Page 115 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
We advance through the corridor at combat pace, the women keeping tight formation with their partners. Ally stays at my side, her movements fluid and focused. Whatever they did to her in captivity, they didn’t break her.
More guards appear at a junction—three this time. Carter and Rigel engage while Walt provides covering fire. The firefight is brief, violent, and entirely in our favor.
“Stairs ahead,” Jeb calls, eyes flicking over the schematic glowing on his tactical pad.
He moves with surprising ease, favoring the leg that nearly ended his Guardian career but never quite slowed him down. He’s still got a slight hitch in his gait—a ghost of the old injury—but tonight, no one would dare call him the gimp. Not with the way he covers ground like every step is a promise of vengeance.
We hit the stairwell at full speed, climbing toward the upper levels. My leg burns with each step, but adrenaline keeps me moving. Ally notices my grimace, slides closer to support my weight without making it obvious.
A security team tries to ambush us on the landing—six men in tactical gear. They never stood a chance. We react as one, taking the fuckers out. Years of training make us death walking.
Six shots, six bodies.
“Emergency exit, next level,” Ethan announces as we continue climbing.
An explosion rocks the building, vibrating through the concrete. The lights flicker.
“Cerberus at work,” Hank says, a grim smile touching his lips.
We emerge onto a maintenance level. Signs of hasty evacuation everywhere—abandoned equipment, doors left open, papers scattered across floors. Malfor’s staff is fleeing the sinking ship.
“Thirty meters ahead,” Jeb confirms, checking his pad. “Service exit to the cliff face. Reinforced steel door.”
We encounter no more resistance as we approach the exit. The door stands partially open, emergency protocols overriding the locks.
“That’s our way out,” Ethan points beyond the door. “Straight through to the cliff’s edge.”
“I must say, your persistence is admirable.” Malfor’s voice suddenly fills the air around us, crackling through hidden speakers along the cliff path. “Though ultimately futile.”
Everyone freezes, weapons swinging toward corners and shadows. The metal grating beneath our feet sways slightly with the movement, two hundred feet of empty air between us and the jagged rocks below.
“Did you think I wouldn’t have contingencies for my contingencies?” His cultured tone carries a hint of amusement. “I’ve known about this exit since I acquired the property. It’s quite useful for—disposal purposes.”
“Keep moving,” Ethan orders quietly. “Ignore him.”
“Your women have been such valued guests.” Malfor’s voice drips with mock courtesy. “Well, most of them. Ms. Collins proved particularly—unappreciative of my hospitality. Quite the fighter.”
Ally’s jaw tightens at his words. I squeeze her hand once, in quick reassurance.
“I suppose I should thank you for testing my security so thoroughly. The flaws you’ve exposed will be rectified. Though I’m afraid none of you will live to see the improvements.”
A groan of rusted metal hits my ears half a second before the shriek. The rusted grating suddenly gives way beneath Carter’s foot. He shoves Jenna forward with a startled shout. A desperate act of instinct and protection. She stumbles clear, landing hard on her knees just past the edge.
Carter’s body follows the grating down.
For one frozen heartbeat, he’s just—gone.
Then Rigel lunges. His arm snaps out, fingers locking around Carter’s vest as the man’s full weight jerks him toward the abyss. Walt is already there, diving low to grab Rigel’s harness, anchoring him.
Hank and I whirl around just in time to see Rigel’s muscles straining, boots grinding against crumbling steel as he hauls Carter back inch by inch.
“Don’t let—don’t you fucking let go …”
Jenna scrambles on hands and knees, reaching. Walt throws himself forward, grabbing Carter’s free wrist. Together, the two of them drag him back onto the platform, breath ragged and faces carved in panic.
Carter sprawls on the floor, heaving, blood running from a torn palm.
“That was too close,” Walt mutters, brushing rust flakes off his arms.
