Page 152 of Trapped Truth

“Coming!”

Never thought I’d see the big man struggling. He’s being weighed down by three brutes, all grappling in a tangle of tatted fists and writhing limbs. I holster my gun then jump into the melee, blade raised.

My impact lands on the closest lump of meat, throwing us both off-balance. We twist and fall, colliding hard with the carpeted floor. A fist catches my jaw in the confusion, rocketing my head painfully to the side.

Hissing, I tighten my grip on the blade and attempt to direct it into the asshole’s left side. My aim is slightly off, nothing but air greeting my blade as another strike to the skull creates starbursts over my vision.

“Warner!” Someone shouts.

Another attempt. Still no dice. Crap, this dude won’t stop wriggling like a goddamn maggot. I can’t get a clear shot to incapacitate him. Just as panic settles in, there’s a blast of an unsilenced gun firing.

CRACK.

Boiling blood oozes over my face and neck. I splutter, almost swallowing some of it. The bucking weight on top of me slumps, quickly turning into a limp bag of bones. With a snarl, I shove the bastard aside, freeing my lungs to inflate.

“Wh-what⁠—”

“Hey down there.”

Ember hovers over me like an avenging angel, gun in hand and chest heaving. There’re bruises forming on her face, fresh blood slicked over her hair and forehead. But fuck, she’s never looked so chaotically beautiful.

“Need a hand?” Her smile is lopsided.

“Th-thanks for the assistance, love.”

“Anytime, team leader. Give me your hand.”

I’m yanked upright and into her warm embrace. Despite the violence scattered around, we share a faster than light kiss. Blood and all. Goddamn, I love this fierce woman and all her craziness.

“That’s our cover blown!” Hudson wipes the sides of his red-stained blade on a trouser leg. “Advance to the third floor, now!”

“Gunnar?” Axel speaks urgently into his comms.

“Under fire,” comes a crackled response.

“Get the hostages out!” Hudson yells into his earpiece.

After a curse, Archer’s reply comes. “Trying to.”

Scanning us all, Hudson points to the nearby stairs. “Find him. I’ll hold off any more backup.”

“Hud,” I attempt to protest.

“Go! Now! I’m right behind you.”

All panting and sweat-slick, we make a silent decision to obey. If Madden’s private wing lies on the next level, we’re inching closer. We can’t leave here without confronting him. Not to mention securing Angela’s release.

Azrael and Blaine lead the group, closely followed by Hyland, providing them with cover. I urge Ember to race behind them with a hand pressed to her lower back, keeping my attention locked on our surroundings for any surprise threats.

The rich brocade wallpaper quickly becomes oppressive as we ascend to the higher level. To my surprise, there are no signs of life. Not a single guard or loaded gun. My heart rate explodes into an erratic pulse, prepared for the veil to be lifted at any moment.

“Which way?” Hyland spits out a crimson mouthful.

Azrael gestures for us to trail him. “Follow me.”

This floor is decorated just as lavishly, but there are subtle differences. The press of blinking CCTV cameras in each corner seems less. Artwork is softer, more subtle. Even scattered chairs with cushions adorn the long corridors, giving it a sense of home.

Down the winding hallway, Azrael draws to an abrupt halt ahead of us. We all stumble to stop when a crisp, formal voice bounces off the walls, echoing with supreme authority.