Page 50 of Ravens
“Sir!” Someone shouts over the commotion from behind us. “This way!”
I’m dragged backward, my heels slipping and twisting on the floor as we move through the interior of the monument, dodging panicked guests until we reach the far end.
There’s a close, loud bang that makes me startle, and Russel freezes. The telltale sound of a body slumping to the floor makes me glance over my shoulder, but the sprawled-out legs of whoever was behind us is all I can see.
There is a soft, teasing whistle, and my head snaps forward. York is standing in front of me with his gun leveled on us.
“Who the fuck are you?” Russel bites out as he grabs me by the jaw.
“The king sends his love.” York’s eyes shift to mine. “Careful, dove.”
My breath catches, and I drop like a deadweight as the gun goes off.
Russel’s hand slips from my face, and I stumble forward into York, who pushes me behind him as gunfire erupts anew within the stone walls. My eyes fall to Russel as I’m pulled past him, but the zip and whine of high-velocity rounds begin again and force me to press into the wall and focus. Bullets and screaming, blood spatter, and people on the floor turn my breath shallow as my eyes dart from body to body, and York continues taking out agent after agent.
Fumbling, fingers twitching, I undo the buckles on my shoes and kick them off before slipping away from York and running the rest of the way down the room. At the end of it, I hop off the ledge and drop down to the lower lawn. The road that rings the monument is only a hundred yards away, so I dart from the trees, pulling my dress up as I make a break forit.
The sound of distant sirens pulls my attention to the left, and then something bites into my arm so sharply I scream out as I twist and fall to my back on the damp grass. There are no stars visible in the light-polluted night sky above.
“Fuck,” I groan and reach for my arm. My fingers retract warm and slick with blood as I hold them in front of my face. “What the hell . . .”
A gun cocks, and I tilt my head as someone materializes out of the dark. “William?”
An explosion goes off, and my eyes widen at the plume of smoke and debris that goes up near the reflecting pool.
Everything is falling apart.
“You,” he grunts, and I blink, reaching for my arm again. “Fucking snakes, all of you.”
“You,” I say back, and look back up at the night sky, stunned. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one that was working with Babylon in Venice.”
“Will.” York’s voice cuts through air before William can answer. “Back off.”
“Patriotism,” I murmur Williams earlier sentiment to myself and exhale deeply as another piece of the puzzle slots into place. “You’reallBritish,” I surmise and hiss as I squeeze my arm, afraid to look at it. If he’s the one that was working with Babylon, then he has to be British. “That makes more sense . . .”
“Carter said she would figure it out,” August’s voice chimes in, but from farther away.
“Double agents,” I whisper to myself and stare back up at the sky.
That means they’re all immigrants with citizenship who never lost loyalty and ties to Britain, either plants or sleepers . . . or they’re Americans who were turned, but that seems less likely. Fuck, I wonder if anyone at the Agency knows there are British sleepers in America . . . That is some newsworthy information.
“Why the fuck is the Agency stealing British intel?” William grinds out, moving his trained muzzle closer.
When I glance at York, his gun is trained on William’s back, and I exhale.
“We’re stealing everyone’s intel,” I groan. “We’re even watching our own.”
“Will!” York shouts. “I’ve already dealt with this. Stand down!”
“We have to go now, or we won’t get out,” August urges from the sidelines as the sirens grow louder.
William drops his muzzle. “I’m not fucking done with you.”
Grabbing me, he yanks me up, and I choke on a scream as my injured arm flails.
York snaps, punching William with the gun still in his fist.
“That’s it,” August cuts in and grabs me around the waist.
