Page 66 of Martyr
The gates hang open, one of them at an angle, hanging on by a single hinge, and bent like it was struck by a heavy vehicle.
Olympus itself appears okay—it’s not on fire anyway.
“Are you…”
I turn into the driveway. The car squeezes through the gap between the gates. I drive past the building’s grand main entrance, to the hidden door that will allow us in the back way. Besides, if anyone is patrolling, it would be better for them to not see a random car outside.
Once it’s out of sight, we hop out. I fumble for the hidden handgun under my seat and check it, then tuck it into the waistband of my jeans.
Saint points at the clear tire tracks left in the snow. “Not conspicuous at all.”
I shrug. “Best I could do.”
He sighs. “Let me go first.”
“Oh, since when did you become a gentleman?”
Saint scowls. It almost brings me a sense of comfort. He moves past me, gun held close to his body and aimed at the ground, one hand on the doorknob. Before opening it, he freezes. His attention moves to the cliffs.
“What?” I whisper.
He makes a face. “We jump off that together?”
“A few times.” I roll my eyes. “You tackled me off it once.”
To my utter shock, he smiles.
Smiles.
My breath stalls. I forgot what it’s like when Saint Hart smiles.
Okay, I didn’t forget—I purposefully blocked it out once I realized he had amnesia. And yes, he’s smiled at others sincethen. He’s let his whole face light up for other people. But this one is directed atme, and now my lungs aren’t working.
“You must’ve really pissed me off.” His tone is light.
I’m having an aneurism. Right? That would explain it.
“Okay,” Saint says. “Let’s go.”
Freaking whiplash. He opens the door in a smooth movement and enters fast, gun up and at the ready. He clears the room, and I follow close behind him. He doesn’t have military experience, which makes me wonder if Reese or Kade has been giving him tips. Or maybe he always had this knowledge and I just never asked.
We reach the hallway. It has open arches that allow a view into the main room. It’s all dark, minus thin streams of light that come in through the upper windows. Our eyes adjust to the gloom, and we move forward together. Our footsteps are near-silent.
He holds up his hand, and we pause. He taps his ear.
I hear it, too.
A voice. I strain to listen, but I can only catch snatches of it.
“…can’t do it, but he doesn’t know what I can do. So just tell me…”
Saint glances back at me. I meet his gaze, eyes wide. Itsoundslike Gabriel, that’s for sure. But it also sounds like he’s not alone, which is worrisome.
There’s nowhere to go but forward. Back isn’t an option, not if we want to end this sooner rather than later.
“Go,” I mouth.
Saint makes a face, but he listens and continues. We creep down the hall, passing each arch in a crouch. Gabriel finally comes into view at the third opening. He’s on the platform where the fights take place, sitting on the edge. His feet swing. There’s a glint of a knife in his hand.
