Chapter 9
“Roxy! We need to fucking go!”
I’m dragging her toward the stairs, but she’s thrashing, nails digging into my wrist, wild-eyed and crying. “I need to find him—”
“You’ll fucking die out here!”
A flicker of movement flashes in my periphery. A man in full tactical gear barrels into me, slamming me into the floor so hard the wind punches out of my lungs.
“Run!” I scream, just as Roxy’s hand is ripped from mine.
Bang.
A blast at point-blank range. The man on top of me convulses. His weight crushes me as he slumps, dead.
His blood hits me in a hot splash, seeping into my clothes. My hands slip over gore-slick armor, fighting to get him off me. My stomach turns as I roll free, choking, coughing, wiping blood from my mouth.
And then I see him.
Priest.
AR still raised, smoke curling off the muzzle.
Before I can move, he’s on me, hand snapping around my arm and yanking me to my feet so fast my vision goes black for half a second.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I swing a fist toward his face.
He catches it mid-air, his fingers crushing my knuckles, and slams me back against the wall.
“I should’ve let you die. Ungrateful cunt.”
“Would’ve been better than you putting your fucking hands on me.” I twist against his grip.
“You’d be a corpse right now if it wasn’t for me.” His hold tightens, yanking me closer. “Show some fucking gratitude. Now move.”
My blood boils at his tone, at the sheer arrogance of this asshole thinking I owe him anything. “I would’ve been fine. I don’t need saving. Especially not from you.”
His jaw flexes, teeth grinding together as his eyes darken. “Move.”
“Fuck you, Priest. For all I know, these guys are Sovereign scum just like you.”
A barrage of bullets tears through the air, forcing us to dive for cover. The walls around me shred, chunks of dirt and plaster covering everything. I’m not leaving Roxy. While he’s focused on returning fire, I make my move.
Bolting from cover, I snatch an HK416 from the lifeless grip of a nearby attacker, its barrel still warm. My heart’s pounding, but there’s no room for fear. I sprint toward the last place I saw Roxy disappear, weaving through the chaos as the gunfire and shouting continue around me.
I round a corner and almost skid to a stop, my stomach churning at the sight ahead.
Bodies sprawl across the floor, some jerking with final, weak breaths while others lie deathly still.
Roxy’s on the ground, a guy in tactical gear looms over her, his gloved hands clamped down as she kicks and screams. Her wide, tear-filled eyes lock onto mine, full of raw, animalistic terror. It’s the kind of look you never forget.
I lift the AR and fire, the recoil slamming into my shoulder as the bullet punches through his skull. He drops instantly, dead before his body smacks the concrete.
“Roxy!” My boots slip in the growing pool of blood as I slide to her side. Her screams tear through the air, louder than the ringing in my ears. I drop to my knees, the sticky warmth soaking into my jeans. “Roxy, it’s me! You’re okay!”
I yank her to her feet and run.
Every exit is crawling with more masked bastards, their shadows flooding the stairwells and corridors. The thought of how close we are to being cornered sends a fresh surge of urgency through me.
I continue dragging her along despite her desperate cries for Maxim. He’s either escaped or bleeding out somewhere, and I’m not gambling our lives on which.
A wave of masked men, bristling with guns, cut off any chance of getting to an exit.
“Shit.” Up. We have to go up. The roof’s our only shot.
“You two! This way!”
My head snaps up, and there’s Priest, towering at the top of the staircase, surrounded by his crew. His hand motions us forward, but his face is anything but inviting. He doesn’t look like he’s offering help; he looks like he’s ordering us not to waste his damn time.
I hesitate.
Every instinct screams not to trust him. Sovereigns don’t save people—they leave bodies. But the bullets below are louder than my fear of him. Before I can decide, Priest starts laying down cover fire. The cracks of his rifle punch through the air. Roxy flinches beside me.
“Move your ass!” he barks.
My legs obey before my brain can catch up.
