Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
KNOX
Paris.
My Paris looks like a ghost of herself walking toward the Research Building, followed by Mike, each step a little slower than it should be.
Her shoulders curl inward, brown hair hanging limp around her face, and fuck, she’s lost weight again.
Gabriel has stripped everything from her—the clothes, the nail polish, the glitter, and the sparkles in her eyes.
The woman I found in that penthouse four months ago is vanishing by the day, and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it without blowing my cover.
Not yet. But soon.
“You could be more subtle about it.” Ramirez, a stocky man with calculating eyes that contradict his easy smile, slaps my shoulder hard enough to jolt me back to reality. “Stalking the boss’s sister again?”
I tear my gaze away from her. “It’s nothing.”
“That what we’re calling it now?” He’s smaller than me, but no less dangerous. Acting as Gabriel’s second-in-command, his security uniform carries extra insignia that the regular guards lack. “Man, if I didn’t know better…”
“Good thing you know better.” I adjust my rifle strap. “What’s on the schedule today?”
“Perimeter patrol, then escort duty for the supply runners.” Ramirez pulls a protein bar from his pocket. “You eat yet?”
I shake my head. Food is the last thing on my mind.
“Then get your ass to the mess. Can’t have you passing out on duty.” He checks his watch. “Report back in twenty.”
I allow myself one more glance at the Research Building. Did she even get the box? Or did that motherfucker Mike intercept it?
Four months ago, I left her sleeping for a quick supply run before our journey to Iron Gate. I’d been planning to wake her with breakfast, to tell her again how much I needed her to come with me. To give her the blue box I’d searched for, remembering how her eyes sparkled when she talked about it.
But when I returned, a pickup truck was driving away from her building. I recognized the insignia immediately.
Green Industries.
Gabriel had found her.
I’d sprinted up those twelve flights, heart hammering against my ribs, already knowing what I’d find.
Empty fucking rooms.
The blue box sat heavy in my pocket, useless. The thing I’d wasted precious time retrieving while she was being taken.
I failed her. Again.
Getting back to Iron Gate took two days of hard travel, fighting through three herds and running most of the way. When I told Gavin that Gabriel Green had Paris, that she was immune to zombie detection, that she was his sister, his face went slack with shock.
“We need to get her back,” I’d said. “Tonight.”
Sofia had placed a gentle hand on my arm. “Knox, we can’t just charge in there. Gabriel’s compound is a fortress. We need intel, a plan.”
“Then I’ll get it.”
It took three weeks to get inside Gabriel’s growing army. Gavin wanted to send Walsh, said I was too emotionally compromised. He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t budging.
“If she sees a familiar face—” Gavin had argued.
“She won’t. I’ll stay clear until it’s time.”
Three months I’ve been here, working my way up from perimeter guard to trusted team member. Three months watching the woman I love walk to that lab every morning, returning thinner, paler, emptier each time. Three months gathering intel on guard rotations and security protocols.
Three months of seeing Mike follow her, his hand always a little too low on her back, making my trigger finger itch.
Three months of praying to a God I stopped believing in that she hasn’t broken. That some part of the woman who wore glitter in the apocalypse still exists beneath the hollow shell Gabriel’s created.
Yesterday, I finally managed to access her room while she was in the lab. Left the blue box on her nightstand as a message, a promise, a reminder that I was coming for her. That I’d burn this place to the ground to get her out.
But this morning, seeing her… something’s wrong. She looks worse, not better. Like whatever hope she had left has been extinguished.
“Jones!” Ramirez’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Food. Now. That’s an order.”
I nod, forcing myself to turn away from the building. “On it.”
The mess hall buzzes with morning chatter as workers, scientists, and security personnel grab quick meals before their shifts. I fill my tray with oatmeal, coffee, and an apple that doesn’t look half bad.
I scan the room for an empty table, dodging Alex who’s gesturing for me to join his group of bootlickers.
Fuck that. My appetite’s already nonexistent without listening to their Gabriel worship session, and Alex boasting about being the one who spotted Paris first. I try to keep my distance so as not to kill him for it.
I settle into a corner spot, back to the wall, where I can watch both entrances.
“Jones. Mind if I join?” Miller, one of the lab techs, hovers with his tray.
I shrug. “Free country. What’s left of it.”
He sits, stirring sugar into his coffee. “Nice day for patrol. Isn’t it?”
“If you like walking in circles for eight hours.” I shovel a spoonful of bland oatmeal into my mouth. “What’s got you making small talk?”
His eyes dart around before landing back on me. “Min-ji’s worried. And if she’s worried…”
My spoon freezes halfway to my mouth. I force myself to continue the motion, to keep my face neutral despite my racing pulse. “What about?”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “Gabriel wants to move to other samples. Bone marrow, spinal fluid.”
I squeeze the spoon harder. “Sounds standard for Gabriel’s projects.”
“It’s because we haven’t managed any progress yet. And that Mike is always hovering.” His voice catches. “That poor sister. Apparently he’s been—”
My mug hits the table harder than intended. “Been what?”
He flinches. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Spit it out.”
“Look, we all know Mike has… preferences.”
The mess hall blurs, rage turning everything red-tinged. If that fucker touched her—
“When?” The word comes out more like a growl than a question.
“I don’t know details. Just rumors.” Miller looks genuinely afraid now. “Min-ji noticed bruising today. On her neck.”
I stand abruptly, tray forgotten. Miller grabs my wrist.
“Don’t. You’ll blow whatever you’re planning.”
I freeze. “What did you say?”
“I’m not stupid, Jones.” He releases my arm. “You’re not who you pretend to be. Neither am I. Tonight. Lab 3. Midnight. Min-ji wants to talk.”
