CHAPTER 23
RUBY P.O.V.
The elevator begins its smooth, silent descent.
I watch the glowing gold numbers decrease on the digital display above the doors, every single digit a milestone dragging us closer to the ground.
The absolute silence inside this overpriced, gold-plated box is deafening after hours of non-stop gunfire and screaming.
My ears are ringing so hard it feels like there’s a swarm of hornets trapped inside my skull.
I adjust the weight of the rifle in my hands, feeling the muscles in my shoulders bunch into a tight, agonizing knot.
I lift the back of my hand and drag it across my cheek, wiping away a smear of someone else’s dried blood. It leaves a faint, rusty streak across my knuckles. I don’t even care. Blood is just part of my wardrobe at this point.
"Don't stop watching the display," Andrei says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely cuts through the ringing in my ears.
"How many floors, Andrei?" I ask. My voice sounds hollow, like it belongs to someone else.
"Nineteen. Then we're out."
He adjusts his brutal grip on Arthur Hemlock’s throat.
Andrei’s massive hand is practically swallowing the billionaire's neck, pressing the barrel of his stolen gun so hard under Hemlock's chin I’m amazed it hasn’t punched through the skin.
Andrei looks over at me. Those freezing ice-blue eyes sweep over my body in a silent, intense tactical check.
He’s covered in gore, his custom-tailored black suit stained and ruined, but he still projects a terrifying, suffocating aura of absolute authority.
I meet his gaze and give him a minute, sharp nod.
I need him to know I’m still here, still watching his back, and absolutely refusing to let him see my hands shaking.
Andrei shifts his weight, bringing his heavy combat boot down hard to pin Hemlock’s Italian loafer to the floor, stopping the pathetic bastard from squirming.
"Look at me, Ruby."
"I'm here, Andrei," I say, locking my jaw. "I'm not breaking."
"Good. Keep that finger on the trigger."
I take a deep, controlled breath. The air in here is a foul mix of Hemlock’s cloying, expensive cologne and the sharp, metallic tang of blood and cordite.
I feel a violent tremor start in my hands—a delayed reaction to the adrenaline burning out of my system.
I tighten my grip on the rifle’s foregrip until my knuckles turn completely white.
I stare at my reflection in the polished brass of the elevator doors and barely recognize the feral, hollow-eyed woman staring back.
I flex my fingers against the gun one by one, feeling the gritty residue of plaster dust coating my skin, just to make sure I still have tactile control.
"Breathe. Just breathe," Andrei orders, watching my reflection.
"My hands... they won't stop," I mutter, hating how weak it sounds. I’m terrified that the second we step outside, this lethal survival mode is going to evaporate and leave me paralyzed.
"Focus on the weight of the steel," Andrei tells me, his tone flat and uncompromising. "It's an extension of you now."
The soft, melodic chime of the elevator cuts through the tension. Lobby level.
The brass doors slide open to reveal a vast, cavernous expanse of polished marble.
A cluster of Hemlock’s private security guards is instantly visible near the massive reception desk.
They have their rifles lowered but not dropped, their faces caught in a pathetic limbo between corporate duty and sheer fucking terror.
I step out of the elevator sideways, keeping my barrel swept across the room, tracking center mass on the nearest guard. One of the guys lets his rifle muzzle dip an inch lower, his eyes fixating entirely on the dark blood soaked into my white slip.
"Nobody moves!" I yell, my voice echoing off the high ceiling.
"Look at your boss," Andrei snarls, shoving Hemlock forward out of the elevator. Andrei uses his massive body as a living wall, shielding me as I stay tucked tight against his shoulder. "Look at what happens to people who get in my way."
The guards freeze. The hesitation is obvious.
"Do you want to die for a man who’s already lost?" I demand, keeping my sights fixed on the biggest guy in the group.
"Drop them. On the floor. Now!" Andrei’s roar vibrates off the marble. He digs his thumb deep into a pressure point on Hemlock’s neck. The billionaire lets out a high-pitched, agonizing whimper that sounds like a dying dog.
"Drop the weapons or I start with his ears," Andrei promises, pulling a combat knife with his free hand and tapping the flat of the blade against the side of Hemlock's head.
