries. From what she could tell, none of them were powered replicates, but the day was still young.
Goddamned Faithful. They’d somehow breached security at ground level and found their way up here to lay siege to the entire floor. Maybe one of the executives was paid off. Alice wouldn’t put it past them, considering the lack of loyalty shown toward Parker in his absence.
She crawled to where the phone was on the floor and crouched behind the desk. Parker had said he was on the way, but she needed a Plan B. She dialed security. No answer. She dialed city emergency, got through immediately, but found SWAT was already in the building and apparently negotiating a surrender. Emergency tried to keep Alice on the call, but she hung up. Negotiation. Right. As if that would save her—the attackers would be in this room before that happened.
She knew why this had happened. The Faithful couldn’t find her sisters who had left the city, so they’d come after her to finish the job. The Syndicate wanted Alice dead.
Maybe under duress Prudence had revealed the Sisterhood’s intentions to take them down. Maybe these attacks were just retaliation for Alice’s involvement at the warehouse. All she knew for sure was that the Syndicate had become an active threat against the Sisterhood.
And she was outnumbered, even with Parker somewhere in the building.
She refused to sit and wait to be rescued. So that left her with one choice. Prepare for infiltration. She tipped Parker’s desk to act as a shield. The computer and stationery crashed to the ground. She wound cords around her fists to protect her knuckles. None of the Faithful had guns, only knives. They truly had been the cannon fodder—a thin attempt to get in without making a scene or causing alarm via gunshots. But now the authorities were here, they frantically tried to get into the room and end her with a bullet.
Such a Faithful thing to do. They wanted death. To them, the sacrifice of their life would be rewarded with rebirth as a powered replicate.
Crouched low, Alice limped around and scooped up discarded daggers, then returned behind the desk and waited. She took a moment to assess her injuries. Possible cracked rib. Bruised temple, sticky blood oozing but not gushing. Shallow slashes on her forearm. Again, oozing but not gushing. She’d live.
