Page 143 of A Breath of Life
I held him motionless. “Not now, Tallus. We’re in danger, remember?”
He whined petulantly. “Fine. Later?”
“Later.”
“Promise? I’m kinda horny.”
“Cross my heart. We can do anything you want.”
“I want to ride you until you come so deep in my ass I can taste it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Was he implying…Not now.“That’s… Later, okay? We can talk about it later.”
He hummed and tried to kiss me again.
I held him back, earning another whine. “We have to get out of here, Tallus. Help Costa.”
“Oh, right.” He shook himself as though trying to shed the affliction of the drugs and moved to the door.
“Wait.” I pocketed the Bishop’s phone before checking the contents of his treasure box to see if he had a better weapon than a measly knife, but we were out of luck. His collection consisted of fancy blades and disturbing torture toys.
When Tallus helped himself to a slender, far too pointy instrument, I almost told him to put it back before he hurt himself, but bit my tongue.
High or not, I was done giving orders and belittling his abilities. Tallus didn’t need a bodyguard. He’d managed to orchestrate an entire rescue mission without me. I had to trust he knew what he was doing.
It was not easy. Not when every instinct wanted to shield him from danger. Not when I sensed these men considered themselves above the law. Not when he was coasting on a high of ecstasy or whatever they’d given him.
I didn’t know the building, where we were, or how to get out, so I relinquished control to Tallus and let him be the guide. He seemed to know where he was going, and if he wielded the penknife he’d selected like a longsword and marched forward like a proud soldier prepared for battle, what could I say?
Turned out, I was the fucking damsel in distress in this fairy tale, and despite the suspenders, pageboy hat, and unknown drugs running through his system, Tallus was my unfortunate knight in shining armor.
We would either be doomed together or battle our way past the dragons to freedom.
35
Diem
The hallway beyond my prison was dank and empty. The cloying scent of a century-old damp basement stung my nostrils. Paneled walls with sporadically placed sconces and doors ran in one direction. The other direction was unlit, quickly vanishing into a black hole after a couple of dozen feet, where the last sconce in line didn’t reach. A memory stirred. The sconces. I’d seen them before.
A threadbare runner, the color of arterial blood, ran the length of the concrete floor. It, too, tugged at a lost thread buried deep in my brain.
Tallus turned confidently to the right, toward the lit section of the hallway. I assumed he knew where he was going, so I followed.
Around a bend, we came to a concrete staircase. Tallus took the stairs two at a time, and I hustled up behind him. As we approached the top, a heavy thud sounded, like someone or something had crashed into it. The door vibrated on its hinges. Tallus startled and nearlytumbled down the stairs, but I caught him against my chest, stabilizing us with a planted shoe on the next step down.
Another thud, like someone was throwing their body against the door, trying to break it down. “The lock won’t work,” someone yelled. “Help me.”
“I did that.” Tallus grinned over his shoulder. “That was me. I fucked up the reader. Well, Costa did, but whatever. He shouldn’t get all the credit. I helped.”
Another crash. Louder, heavier, stronger. More than one person.
I held Tallus in place. “We can’t go this way. Is there another way out?”
“I don’t know. Joshua’s map was incomplete.”
We didn’t have a choice. More voices erupted beyond the door. Someone shouted to another to shoot the fucking lock. In the distance rose the faint yet familiar wail of sirens.
“Down, Tallus. Hurry.” I tugged his arm.
