Page 55 of Betrayed Auctioned Mate

“They’ve cut off the team from base; they’re deep in our systems,” I tell Ado. “They’re on their own.”

Ado swears. It’s a straight shot to the mountain now, but as the speed climbs, I know he will definitely get a ticket for speeding.

Instinctively, I take his free hand in mine and grip hard. He squeezes me back even tighter.

We anchor each other, then speed into the storm.

***

Border Ridge mansion is aglow with flashing lights. Clearly, the security protocol has been tripped. It’s like Christmas Day up there.

Ado and I leap from the van and sprint to the open gates of the estate, weapons at the ready, rain lashing our faces. Far ahead and above us, the mansion's dark upper windows look like soulless eyes, the flashing lights in the lower floors yellow as rotten teeth glinting as they snarl.

The silence over the mountainside is shattered only by the distant echo of gunshots—three in quick succession. Then silence.

For a stunned moment, we stand frozen in the downpour. Every muscle in my body strains as I listen hard. The storm’s rage feels almost unnatural, a cover for the violence within this place. There is death here. I can feel it. The death of innocence—the death of freedom. Potentially, today, the death of me.

“They’re inside,” Ado says, voice tight with worry. Rainwater drips out of his hair and down his straight nose.

Something seems to take over my body all of a sudden.

I grab him and hold his face hard in my hands. “Don’t die,” I say with all my strength. “It’s your job not to die. Remember?”

Ado’s face crumples with a kind of hopeless sadness that shouldn’t exist there. He kisses me hard, arms so tight around my middle that I feel held together.

Another shot rings out in the dark. The kiss sours, and I pull away.

Without another word, we move, sprinting toward the side of the mansion.

We find a broken window near the ground floor, jagged shards of glass scattered across the drenched earth. Ado takes the lead, hoisting himself through the shattered frame, and I follow close behind, careful not to cut myself on the sharp edges.

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. The hallway is dimly lit. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows against the walls. I swallow so hard it hurts, scanning the space around us.

Bullet holes riddle the walls, and there are splatters of blood—fresh—staining the once-pristine floors.

A distant shout pierces the silence.

"Percy," Ado breathes.

We exchange a glance, then race toward the sound.

I keep pace with Ado—we stay low to the ground and run like hell through the hallway, a richly decorated antechamber featuring an overturned Ottoman in a pile of broken glass, and a gallery thick with settling sawdust from the blown-apart ceiling, riddled with bullet holes.

We come upon a grand staircase and sprint up the stairs two at a time.

At the top, we see Percy. He’s alone, back against the wall. Facing off against three armed guards. Breathing hard but still defiant. His eyes are calm as he assesses the threat, but I see them flicker toward us once, for a single heartbeat.

Before the guards can overwhelm him, Ado and I rush forward, joining the fray without hesitation.

The men are enormous, and they’re not just hired thugs this time. They’re shifters, and they’re physically overwhelming. One guard lunges at me, his rifle raised.

I have to use my speed and agility to my advantage. I sidestep his attack, slamming my elbow into his ribs and grabbing the barrel of his gun, wrenching it from his grip. I swing it around as a blunt weapon to knock him off balance before finishing him with a hard, clumsy kick to the chest that sends him sprawling.

Beside me, Ado is a blur of movement, his strength overwhelming the second guard in seconds. With a swift, brutal efficiency, he disarms and disables him, leaving him crumpled on the floor. Percy takes care of the last guard, landing a mighty blow with the butt of his gun that sends the man crashing into a wall and finishing him off with a shot to the shoulder. The hallway is ours again.

“Thanks,” Percy pants, wiping blood from his brow. “You really saved my ass there.”

“No problem,” I tell him, just as breathless. “Comms were cut—”

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