42. To own is to…. Lose
Chapter forty-two
To own is to…. Lose
War of Hearts by Ruelle
When I’m thrust from my dreams, it’s with a groggy awareness, a sudden lack of warmth as Warrick shifts from underneath me. I grumble, my inner thighs aching, my core still soaked with his cum. I can’t help the sleepy smile that spreads over my lips. My fingers dance under the covers to find the tender bite marks there.
Suddenly, the irritated sleepiness leaves his voice, a cold venom that makes my spine straighten taking its place. “…How did you get this number?”
“We both know information is what I do best. Your right hand should be in shortly. You have minutes if you’re lucky, Basilisk. You need to—”
I shoot up in bed, jerking the sheets to my chest as Stuart, flanked by three armed guards, bursts into our room, making me shriek. “There's a team, full tactical, coming in from the west flank of the estate. We need to move now.”
That information comes to me in bits, littered with confusion, my sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up. Thankfully, I’m the only one. A guard tosses a rifle to Warrick, who is already out of bed. “Tyet called my personal number. It’s the feds. How the fuck—” He’s seething, blending seamlessly into him , Basilisk. I watch as he jerks the com from one of the guard’s ears, securing it to his own. “I want a security rundown now.”
My eyes dart toward the windows, squinting into the darkness beyond them. The shadows dance across the waves of tall grass, playing cruel tricks on my mind. It’s Stuart lifting me from the bed that makes me refocus on Warrick, the tendril of worry in his eyes as he glances my way before he wipes it off, giving me a reassuring nod. I don’t fight Stuart, his touch on my nude body clinical as he all but shoves me into the closet, ordering me to dress, tossing a bullet-proof vest in after me. My mind is eerily numb as I do so, the bedroom suddenly a flurry of activity.
“Execute evacuation with a full wipe. Chloe is priority. I want everyone on perimeter. If it’s a team of twenty-five, they are sorely outmatched.” The growl is close as I’m jerked from the closet. “Nobody gets out alive.” I cling to him as he lifts me into his arms just as popping starts in the distance.
Gunfire, the sound dampened by the thick, rich walls.
My messy blonde hair tangles around my face as he hauls me from the room, my stomach bowed over his muscular arm like a handbag as he takes us into the hall. My pulse is whooshing in my ears at a deafening rate, adrenaline dumping with nowhere to exercise it. A scream leaves my throat as a shot rings out close, so close, my eyes widen as stained glass shatters in the foyer.
“Fuck!” Stuart curses as Master shoves me to the ground, his body covering mine, the heat and weight of him pressing into me uncomfortably as all attention flies to the bottom level. I don’t get a second to react before we’re up, moving again. “There’s another party. Take the flank of the estate!”
I’m tugged along by the armed guards surrounding me like shields made of flesh as the gunfire grows louder. The sounds of war imprint themselves on the peaceful hills, the moonlight filling the estate with an eerie glow as hell opens up and threatens to swallow us whole. We’re halfway through the library, toward one of the hidden back exits, when another curse from Warrick follows the crashing of glass.
“This is the FBI, everyone down! Adrian Roth, we know you’re in there! Hands up now!”
Adrian Roth?
The night air is littered with the smell of smoke as we’re thrust into it, only for the breath to be jerked from our lungs as Sir jerks me backward against the edge of the building and back inside. A scream lodges in my throat as the house takes rounds beside us, chips of dark wood bursting around the wall. “Where the fuck is the back permeator team?!” He curses, shoving me behind a bookshelf.
A scream lodges in my throat as a man who looks like something from a war movie bursts around the corner, a glint of silver aimed at Warrick. My eyes widen in horror as Sir lets the sling of the gun catch his rifle as he discards it. The man bellows, his blade held taut, but Warrick’s moves are fluid as he grips the man’s hands, using his momentum to swing the blade up, embedding it in his neck. He wrenches, causing a fountain of blood to open, spraying him before he dips back into the smokey night air.
I scramble, desperate not to lose sight of him, only for a guard to jerk me back by the oversized T-shirt I’m wearing, sending me careening against the shelves so hard, the breath is knocked from my lungs. “STAY DOWN!” Stuart and Warrick work like a well-oiled machine, taking turns dropping the tiny hidden figures out the back entrance until they both surge out together.
“Warrick!” I yell, my fear making everything move in hyper-speed as the guard who had jerked me back inside is kicked back. My body explodes in pain as he lands on top of me, his head connecting with the back of mine.
He’s dead.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
I don’t know who mirrors my curse, but the weight of the man is suddenly gone, letting me suck in a ragged breath, and I’m in Master's arms again. “Come on, baby. Keep your head down.” His words are tight. It’s the strain in them that makes me realize for the first time that I could lose him .
I could be without him again.
He could die.
