Chapter 29 – Lydia - Blood in the Walls #2
Silas’s arm slams into my chest, shoving me behind the doorframe as splinters spray explode around us. The smell of cordite and dust floods my lungs. His body covers mine, pinning me against the wall, his voice hoarse in my ear. “Stay down. Please, Lydia.”
There’s no time to breathe, no time to think. Just the thunder of gunfire inside the hollow belly of Bellamy and the realization that we didn’t find Drazen’s men.
They found us.
The world fractures into noise and chaos.
Bullets rip through the crates across from me, splinters flying like shrapnel. Ren curses from his cover, shouting something I can’t hear over the racket. Jax roars back, his scarred face twisted in fury as he pops up to return fire.
Elias drops beside him, his stance calm and lethal, every shot precise. He doesn’t waste bullets. Doesn’t flinch when one sparks against the steel inches from his head. He’s a man who’s bled through worse.
Silas keeps me pinned against the doorframe until the angle clears. His chest crushes against mine, all muscle and heat, his heartbeat hammering through me like it belongs to both of us. His hand cups the back of my head, forcing me low as bullets snap past the doorway.
“You move when I move,” he growls, words brushing the shell of my ear. “No hesitation. Understand?”
I nod. He doesn’t wait to see if I mean it. His arm locks around my waist, dragging me with him as he rolls us into the nearest shadow of cover. We hit the ground behind a rusting barrel that smells like oil and rot. My palms sting against the concrete, my knees scrape raw, but I don’t care.
He leans out, fires three shots into the rafters. A scream answers back, high and broken, followed by the heavy crash of a body hitting the floor.
“Two down,” he calls, voice steady despite the smoke curling in the air.
“Plenty more to go!” Elias barks back.
The rafters groan as boots slam against them, shadows shifting. They’re moving overhead, trying to flank. I press against Silas’s side, my pulse thundering in my ears, my fingers digging into his jacket without permission. His head turns just enough to catch me, eyes like forged steel.
“You with me, baby?”
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t shake, though my body feels like it should.
He nods once, like that’s all he needs. Then he pushes up, grabbing my wrist, dragging me to the stack of crates where Elias and his men are dug in. Bullets chew into the floor where we were seconds before. My lungs burn, my throat raw from the dust, but I don’t let go of his grip.
We crash down beside Elias. The crates rattle with every shot. Ren’s face is pale, his hands fumbling with a reload. Jax snarls at him, yanking the gun from his hands to slam the magazine in himself.
“Pathetic,” Silas mutters, then raises his voice. “Elias, they’re fucking herding us.”
Elias spits into the dust, firing another round into the rafters. “I know.”
“What’s the play?”
His eyes cut to me. Then to Silas. Then back to the rafters. “We break their angle before they box us in. Ward, you take the left catwalk. Lydia, stay with me.”
I stiffen. “I’m not sitting back while—”
Silas grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to his. The gunfire doesn’t soften, but the world narrows until it’s just us. “You move with Elias. You keep breathing. That’s the only order I’ll ever give you.”
It’s not a plea. It’s a command laced with obsession, carved deep into every word.
I want to fight him. I want to spit that I’ve bled my own share already. But the grip on my jaw, the fire in his eyes, they pull me under.
“Fine,” I whisper.
He releases me, his thumb dragging across my skin once before he’s gone, rolling into the smoke and chaos like the shadows belong to him.
Gunfire follows.
And the silence he leaves behind tastes like dread.
With his absence, everything feels wrong. Like he took the oxygen with him, and left me to choke on gunpowder and fear.
Elias grips my arm, jerks me down as a spray of bullets shreds the top of the crates. Splinters rain into my hair. My ears ring so hard I can’t tell which shots are ours and which are theirs.
“Eyes forward,” Elias barks, snapping another round into the shadows above. His tone is calm, cold, the kind of voice that doesn’t allow disobedience. I stay low, but my eyes keep darting to the catwalk where Silas vanished.
Every second feels longer than the last.
“Why split?” I hiss. “Why not push as one?”
Elias doesn’t look at me, just reloads with smooth, practiced hands. “Because he fights better when he’s not protecting you at the same time.”
The words sting.
“He’s not—”
“He is,” Elias cuts me off, his shot cracking the air. Another scream drops from the rafters, another body falling. He doesn’t blink. “You don’t see it, do you? The way he watches you even when he shouldn’t. Obsession’s a leash, Lydia. Men like him choke on it.”
I bite back my reply, my chest too tight.
Across the room, Ren fumbles with his gun again. He drops the magazine, scrambles for it, his curses breaking in panic. Jax slams a fist against his chest. “Pull it together, or I’ll gut you myself!”
