Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-nine
TOM
Tom could hear Bryce’s breathing behind him, and it steadied him as he climbed. He didn’t have his phone, but Bryce had passed his up so Tom could light the way. And so far, at least, he hadn’t come up against a blank brick wall where the way had been cut off.
Maybe he’d done the wrong thing leading them up here, where they might end up cornered.
But with Jax down there, he’d soon be organizing his guys into search teams using a grid pattern, and discovery would be inevitable because there was nowhere for them to go.
He wasn’t going to put Bryce’s life in danger like that.
Bryce, who’d come for him only because his pack had put Tom in this position to start with. He mustn’t forget that was what Bryce had said. The way he’d grabbed Tom and held him so tight hadn’t meant any of the things Tom’s traitorous heart had wanted to believe.
He swore as his foot slipped on the broken edge of a step and his knee banged down onto hard stone. Bryce, so close behind him, nearly got kicked in the face, but instead of complaining, he supported Tom’s leg until he got his footing back.
“Watch that one,” Tom said, his knee throbbing.
“Uh huh,” Bryce said, sounding rather breathless. “But seriously, secret staircases? This place is straight out of Scooby Doo.”
Tom grinned and kept climbing.
“You know you have quads of steel, right?” Bryce said a while later.
“You tapping out on me?” he tossed at Bryce, feeling able to tease because they’d come up at least a hundred steps and he hadn’t heard a thing behind them.
Maybe it was reckless of him, but he was beginning to believe they were going to make it, and the thought had him lightheaded with relief.
Unless it was the lack of oxygen from the fast climb that made him feel that way.
“Let’s just say this is not how I usually get my cardio.”
Tom realized the darkness ahead of him was thinning.
He paused for a moment, holding his breath to see if he could hear anything.
He could hear voices, he was sure—quiet and distorted as if coming from a distance—but there was no suggestion of disguised movements or withheld breath as if someone lay in wait for them.
He turned off the light and continued to climb, more slowly and carefully.
The staircase curved one last time to the left, and then, without warning, opened out into a low, narrow corridor.
The space was tightly enclosed, but not in the way Tom expected.
The curved wall on their right arched upward and inward, close enough to brush their shoulders.
To the left, the wall sloped away from them at the same angle, creating a narrow walkway between what Tom swiftly realized must be the inner and outer shells of the building’s great dome.
The interior wall had a series of small round windows, almost like portholes, through which light fell, illuminating the passageway. Tom leaned toward the nearest window and jerked backward in shock.
Bryce was next to him. “What is it? Where are we?”
“See for yourself,” he said, and stepped back to swap places. No matter how grim their situation, he couldn’t let Bryce miss this.
They were suspended above the vast expanse of the Council chamber. Council was in session and the councilors seated at their places looked like nothing more than ants from this high up.
“What the hell?” Bryce stepped back fast, pale and shaking, his hand groping for the wall behind him. “Where—how—Are we in the roof?”
“My guess is we’re between the inner and outer domes,” Tom said.
“Which means we’re standing on what, precisely?”
“Given that the dome curves away beneath us, that would be support struts and pretty much nothing else.”
“I hate heights,” Bryce muttered, the nausea on his face suggesting that was an understatement.
Waiting things out here didn’t seem like a good option anymore, not with Bryce disabled by his phobia.
“Let’s find out where this goes,” Tom said, and encouraged Bryce to move forward by putting a hand on his shoulder.
He left it there, despite the fact it made walking rather awkward, because Bryce wasn’t kidding—the guy who’d faced deadly assassins in the dark without turning a hair was rigid at the thought of all that space beneath his feet.
The passageway curved around and upward, until finally they reached some worn stone steps and a small door.
“Oh, thank God,” Bryce said, and opened the door before Tom could warn him that what lay beyond was almost certainly the outside of the dome, hundreds of feet in the air.
The brightness was blinding after the gloom of the passage. Bryce clung to the door, frozen at the sight in front of him as a brisk wind whipped his hair. Tom gently pushed him out and followed.
He closed the door behind them. There was no way of locking or bolting it, but at least that would give them a moment’s warning if anyone followed them.
There wasn’t much space to fight off a pursuer, Tom thought, scanning the area with a critical eye. They’d emerged from a small, arched door set into the base of a round structure—a cupola, perched at the very top of the dome.
A narrow stone walkway circled the cupola’s base, bounded on the outer edge by a waist-high balustrade of old, weathered stone. Immediately beyond the balustrade, the great curve of the dome swelled outward beneath their feet.
Satisfied that he could hold their ground if necessary, Tom turned and looked at the view.
Capitol Hill was spread out below them, beautiful, graceful buildings gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
Tom pressed his palm to the lichen-covered balustrade and wondered how something could look so peaceful and perfect from up here, when down below it was all guns and running and betrayal.
He turned back to check where Bryce was, and saw him pressing back against the recess between the cupola’s ornamental pillars, his hands clutching at the surface behind him. Tom’s breath caught in his throat. How could someone so strong look so breakable?