Roxy’s fingers dig into my arm as I drag her up the stairs. Priest barrels past us, slamming the rooftop door shut behind him. The old, rusted lock barely holds, but it’s not about stopping them—it’s about buying seconds. Seconds we’ll need.
The chaos below fades to distant pops and screams. My lungs burn. Every breath tastes like blood and smoke. Beside me, Roxy’s shaking so hard her teeth chatter. Her eyes are empty.
“Keep moving,” Priest snaps, shoving my back. I spin on him, ripping out of his touch.
“Touch me again and I’ll break your fucking fingers.”
“I saved your life. Twice.”
“And I didn’t ask you to.”
I step in close, rifle tight in my grip, glare locked on his. “When this is over, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
That earns me a slow, twisted smile.
“You’d be dead without me, little girl. Don’t forget that.”
“Fuck you.”
His gaze drops to the rifle in my hands. Then back to me. He leans in, lips brushing my ear as he speaks.
“If you ever point that at me, I’ll snap your neck. Then fuck your corpse raw. Maybe even leave you propped up for the next idiot who thinks they can challenge me.”
Revulsion tears through me. But so does rage.
“Jesus Christ, Priest,” someone says from the shadows. “We don’t have time for whatever the fuck this is.”
Roxy chokes out a question in Russian between sobs. Her wide eyes darting from me to the men around us.
Shit. She wants to know who they are. How the hell do I explain that these aren’t men? They’re the kind of monsters you pray you never meet. Soulless. Worse than the devil himself.
I’ve been so laser-focused on wanting to murder Priest that I barely registered the rest of the Sovereign bastards. There are three of them—each massive, armed to the teeth, and radiating the same lethal aura as Priest.
The bulkiest of the group has a thick beard and tattoos running down the side of his face. “They’ll be up here any minute,” he rumbles.
The other two are equally towering, but their look screams polished killers.
Tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, with neatly trimmed hair.
The blonde and leanest one closest to me radiates—old money and inherited arrogance as if they were bred for Sovereign royalty.
Sovereign wealth always reeks, and this guy’s New Orleans accent seals it: purebred privilege with a side of bloodstains.
“Priest, we need to move,” New Orleans drawls. He looks ready to spit out another order when gunfire shreds the rooftop door, scattering bits of metal and rust.
“Ladder, east side!” one of them shouts, already sprinting.
I grab Roxy’s arm and yank her after me. Every instinct I have screams that this is a terrible idea—following a pack of Sovereign wolves—but I’m out of options.
We reach the ladder as the Sovereign crew descends quickly. Roxy and I scramble after them, the metal rungs biting into my palms. The second we hit the ground, chaos finds us again. Bullets rain down from the rooftop, sparking off the pavement and slamming into walls.
“Move! Now!” Priest’s voice crashes down the alley.
Sirens close in. Finally. My legs burn, lungs clawing for air as we turn the corner. Shadows stretch long and jagged across the street, but we don’t stop.
At the block’s edge, the gunfire fades, leaving only our ragged breaths and the hum of adrenaline.
Three sleek, high-end cars gleam under the dim streetlights—obviously theirs.
I yank Roxy’s arm, slowing as we approach.
No way in hell am I climbing into a car with a Sovereign.
Priest marches ahead, fishing his keys from his pocket.
The black sports car’s lights flash—and the world explodes.
Heat and sound rip through me, hurling me backward. The air is ripped from my lungs in a rush as something—someone—collides with me mid-air. My momentum twists, my back slamming into the pavement with enough force to jar every bone in my body.
Pain shoots up my spine, a bright, jagged bolt that leaves my nerves screaming. My head snaps back—but just as I brace for the skull-cracking impact, his hand catches me. Fingers press firmly against the back of my head, cushioning the blow.
For a moment, I’m dazed, my chest heaving, lungs refusing to cooperate.
The world shrinks to chaos and smoke, my ears ringing. Weight driving me deeper into the pavement.
An arm locks around my waist, the other hand cradling the back of my head. My face is buried against his chest, and he’s all I can smell. Smoke and sweat, the faint bite of leather and mint. His heartbeat slamming against mine.