They’re loud, sloppy, distracting. And then I notice Jori.
He’s crouched at the far side of the crates, his gun low, his body angled too far toward the exit. Not shooting. Not even trying. His eyes flick to me, then away too fast.
My gut twists.
“Elias,” I snap, jerking my chin toward Jori.
His eyes narrow, tracking the line of my gaze. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t acknowledge, just presses his back harder against the crate, his weapon aimed high. But I see the shift in his jaw. He saw it too.
Above us, footsteps pound across the metal walkways. Then the echo of Silas’s voice—rough, commanding. “Down!”
I barely duck before gunfire rips through the rafters, his shots slamming one of Drazen’s men off the catwalk. The body crashes through a stack of rotten boards, a cloud of dust erupting around the wreckage.
Ren yells, Jax roars, Elias fires, and for a second, the whole room feels like it’s coming apart at the seams.
Through the chaos, my pulse anchors to only one thing: the sound of Silas’s gun.
Every shot he fires is a lifeline, pulling me through the storm.
The warehouse feels alive with gunfire, the walls vibrating with every echo. My palms sting from the splinters embedded when I braced against the crate, but I don’t dare look down. If I look anywhere but forward, I’ll miss the shot meant for me.
Elias drops another man with surgical precision, his face carved flat, unreadable. His movements are efficient, brutal, but he doesn’t waste a single glance. He doesn’t need to. I’m right against him, close enough to smell the copper tang of blood drying on his sleeve.
But Jori…
He hasn’t moved.
Ren yells for cover, Jax bellows curses, but Jori crouches half-turned toward the exit, his rifle slack against his thigh. His eyes keep cutting to the shadows near the broken loading dock. Not hunting targets. Watching something else.
“Elias,” I hiss again.
“I see it,” he mutters, voice clipped, pulling me closer against his side as bullets spark against the concrete pillar just feet away. “Don’t you fucking move.”
The command rakes my nerves raw, but I stay low, fingers gripping the floor so hard my nails ache.
Then a shape breaks from the smoke.
Silas, sliding down the catwalk ladder two rungs at a time, gun high, face set like stone. He lands hard, rolls to cover, and without even looking, fires off three shots that send two of Drazen’s men sprawling. He’s a storm inside the storm, moving too fast to pin down.
Relief surges through me violently, almost knocking the air from my lungs.
And then I see it.
Jori lifts his rifle at Silas’s back.
Not fast, not clumsy—but smooth. Seamless. Expertly.
My throat locks. The scream claws up, raw, and I don’t think before I shove off the crate and launch myself forward.
“Silas!”
The sound rips from me just as I slam into Jori’s side. His shot cracks wide, chewing into the wall instead of Silas’s spine.
We crash together into the dust, his gun skidding across the concrete. His hand snaps to my throat, eyes wild, spit flying as he snarls. “You stupid bitch—”
Before I can even choke out a word, the room erupts with a single, bone-shaking gunshot.
Jori’s grip slackens. His head jerks, then slams against the floor, a red halo blooming wide beneath him.
Elias lowers his pistol, smoke still curling from the barrel. His eyes cut to me, flat as winter ice. “I told you not to move.”
Silas is already there, hauling me upright, his grip crushing against my arm as he scans me head to toe. His eyes don’t even register Jori’s body at our feet. Only me.
“You hurt?” His voice is a growl, pitched too high with fury.
I shake my head, but my pulse is still hammering against my throat, the ghost of Jori’s hand lingering there.
Elias holsters his gun, stepping past us, his tone cold enough to burn. “That was the leak.”
Silas’s grip tightens, pulling me closer, his stare never leaving my face. “And now he’s gone.”
But the words don’t sound like victory.
They sound like a warning.
Jori’s blood spreads fast across the concrete, slick and dark, and for a moment all I can do is stare at it. It smells like iron, like every other corpse I’ve cleaned up for men like Drazen. Except this one tried to put a bullet through Silas’s back.
Silas doesn’t look at the body. Not once. His hand stays locked around my arm. His chest pressed against mine as if I’m the one bleeding here. His voice rips through the gunfire, clear and commanding. “Stay with me. You don’t move unless I move.”
I should argue. I don’t.
Elias doesn’t waste time either. His reloaded mag slams home with a single, practiced motion. “We finish clearing or we don’t leave this place alive.”
Bullets tear through the crates again, the walls shuddering with each impact. Jax roars and sprays fire toward the shadows, Ren curses as he reloads, and above us the sound of boots shifts; it’s Drazen’s men pulling back, regrouping.