And what was Bryce doing here? He’d come for Tom, but why? His brain told him it was simply guilt that they’d put Tom in this position, but his wolf believed otherwise, unbidden and unwelcome. His wolf wanted nothing more than to nuzzle into Bryce’s neck and reacquaint himself with his scent.
Tom shoved him back down again. There’d come a reckoning before much longer—he couldn’t keep treating his wolf this way. For now, he leaned against the wall next to Bryce, far enough away that no part of them touched. “Anything from Matt?” he asked.
It took Bryce a moment to unpeel his hand from the only safety he’d found so many hundreds of feet in the air. And when Tom saw the way his hand shook, he took hold of Bryce’s wrist and gently pressed his hand back to the security of the wall.
“I’ve got it,” he said softly and slid his hand into the front pocket of Bryce’s jeans to withdraw the phone. It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t. And somehow that made it worse.
There were no messages.
“Should I call him?” he asked Bryce.
“It’s probably best not to interrupt, just in case he’s in full flow to the Council,” Bryce said after a moment’s thought. “Let’s give him a bit longer.”
He slipped the phone back into Bryce’s pocket, slower this time, almost afraid to break whatever spell kept them still and side by side. He longed to ask why Bryce was here with him, but he knew—whatever the answer, it would undo him.
And right now, he needed all his attention concentrated on that small door. Because if it opened, no part of him—not his heart, nor his wolf—could afford to be distracted.
brYCE
They weren’t safe. Not really.
The door they’d come through was unlocked. There was no backup, no escape, and no real way to defend themselves on a ledge no wider than a kitchen counter. All they had was a view, a hell of a drop, and each other.
Bryce kept his back to the stone. Wind clawed at his hair, and the height made his stomach churn, but his focus stayed on Tom. Watching the way he stayed loose and ready, alert.
Bryce wanted to say something—anything—to make up for the things he’d said, the things he hadn’t. But what apology could possibly cover tearing someone apart?
“Has Matt—” Tom started, then stopped. He spun so fast Bryce’s gut seized.
The door was inching open. Slowly. Quietly. Like someone hoping they wouldn’t be seen until it was too late.
Shit.
Tom moved instantly. Bryce mirrored him, sliding sideways along the wall to clear space. He pressed back, the stone digging into his spine, and watched Tom flatten himself beside the door, body coiled and ready.
Jax stepped through cautiously, gun raised, and Tom struck from the side. He grabbed Jax’s forearm with both hands, yanked it sideways, and swept low with his leg, hooking behind Jax’s knee.
Jax twisted as he fell, dragging Tom down with him, and they hit the stone hard. The gun jerked with a muzzle flash, small and bright.
For a frozen, horrified second, Bryce thought Tom was hit. But Tom surged up, slammed Jax’s wrist into the parapet, and the gun spun out of his grip and over the edge.
Jax fought with brutal precision—fast, ruthless, every move intended to maim. There was no room to intervene without risking Tom, so all Bryce could do was watch, fists clenched helplessly at his sides.
Tom twisted hard when Jax jabbed rigid fingers at his eyes, but it left him exposed. Jax bucked up viciously and threw him, fast and brutal, into the balustrade.
The stone groaned, and Bryce’s heart stopped.
He saw it all in horrible clarity—the way the parapet cracked, the way Tom hit and slumped, the moment the decorative rail gave way and tumbled into the void.
But the columns held. Somehow, they held.
Teeth bared in a snarl, Bryce tore forward. Jax staggered up, blood on his mouth and fury in his eyes. And then he stumbled again—Tom’s hand was locked around his ankle.
He flailed, arms windmilling as Tom yanked his ankle out from under him. Just the broken balustrade between him and the abyss beyond. Bryce could have shoved him and ended it all. Just one push was all it would have taken.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t commit cold-blooded murder.
Instead, he caught Jax’s arm and shoved him down, slamming his head into the nearest column. Jax collapsed, still and limp, and Bryce wondered if maybe he’d killed him after all. He found he didn’t really care.
Tom was climbing slowly to his feet, blood on his temple, and one hand pressed to his ribs.
“Check him,” Tom rasped. “Boot, knife. Maybe more.”
Bryce nodded, throat too tight to speak. He knelt, pulled weapons one after another off Jax’s body—three knives, one more gun. He used Jax’s belt to tie his wrists.
When he finally stood, Tom was swaying. Still upright but barely, as the wind tugged at him.
Bryce moved before he could think. He edged around Jax, ignoring the height and his spinning stomach. And then, finally, he reached Tom, and pulled him close.
“God,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”
Tom didn’t answer. Just leaned into him, solid and real and alive.
Bryce buried his face in Tom’s neck. “Don’t ever,” he said again, fiercer this time. “I can’t lose you. Not you.”
The wind stung his eyes. Or maybe it wasn’t the wind.