The last time I tried to talk with Min-ji, Gabriel’s head researcher, she refused to help. Said it was too dangerous, that Gabriel would kill her, that no one could save Paris.
She’s found her courage. Or her breaking point.
Is it a trap?
Sofia talked about Min-ji often and told me that I could trust her, but—Fuck. If that’s my chance to get Paris out of here safely, I’ll take it.
“What—”
“Jones!” Ramirez weaves between tables, face split with a grin that puts me on edge. “Boss wants you. Now.”
“Gabriel? What for?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He claps my shoulder again, leaning in. “Actually, that’s bullshit. Got you a sweet job, brother.”
“What kind of job?” Every muscle in my body tenses.
“The kind where you thank me later.” He winks at Miller. “Now move your ass. He doesn’t like waiting.”
I abandon my tray. Gabriel requesting me could mean anything from a promotion to a bullet in my skull. Three months of careful infiltration, and still, I’ve never had a one-on-one with the man himself.
The mansion sits at the north end of the compound, a colonial monstrosity of white columns and manicured hedges. Two guards flank the entrance, rifles across their chests. Thompson and Gonzalez. Both ex-military. Both competent enough to be dangerous.
“Jones.” Thompson nods as I approach. “Business?”
“Green requested me.”
“Didn’t know you were that important.”
“Makes two of us.” I keep my tone casual. “Where’s his office?”
“Second floor, east wing.” Thompson gestures with his chin. “Follow the hallway, take a right at the painting of the old man. Can’t miss it.”
Inside, the mansion reeks of wealth preserved beyond its expiration date.
Crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, artwork worth more than most people made in a year before the world ended.
I’ve been inside only twice before, covering for a sick teammate and sneaking the blue box into Paris’s room, but the opulence still makes my skin crawl.
I climb the sweeping staircase, boots silent on the plush carpet. The painting Thompson mentioned stares down from the landing. Jacques Green, Paris’s father, the man whose work created this nightmare. His eyes follow me as I turn right, heading deeper into the east wing.
Voices drift from the end of the hallway, Gabriel’s office door standing slightly ajar. I slow my pace, every sense on high alert.
“—looking forward to tonight.” Gabriel’s voice. “You know what I want.”
Min-ji responds, her tone clipped. “The red or the black one?”
“I’m in the mood for red.” His voice drops lower. “And fix that attitude until then.”
“If you fix Mike’s.”
Gabriel laughs. “Mike serves his purpose.”
“He—”
“I’m already doing what you want.” A chair creaks. “And I am being very forthcoming right now. So I expect the same in return. Do you understand what that means?”
Silence stretches, taut as a tripwire.
“Yes,” Min-ji says.
“Yes, what?”
Min-ji’s exhale betrays her fear. “Yes, sir.”
“Keep—”
I deliberately scuff my boot against the carpet, creating noise that signals my approach. Three more steps, loud enough to be heard, before I knock on the mahogany door.
“Enter.” Gabriel’s voice, commanding even through the wood.
“Sir.” I step into the devil’s office.
Gabriel Green sits behind an antique desk, his frame wrapped in a suit. His dark blonde hair is slicked back without a single strand rebelling—controlled, just like everything else in his disgusting domain. A man playing emperor while the world burns.
Min-ji perches on the edge of the desk, wearing her lab coat over a simple blouse and slacks. Her severe black bob and rectangular glasses frame a pale face tight with stress.
A tray with what looks like a meal sits on the desk between them.
“Jones, is it?” Gabriel gestures to the chair opposite. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir.” I lower myself into the seat, keeping my posture rigid.
“Ramirez speaks highly of you.” His fingers drum once against the polished wood. “That will be all, Doctor.”
She slides off the desk, her lab coat rustling as she moves toward the door, not sparing me a glance. “The medication will be ready by five.”
“Excellent.” He dismisses her with a flick of his wrist.
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with the monster.
He studies me, those cold green eyes, so like hers yet nothing like hers, assessing every inch. I keep my face blank, my breathing steady. Don’t give this fucker anything.
“You have military experience,” he says.
“Yes, sir. Marines. Demolitions specialist.”
His eyebrow ticks up. “Useful skill set.”
“Just following orders, sir.”
“I’m transferring you.” He relaxes back in his leather chair. “Effective immediately.”
“May I ask where?”
“My sister’s security detail.”
Three months of infiltration, and he’s handing her to me on a silver platter. “Sir?”
“Her previous handler has become… difficult,” Gabriel says. “Dr. Cho has expressed serious concerns.”
So it’s her doing. Did she talk with Ramirez as well? Instigated this whole situation? Put herself at risk for Paris. The conversation I overheard makes more sense now. She’s trading something with Gabriel to get Mike away from Paris.
Red or black. Lingerie, probably. Sick fuck.
“I’m honored, sir, but—” Playing hesitant feels safer than eager.
“But what, Jones?” His eyes narrow slightly.
“I’ve never done protection detail.”
“This isn’t protection. It’s containment.” He tosses a small silver key on the polished desk. “My sister is valuable but volatile. Your job is simple: keep her alive, keep her compliant, keep her from harming herself. Escort her to and from the lab each morning, and deliver her meals.”
I pocket the key, its weight burning against my thigh like a brand. “Understood.”
Gabriel nods toward the tray on his desk. “She missed breakfast this morning. Take that to her. West wing. Second door on the right past the staircase.”
I lift the tray, balancing it carefully as I exit the office.
If Ramirez meant to do me a favor, he couldn’t have chosen better. If he meant to test my loyalty to Gabriel, he’s just signed his boss’s death warrant.
I move down the hallway, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace.
Not to run.
Not to sprint to her door and tear it open.
Paris.
I’ll get you out of here.