Page 93 of Ruthless Keeper
Greyson warned me about this sound. The alarm that only screams when the unthinkable happens—when enemies breach the fortress.
And that’s when I know…
We’re inbigfucking trouble.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Greyson
Scarlett’s posture stiffens and her eyes widen the moment our red-alert alarm goes off.
Fuckingdamnit.
The one time she comes to me, shows as much passion as I do, and truly gives into me… it has to be interrupted.Of course.
“What’s going on?” she asks loudly, voice shrill. All the blood drains from her face. “Oh God, is it…?” she doesn’t dare to put in words what we’re both thinking.
This has something to do with her father.
Heart hammering in my chest, I stand from the bed and jog over to the dresser. I throw a bundle of clothes at her while swiftly pulling on dark jeans and a dark shirt.
“Greyson,” Scarlett calls out shrilly. “What thefuckis going on?”
“I don’t know,” I respond. But I’m about to find out. “Get dressed and meet me in the office,” I tell her. I’m loathe to leave her alone right now, but there’s a serious fucking threat invading a place that should be untouchable, and I need to figure out the severity of what’s going on and how thefuckI’m going to navigate this shit show.
I have a total of six men with me here—my unit, Max, and a few other stragglers. Two of them are guarding the front gates, and if the alarm’s gone off… that means whoever was guarding the gates isn’t anymore.
I sprint to my office, going right for my computers and firing them up. The monitors are a bit askew—my earlier session with Scarlett made its mark on my office—but I don’t get a moment to reminisce before haunting security footage fills the screen.
Four cars are pulling up to the front of HQ. If the walls weren’t soundproofed, I’d probably hear the engines running. I pull the burner phone I use with my unit out of my desk drawer and call Max—as far as I know, he’s in the gym with the others.
“Thefuckis going on?” he shouts. Hearing the alarms over the phoneandaround me is overwhelming to my senses, but I press forward.
“Sixteen guys just pulled up to the front door,” I say loudly, watching on screen as men file out, one by one. The footage is somewhat grainy, and most of the guys are wearing black ski masks… but I’m willing to bet all the money in my bank that Luther fucking Sharpe is here with them. “They’re armed, armored, and here to kill.”
There’s a soft pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Max growls, “Fuck.”
I hit a few buttons to disable the alarms threatening to burst my eardrums. It’s essential that we’re able to hear the movements of the intruders.
“Lockdown initiated the moment the alarm went off. All doors and windows are locked and bulletproofed.” But, as I watch some of the attackers pull a shit ton of C-4 from the cars… “That won’t hold them off for long. They’ve got explosives. Suit up with the unit; vests and as many weapons as each of you can carry. Have Tobias send out a distress signal.” I drop to my knees and rip up the carpet under my desk.
“Towho?” Max demands. “All of our fucking forces are deployed—”
“To anyone. Any favor we have to call in. Anyone who’s in vicinity and can help. We need fucking backup, Max,” I growl.
Max pauses. “I’ll see what I can do. Rendezvous point?”
“Dining hall,” I reply. “We have the advantage there.” I hang up and press my thumb to the biometrics scanner on the floor, beneath the carpet. A locking mechanism goes off with aclick, and the floor slides open, revealing my personal weapons cache.
While Cain hasn’t directly outlawed personal weapons, he has put a limit on them to discourage any serious fighting within the organization… and just to exercise his fucking control. But I’m loathe to part with my favorite guns, so I stashed them away where Cain couldn’t get to them.
I start lifting handguns and semis out from the floor, laying them out on the desk. Scarlett stumbles into the room just as I’m holstering up and checking ammo cartridges. If at all possible, her face pales even more.
I slide two guns with respective holsters across the desk to her. “Suit up, Flower. Shit’s about to go down.”
“Greyson.” Her voice is trembling. “My brother called. Luther… Dad…” her breath catches, and tears glimmer in her eyes.
At any other time, I’d wrap her up in my arms and tell her she’s safe, to take her time voicing her thoughts, but time is the single luxury that we don’thaveright now.
