51. Gwen
Gwen
“Bloody hell.” I’m about to hyperventilate. “It’s like the compound attack all over again, but with the Swiss, not Aussies. Jezebel tricked them, didn’t she?” I’m panicking, and that won’t do any good, dammit.
Easton gently seizes both my arms and simply stares into my eyes as if we have all the time in the world. He holds me like this for a few seconds, and by some small miracle, it works.
“We considered this on the flight to Bern—another deepfake Aussie-Vanuatu scenario, but it ranked low on possibilities,” I say now that my head is mostly straight. “The enemy was supposed to want me alive. Framed. Not dead or detained.” It doesn’t add up.
“We obviously can’t engage, and neither can you,” Carter joins the call with Natasha. “My team has to stand down. This is now about getting you out. We’re skipping to plan C.”
Shit.
“Plan C is on thin ice,” Sebastian bites out, hopping onto the line now, too.
“All main exits are being blocked as we speak. Roads have been cut off for civilian containment. They’re covering the entrances.
Your only option, if you can get there fast enough, is my emergency route in my bedroom on the second floor. ”
“They’re setting the breach positions,” Carter adds. “You’re out of—”
The floor bucks, and Dad loses hold of the mobile as dust from the blast sifts from the ceiling like gray snow. Easton pulls me around tight to his side.
Dad crouches and picks up the iPhone. “The line’s dead. The Swiss killed the service.”
“Probably killing comms to prevent remote detonation,” I whisper. “They must think we have a trigger device.”
Fucking Jezebel.
“We need to get downstairs to Sebastian’s room.” We should’ve been on that floor to begin with, but the Brits insisted on level three because it was the most secure. And that’s our fault. They didn’t know about the emergency exit because we withheld it from them.
Easton and Dad guide me out of the suite as if I can’t find my own way. Once we’re in the hall, darkness slams over us like an ominous warning. One I saw coming but still react to by flinching.
“Keep moving,” Easton orders. “Your dad and I memorized the layout, don’t worry.”
Overprotectiveness is about to pay off.
“No one dies so I live, are we clear?” I finally voice my concerns as vehemently as possible. And of course, they both ignore me.
Figures.
They continue to move. I’m boxed in by two men who love me the most, and I feel safer for it, but still terrified for what might happen next.
I pull Easton’s hoodie over my mouth as another blast rattles the structure.
Once in the stairwell, boots thunder below us on the first floor.
They’re in.
SWAT. Soldiers. Someone’s family.
This is my plan. My failure.
“Shit. We’re gonna have to go up to go down,” Dad whispers, then urges me to go that way.
Sebastian told us there’s a secret set of stairs leading from a room on level six to the emergency exit from room twenty-two. His overkill in keeping his family safe for when they stay here is more than likely the only reason Dad agreed to use this place.
“They’re on our ass. Hold on.” Easton cracks open the fourth-floor door and rushes me inside. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
“They’ll have night vision,” I cry out like they don’t already know.
“We’ll handle it,” Dad says. “Wait for us to open the door.”
Easton’s hand slips from my arm as they fade into darkness. The door closes with a soft click.
Sound ricochets—blasts, boots, and shouts—my heartbeat competing with all of it.
Then . . . silence.
The door opens slowly, and I know it’ll be them, because they won’t let anything happen to me, but relief still hits hard when Dad whispers my name.
“They’re down, but alive.” Dad takes hold of my hand and helps me over a body I pray is really only unconscious as we continue to level six.
“Almost there,” Easton murmurs, his presence somehow steadying me.
He and Dad—fighting side by side because of me.
Dad opens another door and hisses low, “Get her out of here.”
“Wait, what?” I turn toward his voice. “Why aren’t you coming?”
“They’re too close. Buying you time.” Dad nudges me away again, in a hurry for me to obey.
“Please.” Panic tangles in that word, but Dad doesn’t argue.
He’s locked into operator mode, and he shuts the door on us before I can beg even more.
“Come on.” Easton snatches my hand and pulls me down the dark hall.
“How will you know where the room is?”
“I measured the distance on the plane in case we had to leave this way. I counted the steps.”
Another blast rocks the corridor, and smoke billows in. Without ear protection, every sound is brutal and punishing.
“Dad!” I cry out on instinct, unable to stop the scream.
Easton spins me around behind him.
Before I can think, he pushes me into a room—no locks since this isn’t operating as a hotel, which helps us and them.
“What about Dad?”
“I have to get you out first. That was always the deal.”