The first rifle hits the floor with a heavy, echoing thud. The rest follow a second later.
"Kick them away. Slowly," Andrei orders.
They do it. "Smart choice. Now back up."
The metallic clatter of assault rifles sliding across polished marble rings out as the guards kick their weapons toward the center of the room.
I keep my rifle trained on them, scanning methodically from man to man, checking their waistbands for backup pistols.
It’s insane how natural this feels now. I’m not looking at people anymore; I’m looking at threat sectors.
I step forward, my boot connecting with a discarded pistol. I kick it hard under a heavy mahogany bench as we pass, clearing the obstacle from our path.
"Eyes on the floor," I snap at a guard who tracks my movement.
"Don't even think about it," Andrei adds, his eyes locked on the group. He lowers his voice, directing it only to me. "You’re doing great, Ruby. Stay frosty."
We start the long march across the lobby toward the massive glass front doors. The place looks like a bomb went off in a museum. Shattered designer vases, bullet holes ripping through modern art installations, and a dark, jagged smear of wet blood dragging past the security desk.
My boot crunches loudly on a fragment of a shattered glass sculpture. The sound cracks like a whip in the massive room. I flinch, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for a sniper round to take my head off from behind a pillar.
"Keep moving. Don't look at the mess," Andrei says.
"Almost there," I whisper, my throat raw.
"Stay in my shadow, Ruby."
Andrei’s free hand finds my hip. It’s a bruising, possessive grip that steers me, keeping me physically plastered to his side to shield me from the line of sight of the elevators. His fingers dig slightly into the thin fabric of my slip, anchoring me to his heavy stride.
"I've got you," he mutters, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't drift, Ruby."
"Yes, Andrei. I'm right here," I say.
The physical toll of the last twenty-four hours hits me like a goddamn freight train.
My boots feel like they’re filled with wet concrete.
I bite down hard on my own tongue, using the sharp sting of pain to keep the edges of my vision from blacking out.
I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
"Heavier than they look, aren't they?" Andrei asks quietly.
"What?"
"Your feet. Keep them moving."
We reach the front entrance. Beyond the heavy glass doors, the massive, final steel lockdown shutter is still dropped. It’s a ribbed wall of solid gray metal blocking our exit. It looks totally impenetrable. A final middle finger from this high-tech slaughterhouse.
I rest the barrel of my rifle against the steel shutter. I can feel the cold, mechanical vibration of the building’s heavy generators humming through the metal.
"It's still down," I say, a fresh spike of panic tightening my chest.
"Not for long," Andrei says.
"The timer hasn't hit zero yet, Andrei!" Hemlock gasps, completely unhinged, shivering against the glass.
"Blyad," Andrei curses, shoving Hemlock’s face brutally against the biometric scanner panel mounted next to the door. He jams the gun barrel deep into Hemlock's kidney. "Open it. Open it now or I will paint this glass with your brain and find someone else to do it."
Hemlock's designer glasses are knocked crooked, sliding down his sweaty nose. He’s practically hyperventilating, his hands shaking so violently he can barely lift them.
"The code... I can't remember the code..." Hemlock whines, his nails scratching frantically against the plastic casing of the keypad.
"Think faster, Arthur," Andrei growls, pressing the gun harder.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you both for this!" Hemlock screams, crying like a literal child.
But his blood-stained thumb hits the biometric glass, and his shaking fingers punch in a twelve-digit override. A loud, heavy mechanical clank echoes through the lobby. The red status lights on the shutter control box flicker, then turn a brilliant, steady green.
I adjust my grip on the rifle, stepping back to clear my sightline for whatever is waiting on the other side.
"It's green," I say, staring at the light like it’s a fucking miracle.
"Move back, Ruby," Andrei warns, shifting his stance.
"Is it really over?" I whisper.
A deep, groaning sound shakes the floor as the multi-ton steel shutter starts to retract upward into the ceiling.
It moves with agonizing, ridiculous slowness.
The gap widens an inch at a time, revealing the dark concrete of the sidewalk, then the tires of abandoned luxury cars, and finally, the swirling white chaos of a winter storm.
"Too slow," Andrei says, his gun raised, eyes scanning the widening gap for threats before we even have clearance.
