Chapter 12
Disgust and anger claw at me as I stumble around the room. I can’t believe I came for him.
That I gave in.
That I liked it.
Fucking asshole.
I could’ve bitten him harder. Kneed him in the balls. Screamed until someone came running. But I didn’t.
I opened my mouth when he told me to. Swallowed when he spat in it. Let him use me and humiliate me. My pulse pounds, hot with shame, my thighs aching, the muscles still trembling. Every breath reminds me of what he did—what I let him do.
The worst part? The ache between my legs isn’t just from him forcing himself on me. It’s from the way my body betrayed me…from the way I wanted more.
Boots thud down the hallway, men’s voices shouting to each other.
I finally find my jeans, hastily tugging them on and fastening the button. The blood stain on my thigh has darkened from red to maroon.
I need to get the fuck out of here, but first, my stuff.
My phone and the burner sit on the countertop. I snag my things, hastily shoving them in my back pockets. How the hell did I end up surrounded by fucking Sovereign, again?
I’m a fucking moron. A goddamn idiot.
I can’t believe he…and then I…
Shaking my head, I try to clear it.
No, stop.
Focus. I need to get out of here.
Pulling on a hoodie I find in a drawer and darting to the door, gritting through the pain in my leg. I ease it open, peering into the hall. Urgent Voices echo down the corridor, but none are close enough to see me.
Good. This is my shot. I slip into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind me. I have no idea where the hell I’m going, thankfully, the nurse who stitched my leg comes to my rescue as she turns the corner with wide, panicked eyes.
“Miss! Come with me!” She quickly motions for me to follow her. I fall behind her, joining with a few other medical staff as they scramble through the halls.
After a few turns, we burst through a side door, the night air slapping me in the face.
I suck in a sharp breath, adrenaline coursing through me.
I limp away, my legs pumping, each step jarring my injured leg, pain lancing up my spine.
But I can’t stop. The sounds of shouting and gunfire loud in the distance behind me.
I keep going until my lungs burn, until my legs threaten to give out. Finally, I stumble to a stop, leaning heavily against a nearby wall. Sweat trickles down my temple as I gasp for air. I have no clue where I am. Removing my phone from my pocket, I see multiple missed calls from Roxy.
She answers on the first ring.
“A, where are you!? Are you okay?” Her words are frantic, and the sound of her voice nearly makes me cry. “I was so worried about you.”
“Roxy…” My voice trembles, and I swallow hard.
“Maxim was shot.” She bursts into tears. “I’m at the hospital now, he’s in surgery, the doctors say he should pull through, but I can’t lose him. Where are you? Please tell me you’re okay.”
I sag against the wall, my heart twisting. “I’m okay,” I reassure her. My eyes scan the row of parked cars, looking for an easy one to hot-wire. “Listen, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Who the fuck were those bastards?” Raze explodes, slamming his fist into a locker so hard it dents. The metal crunch echoing off the concrete walls of the Vault’s armory.
We barely made it out. Emergency evac. Full lockdown.
My hands are still slick with blood—some mine, most not. Every nerve in my body’s frayed, burned to the fucking bone. And yet, the only thing I feel is rage. Cold, blinding rage.
“They knew where we’d be.” I yank off my ruined shirt. “That wasn’t an ambush. It was a fucking execution.”
“There’s a rat,” Raze says without looking at me. We both know it.
Dalton and Alistair walk in, and the air goes rancid.
“Sterling wants to see us,” Alistair announces. His face is pale, tie crooked, blood still on his collar. For once, he looks less like a polished heir and more like the scared little snake he is.
“Tell him to choke on a bullet,” I mutter, grabbing a clean tank and pulling it over my head.
Dalton snorts. “Please. You think he doesn’t already gag every time your name comes up?”
Raze steps between us before I can respond. “Let’s get this over with before Priest snaps your neck.”
I don’t argue. Not because I agree—but because if I stay here any longer, I fucking will snap his neck.
The double doors to the Command Center swing open, and I step in first.
Sterling’s already seated, flanked by his Commanders, Whitney and Mercer. The three of them look like a goddamn wall of rot.
“Sit,” Sterling says, his voice sharper than usual. I stay standing.
Dalton and Alistair take their seats like good little lapdogs. Raze leans against the wall, arms crossed.
Sterling glares at me. “I said—”
“I heard you.”
Sterling slams a hand on the table. “You think this is a fucking game? They were hunting you! You, the Trinity, and every goddamn heir in the North Section. Do you even understand what that means?”
“The Sovereign’s bleeding. Someone’s cutting off the head.”
His face tightens. “And if we lose the heirs, we lose everything. This isn’t just a hit. It’s a declaration.”
“And you think this is new?” I snap. “Enemies have been circling like vultures for years. You’re just too fucking busy playing politics to notice.”
Sterling bristles.
“You forget who raised this organization,” he says.
“No. I just never saw it.”
The silence that follows is thick with the kind of truth no one wants to say out loud.
Because I didn’t see shit.
From the age of four to twenty, I was buried alive in hell. And the man who sent me there never once looked back.
Sterling leans forward, eyes burning. “Tell me what happened tonight. All of it.”
“We got ambushed,” Raze answers, his voice clipped. “First at the fight ring. Then at the Safehouse. They were ready. We were outnumbered, outgunned, boxed in from the start.”
Sterling’s eyes narrow, “Who were they?”
“We don’t know,” I bite out. “Nothing identifiable. No tags, no colors. Could be foreign. Too clean for street trash. Maybe mercenaries. Whoever they are, they’re trained.”
“Same profile the North Section gave,” Mercer, Dalton’s old man, cuts in. “They’re sending over their reports. We’ll piece it together.”
“Sir.” Alistair finds his voice, stiff and formal. “Any attacks on the East or West Coasts? International? Any word from them?”
“No.” Sterling’s glare sharpens. “It’s isolated. North and South Sections only. They’re targeting original Sovereign legacy heirs.”
Raze speaks up. “Whoever they are, they’re organized. Trained and knew our patterns.”
Dalton cuts in, “Or someone fed them our patterns.”
I glare at him. “You volunteering as the rat, golden boy?”
His smirk fades. “I’m just saying, your Russian cunt seems a little too convenient.”
“Say that again.”
Alistair arches a brow. “Didn’t think you got sentimental, Priest.”
I slam my hand on the table hard enough to rattle glass. “Keep talking. I fucking dare you.”
Sterling’s voice cuts through. “Raze—get a team on the footage. Analyze every second. Somewhere tonight, they fucked up. Find it.”
Raze nods once.
“Everyone else—stay armed. You’re on Vault lockdown until further notice.”
Not happening.
Sterling locks eyes with me. “Everyone is dismissed—except Priest.”
The others file out.
I still don’t sit.
“You brought a non-Sovereign to the Safehouse. Fake IDs, Russian ties. You tied her up and then left her unsupervised. The same girl who was there when you were ambushed. You want to tell me that’s a coincidence?”
“She’s a petty thief,” I say. “That’s it.”
“She’s a breach.”
“She’s none of your fucking business.”
I turn to leave.
“You’re not leaving the Vault,” he snaps. “You’ll stay here until we figure out—”
“I don’t answer to you.” I move to the door, laughing.
Sterling rises. “That’s a fucking order Priest.”
I stop, turn, and smile. “Try and stop me.”
And then I walk out. I don’t need permission to burn his whole fucking world down.