CHAPTER 11 #2
At the dead end of the hall, I dropped to one knee and grabbed the rusted edge of a wall panel.
I yanked it back, revealing a manual keypad covered in a layer of grime.
I spit on my thumb, wiped the dirt off the keys, and punched in the six-digit override code.
With a horrible, unlubricated groan of metal, a small square grate in the floor slid back, opening up a vertical drop into a dirt-walled tunnel that smelled like damp earth and ancient rust.
Fiorella took one look at the black abyss and violently shook her head, recoiling backward. Her claustrophobia was flaring up right when we didn't have a second to spare.
I didn't waste time arguing. I stepped behind her, placed my hand flat on the small of her back, and applied steady, immovable pressure, physically forcing her toward the edge.
"It's either the tunnel or a bullet," I said. "Down. Now."
She whimpered, trembling at the precipice.
I shoved her forward, catching her by the hips to steady her drop as she fell the few feet to the dirt floor below.
The coolness of the earth hit my palms as I followed her immediately, my massive frame filling the opening before she even had a chance to think about climbing back out.
Her frantic, sobbing breaths echoed off the dirt walls.
Even in this absolute hellhole, she still smelled like the expensive perfume she was wearing the night I dragged her out of her life.
"I've got you," I told her, my tone leaving zero room for debate. "Keep moving forward. Crawl if you have to."
I reached up, grabbed the heavy iron grate, and slammed it shut, sliding the internal lock into place.
The exact second the bolt clicked, a massive, muffled BOOM ripped through the earth above us.
The main bunker door was gone. The shockwave shuddered through the dirt tunnel, raining a thin veil of grit right onto Fiorella’s head. My ears rang from the pressure spike.
I wiped the dirt off her forehead with the back of my hand. "That was the door. They’re inside now."
We were buried alive while a hit squad swept our only home.
I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her deeper into the crawlspace, moving us away from the vent.
The ceiling was so low we had to move in a brutal, crouched shuffle, our knees scraping against the hard-packed earth.
I led the way in total darkness, keeping my left hand trailing backward, my knuckles brushing against the small of her back every few steps to make sure she hadn't frozen up.
She trailed right behind me, her fingers hooked desperately into my belt.
Every second we spent in this tunnel was a massive risk.
Alessio had put a tracker in her earring.
It’s how the miserable fuck found us in the first place.
I could have just pinned her down and ripped the jewelry out of her flesh right then, but I didn't want to leave a fresh blood trail, and honestly, she had taken enough damage for one night. We just had to reach the Blind Room.
"Don't let go of me," I ordered, my voice barely a breath in the claustrophobic space. "We're almost at the dead zone."
We hit the end of the crawlspace. My hands found the cold, heavy steel of the lead-shielded door.
The Blind Room. A featureless concrete box no larger than a walk-in closet, lined with enough lead to kill any radio frequency, thermal scan, or audio bleed in the world.
I shoved the heavy door open, grabbed Fiorella by the jacket, and hauled her inside.
I slammed the door shut and engaged the pressure seal. The sudden silence was absolute. No air, no sound, no signal. Total sensory deprivation.
"This is it," I breathed, leaning my back against the heavy steel door, using my weight as the final lock. "We wait here until they leave."
The pitch-black isolation hit Fiorella instantly.
Her breathing fractured into a series of sharp, shallow gasps that echoed off the tight concrete walls.
She started clawing frantically at the collar of her tactical jacket, trying to get air that wasn't there.
Her nails scratched against the concrete, the sound grading against my nerves.
A panic attack right now was a death sentence if they had acoustic sensors sweeping the floor above.
I stepped right into her personal space, my broad chest colliding with her shoulders, and I drove her backward until I pinned her flush against the far wall.
I planted my hands flat on the concrete on either side of her head, completely caging her in with my arms. The heat radiating off my body was the only thing in the room besides her terror.
"Look at me," I commanded, dropping my face level with hers. "I know you can't see, but look where my voice is."
She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving against mine.
"Breathe with me."
A muffled sound filtered straight down through the ceiling—the unmistakable clack-clack of heavy tactical boots walking on the concrete hallway of the bunker above us.
Dust sprinkled down from the ceiling like gray snow, landing in my hair and on Fiorella’s upturned face.
The hunters were standing literally inches above our heads.
I tilted my head up, my eyes narrowing in the blackness as if I could stare right through the rock and put a bullet in the guy's skull.
"Shh. They’re right there," I whispered, barely moving my lips. "Don't. Move."
A whimpering sob bubbled up in her throat, threatening to break out.
I didn't hesitate. My hand shot out and clamped brutally hard over her mouth.
I wrapped my fingers around the back of her skull and yanked her face forward, burying her mouth deep into the crook of my neck.
I shifted my stance, throwing my entire body weight forward, pressing her so hard against the wall she couldn't even twitch.
I hooked my right leg around her thighs, locking her lower body down to stop her from kicking the wall in a blind spasm of fear.
"Give me your breath," I ordered, the vibration of my voice rumbling straight into her chest. "Into me, Fiorella. Give it to me."
The stubble on my jaw scraped against her forehead. The suffocating warmth of our bodies pressed together in the tiny box was intense. I could feel her hot tears soaking into the collar of my shirt, and some sick, twisted part of my brain wanted to tilt her head back and lick them off her skin.
She was spiraling. I needed to ground her, fast, before her heart gave out.
I slid my free hand under the hem of her oversized tactical jacket.
I bypassed the shredded silk entirely and found the bare, cold skin of her upper thigh.
I clamped my hand down with a bruising, unapologetic grip.
I didn't stroke or caress. I just squeezed, my thumb digging deep into the soft flesh, creating a sharp point of pain that forced her spinning brain to snap back to reality. Back to me.