Page 98 of Goldrage
No no no!The nearest cover is too far away, the men too close, their weapons too steady. I think of Adrian somewhere in this chaos, of Lorenzo fighting his way through other corridors, of Valentine and Eleanora, all the people counting on me to survive.
Terror claws at my throat as I slowly raise my hands. I drop the empty pistol and it clatters against the floor. The men exchange satisfied glances, already savoring their victory.
“Please,” I say, though I know these men won’t show mercy. They’ve seen too much death tonight, committed too many sins in service to the Consortium families. My life means nothing to them beyond whatever reward they might claim for my capture.
The lead man’s finger tightens on his trigger, and I find myself praying to God for Adrian’s safety, for justice to prevail, for love to somehow triumph over the darkness that has consumed so many lives.
In my desperation, some wild instinct makes me raise my shaking hands, pointing my index finger at the guard like a child playing at war games. The gesture is absurd, pathetic, the last defiant act of a woman who refuses to die begging.
“Poof,” I whisper as I move my thumb like I’m pulling a trigger.
The guard’s expression shifts to cruel amusement at my gesture. Then his eyes widen in shock as blood blossoms across his chest. He looks down in confusion at the spreading crimson stain, then collapses forward to reveal Lorenzo standing in the corridor behind him. A gun with a suppressor is still smoking in his hands.
The second guard spins toward this new threat, but Lorenzo’s second shot takes him in the head quickly. Both bodies hit the marble with wet, final sounds that echo through the suddenly quiet hallway.
Lorenzo rushes toward me, his face streaked with soot and blood but his eyes bright with relief at finding me alive. “Are you hurt? Did they?—”
I throw myself into his arms, my body shaking with the aftermath of terror and adrenaline. For a moment, Iallow myself to feel safe in my cousin’s embrace, to draw strength from his solid presence.
“I thought I was dead,” I gasp against his shoulder. “They had me cornered, and I couldn’t?—”
“But you’re not,” Lorenzo cuts me off gently, pulling back to meet my eyes. “You’re alive, you’re strong, and we’re getting through this together.” He bends to retrieve a pistol from one of the fallen men. He checks the magazine before pressing it into my hands. “Can you keep fighting?”
I nod. “Where are Adrian and the others?”
“If I know my future brother-in-law, he’s fighting his way toward Julian. We need to find them before this ends badly for everyone. We should head toward the office on the second floor.”
We move deeper into the estate’s corridors, stepping over bodies and debris as the sounds of gunfire continue to ring in my ears.
CHAPTER FORTY
DANTE
The smoke tastes like failure in my lungs.
I move through the Harrow Estate’s corridors like death itself, stepping over bodies that twenty minutes ago were breathing, thinking, choosing the wrong fucking side.
Another explosion rocks through the mansion. Plaster rains from the ceiling but I keep moving. Always forward. Always toward him.
Julian.
I had tried to go after Aurelia, but Valentine assured me he’d find her and keep her safe, so I’m trying not to worry about my love as I search for my brother.
The syringe shifts in my jacket pocket with each step. Such a small thing—Lorenzo pressed it into my palm just before the party, his dark eyes holding mine. “It’s enough to knock him out. But are you sure about this?”
I had nodded. “Sometimes we save people against their will.”
A burst of automatic fire erupts somewhere behindme. The Consortium families aren’t playing nice anymore. Good. Let them tear each other apart over the scraps of this worthless empire. I’ve got bigger concerns.
The corridor ahead splits into three directions. Muscle memory guides me left. How many times did Julian and I play in these halls as kids? Before the poison. Before the lies. Before everything went to shit.
I pass what used to be our playroom. The door hangs off its hinges now, and through the gap I see two of DeMarco’s men executing a Harrow guard on his knees. The suppressed shots are almost gentle, like whispered promises. They don’t see me. I don’t stop them.
Another turn, another hallway lined with portraits of dead Harrows. Their painted eyes follow my progress like they’re judging me.You failed him,they seem to say.You let your mother twist him into this.
My hand finds the syringe again. The glass is warm from my body heat.
Christ, what am I doing? Planning to drug my own brother. Drag him out of here unconscious if he won’t come willingly. Add kidnapping to my list of sins because the alternative is watching him burn with the rest.