For a fraction of a second, he feels…safe.
I don’t even realize I’m clinging to him until he shifts, his breath ghosting against my neck. I’m clutching his shirt in a death grip, my knuckles white and trembling.
His head lifts, and our eyes lock. Ice-blue, searing, and so close it feels invasive. His jaw tightens, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, his hand moves to my face, his thumb dragging across my lower lip.
The gesture stops time. My breath catches, a mix of rage and confusion tangling in my chest. I should shove him off, knee him in the balls, but I’m frozen.
Then, like flipping a switch, his gaze hardens. Anger darkens his face as he pushes off me and forcefully yanks me up. “Get the fuck up. Now.”
I jerk my arm, but he doesn’t let go—at least not immediately. He stares at me for a fraction longer, his eyes scanning my face with a scrutiny that sets me on edge.
Finally, he releases me, shoving my arm away.
The wreckage around us is a vision straight out of hell. Flames devour the remains of the cars, the metal twisting and screeching.
“A!” Roxy stumbles through the smoke, coughing, her face streaked with scratches and tears.
I grab her shoulders, my hands moving frantically, scanning her for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“Raze! Get us a fucking car! Now!” Priest shouts.
“Already on it!” Raze yells back, sprinting toward the parking lot at the end of the block.
We can’t stay here. The sirens are closing in, their wailing screams slicing through the smoke and debris. Red and blue lights bleed across the scene, painting the wreckage in frantic, strobing colors.
Roxy’s wide, terrified eyes lock on mine.
I open my mouth to tell her to move—run—but then a white-hot burst of pain rips through my thigh.
I hit the pavement with a choked scream, fire tearing through my leg. Blood seeps between my fingers as I press down on the wound, but it won’t stop. My brain’s screaming get up, but my body’s gone limp.
“Roxy!” I force the words past the agony. “Run to the police! Go!”
She hesitates. Panic carved into her face. Her eyes dart between me and the storm of gunfire cracking through the street. I plead with her in Russian. That gets through. She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks as she bolts toward the flashing lights.
A bullet punches into the pavement inches from my shoulder and shards of concrete slice across my cheek. I flinch, trying to roll—but I can’t. I can’t fucking move.
“Of course you’d be deadweight.”
Rough hands grab me, and a second later I’m yanked off the ground like a rag doll. Pain detonates in my leg as I’m thrown over his shoulder.
“Put me down,” I gasp.
“Shut the fuck up,” Priest grunts. “You can’t do anything right without bleeding all over the damn street.”
Each step he takes sends a jolt of pain through me. My fists pound weakly against his back, but he doesn’t slow. Gunfire explodes behind us, bullets chewing through the air. He doesn’t duck. Doesn’t dodge. Just storms through it like he’s fucking bulletproof.
An SUV screeches around the corner.
He throws the door open, then throws me inside.
I slam against the seat, pain flaring as my shoulder collides with the doorframe. Before I can sit up, he’s on me again, climbing in and shoving me further into the seat, his solid weight like a cage, pressing me against the door.
I hiss, clutching my thigh, trying to slow the bleeding.
Then the others pile in.
One drops beside me, trapping me between him and Priest. The other takes shotgun. Both Sovereigns. Both massive. The doors slam shut, and the SUV lurches forward.
The gunfire fades behind me—but the danger doesn’t.
The air inside turns heavy. Leather, gunpowder, blood…and Sovereigns. The stench of power. The kind that kills without hesitation.
I shift, trying to breathe, trying to think. But there’s nowhere to go. No space. No safety. Just pain, heat, and panic. And the two men flanking me who could break every bone in my body before I could even scream.
I groan, pressing harder on my leg, the edges of my vision starting to go dark.
Priest glances down with a cold dead stare.
“You get shot every time you open your mouth, or is that just a special talent?”
I glare at him, breath coming in short bursts, fighting every instinct screaming to shrink away.
“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you there to bleed out with the rest of the trash.”
I don’t respond. But I make him a silent promise. If I live through this—I’ll make him bleed next.