Deal?
“I’ll go back for him,” he grits out. “You have my word.”
The cold air slaps me in the face when the exterior door flies open.
Easton passes me off to Carter and Constantine, who are waiting outside by an SUV.
Smoke stings my nose, and sirens wail somewhere too close.
I barely have time to understand what’s happening, or to say goodbye to Easton, before he disappears back inside, Constantine at his six.
Carter pulls me toward the open side door, my Converse slipping on icy pavement. He helps me in and shuts the door behind me, then gets in behind the wheel.
The leather is warm beneath my clothes, seat warmer already on. A blanket is thrown over my shoulders, and someone tucks it around me.
Natasha. Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s my fault Dad’s not here.
“Where’s Wyatt?” She’s in the third row, my rig open on her lap, brows drawn together in worry.
My teeth won’t stop chattering as I tell her what happened, shame burning my eyes. This is my fault. Please, God, please, if you’re really up there . . . bring them back to me alive. The SUV abruptly lurches into motion, and I call out, “No, wait! We can’t leave them.”
“We also can’t sit here and let the police find us down the block,” Carter answers while pulling down another road.
He parallel parks alongside a two-story brick house, putting a decent distance between us and the danger.
The sirens dull but don’t disappear. “Griffin is on overwatch out of sight. The second he sees the door open again, I’ll loop back around, just like we did for you. ”
“I’m so, so sorry.” The words break apart on a hiccupping breath.
“Your dad will be okay. All three of them will be,” Natasha says firmly and with the kind of conviction I need to hear.
“How did this happen?” I twist around to face her again.
“Someone spoofed Swiss command the same way they did the Aussies. They used them as cleanup.” Her voice trembles slightly, cluing me in that she’s not as calm as she wants me to believe.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I get that part.
” I drop the blanket. I don’t deserve warmth and comfort while those I love are at risk.
And the sun? Why is it still freaking shining amidst the evil surrounding us?
“It’s the why that doesn’t track. I was banking on them needing me, trying to take me. ”
A radio squawks up front, and I jerk around, waiting.
“Door opening. Stand by.” Griffin’s voice crackles through. “They’re all out and ready for pickup.”
My chest caves inward.
Carter throws the SUV into reverse and whips the wheel with the heel of his palm, spinning us around in one sharp movement, and I slide over to the seat next to me.
Through the windshield haze, I see them. Constantine and Easton, each with an arm around Dad. He’s limping, and his face is gray beneath streaks of soot and blood at his temple, but he’s moving with them.
“Wyatt,” Natasha breathes out, her palm slapping the back of my seat.
The second we’ve stopped, Carter jumps out. The doors open, and the cold air and diesel fumes rush in. I scramble into the third row beside Natasha to make space for the two men I . . .
Love. And I do love Easton, don’t I? Like love love.
Easton helps Dad inside and climbs in after him, sitting on top of my abandoned blanket. Constantine takes the front passenger seat, and Carter is already moving before the doors fully shut, engine growling as we pull away.
“D—dad.” My voice is shaky, but it works. “Are you okay?”
He turns his head slowly. Dirt, blood, and powdered concrete cover him. He glances between Natasha and me, checking on us. Typical. “Got pinned under some debris, but I’ll be okay. Nothing broken,” he says hoarsely.
He’s gotta be hurting, but he won’t let us know it.
I cover my mouth as tears spill fast.
Natasha shuts my rig and passes it over to me to get closer to Dad. She bends in, tears cutting down her cheeks as she nuzzles her head against the side of his.
As Carter weaves in and out of traffic, Easton turns back, eyes on me.
“Thank you,” I mouth, and his jaw tightens.
Easton gives me one small nod and lets me know, “We didn’t kill anyone.”
“I had rubber rounds on me,” Constantine adds from the front.
My lungs pull in a full breath, one that’s still burning. “All of this was for nothing. I’m so sorry.” I band both arms across my midsection, doing my best not to unravel, but I can feel it happening anyway.
“Not your—” Easton cuts himself off when Carter’s mobile rings.
I look up to see who’s calling. I can’t take much more news, not unless it’s the good kind for once.
Carter’s mounted mobile is lit up on the dash with the name: GIDEON.
“The plan backfired,” Carter shares with him. “They had to escape. We’re clear, but—”
“They didn’t need Gwen anymore,” Gideon hisses, voice raw. “Because they got my brother.” A curse, low and vicious follows. “Julian and Zoey are gone.”