Suddenly, that haze of adrenaline and panic subside, and it’s happening to me , in 4k, what was once a haven is a war zone as we fly back up the back spiral staircase, hitting the upper landing, only to find it filled. There are men in gas masks, tactical gear, and for a moment, I’m filled with relief.
Until I realize they aren’t our men.
Shots ring out deafeningly, Master shoving me behind him as he tucks into the cover of my bathroom. My hands shake as the tumble of heavy boots fills the hall, the shots lessening, the yelling traded for heavy panting breaths until I’m tugged out into the hall again and we’re moving. I don’t spare the dead men a second glace. Anger swells in me unlike it ever has before.
Because once again, the world is taking something from me.
Once again, the ground jerks from underneath my feet so suddenly, I am helpless to fight it as I fall.
Hot, angry tears fill my eyes as we creep down the stairs, Master and Stuart’s guns on a swivel. A clear is shouted out by one of the many men who just joined us as I’m shoved into the lounge, my eyes darting toward the blood spatter and shattered glass of the snake’s enclosure. I didn’t hazard a glance around me, knowing the creatures inside are hidden well. Like a dance, Master tosses his rifle to another man, jerking a priceless painting off the wall, only to expose a compartment there housing another gun. This one is smaller, compact, and the lull in the fighting expires with vengeance.
It’s a harbinger, the three small canisters that clank as they roll through the wide foyer. It’s the beckoning to the chaos that comes next. I don’t know who grabs my vest as the canisters pop, leaking out a white, peppery-smelling smoke. It looks harmless, but in a moment, the smoke seizes my lungs as I’m jerked past the staircase. My eyes, nose, and mouth feel as though I’ve inhaled molten lava as masked figures, red dot sights raised, dance in the smoke.
One of our guards slams into me from behind as someone calls, “Back exit clear, evac ready!” The hand gripping me loosens, leaving me in the smoke with a jerk .
The sound that comes next is a bellow—my name. The tormented sound of his voice cages my heart as I jerk to my feet, stumbling toward the sound, but I’m lost in what were once familiar hallways, hacking, and fuck, I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe.
But I’m close to the door; the smoke swirls and wafts, looking for its exit too.
Gunshots erupt around me, flashing in the darkness.
The night air doesn’t offer the reprieve I thought it would, but I can see, mostly, past the watering, burning of my eyes. The moment Master’s frantic eyes find mine, his widen, scrambling, fighting against Stuart, who roars at his side. I frown, because my ears are ringing. Where the hovering helicopter behind him should be deafening, there’s nothing. I can’t hear Warrick as he screams for me. Stuart looks…panicked as I fight my way past the pain toward them, his eyes slipping to whatever is behind me.
The concrete is grating until it turns to lush grass against my feet, and fuck, I’m so close. Master is fighting, raging against his friend. It’s when he breaks free, dashing for me, that my eyes clear enough to see it: not a single red dot on his chest, but a volley of them, too many to count. “Warrick!” I scream, my voice hoarse as the rest of his men slam into him, the dots taking their backs before more shots ring out, dropping the men shielding him. Only more fall into their place, forcing him backward into the helicopter.
“Get her! Fucking grab her!” He screams, his handsome face reddened and wet from the smoke.
But there are more voices, ones commanding him to stop.
They’re going to shoot him, and I’m not going to make it.
I know it, and the look in his eyes tells me he knows it too.
My heart wrenches, and God help me, I stop running. My feet go from the numbing sprint to nothing at all. The hard metal of a gun knocks against my shins as I fall. My hands grasp it as my eyes leave panicked, watery hazel ones. When I meet Stuart, I expect to see a lot there. A smirk, gloating, but it's worry, a redesigned kind that sickens my gut as he nods as they finally wrestle Warrick inside .
“I’ll fucking kill you! Get her! Get her or I’ll—”
A sob leaves my throat as I scramble to remember fuck all about how to operate it.
“She’s fucking unarmed. The girl’s a hostage!” someone, maybe Stuart, yells before the door to the helicopter slams shut.
But I’m not.
I’m not unarmed, and I can tell the moment they realize it.
Those remaining on our side who didn’t pile into the helicopter drop, each thud deafening.
“Get your fucking hands off that gun and get on the ground!”
“Lay down on the ground!”
Suddenly, the red dots plastered to the helicopter leave it, every single one pointed at me as I whirl, aiming the gun back at them. The shot that rings out is oddly quiet, the agonizing blast to my chest short-lived as shock takes me. Even so, I know the pain is nothing compared to the idea of losing him, of being separated from him. Gravity barely takes hold of me as they descend on me, shoving, shouting, bending, knees in my spine, my face slammed into the dirt. Since November 17 th two years ago, I’d thought of all the ways I could be saved, countless hours picturing myself going home.
I never, not once, pictured it like this.