"It's coming. Just wait," I tell him.
I step closer, mesmerized. I reach out a hand, almost touching the cold glass of the door. "Look... the snow."
It’s falling in thick, heavy flakes through the amber glow of the streetlights. It looks completely surreal. The recycled, bloody air inside this building suddenly feels like actual poison in my lungs.
"Winter came while we were in hell," Andrei says flatly.
"It's beautiful."
Once the shutter clears head height, Andrei doesn’t wait.
He kicks the heavy glass door open. It swings wide, and a violent blast of frigid night air slams into us.
The wind catches my hacked-off hair, whipping the dark strands across my face.
The cold is a physical shock, sharp and biting. It smells like wet pavement and ice.
"Jesus, it's freezing," I gasp, my skin instantly breaking out in goosebumps.
"It's better than the smell of blood. Move," Andrei says, hauling Hemlock by his ruined collar.
"Wait... let me just... breathe," I say, taking a massive hit of the freezing air. It burns my throat, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
Andrei drags Hemlock through the doorway, then reaches back and shoves me gently but firmly out behind him.
My boots crunch down on a fresh, undisturbed layer of snow covering the concrete plaza. The open sky above us feels terrifyingly vast. I stumble slightly, the heel of my boot sinking deep into a snowdrift, and I have to jam my rifle stock into the ground like a cane just to stay upright.
"We're out. We're actually out," I breathe, looking up at the black sky.
"Don't stop yet. We need a car," Andrei says, scanning the plaza.
"The air... it's so quiet," I say.
Andrei turns and violently hurls Arthur Hemlock away from him.
The billionaire stumbles forward, flails his arms uselessly, and face-plants into a deep pile of snow next to a concrete planter.
He just lies there sputtering, shivering in his ruined silk suit.
Andrei hawks a wad of spit into the snow inches from Hemlock’s head.
"Stay there and rot, Arthur," Andrei says.
Hemlock rolls over, his face red and freezing. "You're leaving me? You can't leave me out here!"
"Watch us," Andrei replies, turning his back on the man entirely.
Behind us, the massive lockdown shutter finally finishes its ascent, locking into place with a heavy metallic ring that echoes off the neighboring high-rises. I turn around and look at the dark, towering monolith of the building.
"That's it then," I say.
"It's just a building now," Andrei says.
"A tomb, you mean."
Andrei stops and looks at me. He’s breathing hard, steam pluming from his mouth in the freezing night air.
Flakes of snow are already melting into the shoulders of his black coat.
For a split second, the hard, ruthless warlord edge vanishes from his eyes.
He reaches out, his thumb brushing a snowflake off my forehead. His touch is shockingly gentle.
"You're still standing," he says.
"So are you."
"I didn't think... I didn't think we'd make it," I admit, my voice finally cracking.
I take another shuddering breath, and my grip on the rifle finally loosens. The weapon hangs heavy at my side.
"God, I'm so tired," I say, the exhaustion crushing down on my spine.
"I know. Just a little further."
"I think I'm going to be sick. Or cry. Maybe both," I mutter, closing my eyes and letting the freezing wind numb my face.
I adjust the strap of my rifle, forcing myself to look around. Across the snowy plaza, the small lights of the valet stand glow against the dark.
"Look, the valet stand. There might be keys," I say, pointing.
"We'll take the Mercedes. It's armored," Andrei says, tracking my gaze.
"Let's just go. Please."
I take one step toward the street, and my body completely quits.
The adrenaline shuts off like a blown fuse. My knees buckle, turning instantly to water. The rifle slips completely off my shoulder, my fingers too numb and useless to hold the strap. The ground rushes up to meet me, the snow blurring into white noise.
"Ruby? Stay with me," Andrei’s voice snaps.
"Everything's... going dark," I slur out.
"Focus on my voice. Look at me."
Before I hit the concrete, his arm snakes around my waist. He catches me mid-fall, hauling me flush against his side. His grip is iron-solid, taking my entire weight without flinching. I drop my head heavily onto his shoulder, too weak to keep my neck straight.
"I've got you, little bird," he says, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
"Don't let go," I whisper into his coat.
"Never. Now walk."