Page 115 of The Scarab's Game

Shit, shit, shit!

Rav’s calm voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “The tender’s on its way back.”

I looked at the other door, which led to the rough-hewn and dangerous stairs down. The elevator still wasn’t moving. I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Rav, start up the boat,” I ordered, already moving toward the stairwell. “I’m taking the stairs. We can’t let them get away with her.”

Chapter 43

Jenn

I stumbledas Noah half-carried me from the ancient elevator, his arm tight around my waist. We emerged into a security room similar to the one at the entrance, though much smaller.

He wasn’t covering my mouth anymore. Now was my chance.

“Let me go!” I screamed, twisting and pushing against him with all my strength.

But Noah was still stronger. He anticipated my every move, deflecting each desperate attempt at escape with infuriating ease.

“I told you—both of you—that you should have left,” Noah grunted, his voice a mix of frustration and something almost like regret. Before I could process his words, he hoisted me over his shoulder.

I gasped, the sudden change in position disorienting. “Put me down!” I demanded, fists pounding against his back. I kicked my legs, hoping to connect with something that would make him release me.

His grip remained firm.

As we passed the guard’s desk, my eyes fell on the metal detector wands scattered on the ground. There were no guards in sight.

Blood splattered across the wall behind the desk.

Ice splintered down my spine, and for a moment, I stopped fighting. “Are they…”

I couldn’t finish the question.

I already knew.

Noah’s voice was surprisingly gentle when he said, “Close your eyes.”

Those words sent a wave of nausea through me. What had Noah done?

Oh shit, what had I done by staying to talk to him?

Acid burned up my throat, tinged with the flavor of champagne. Why had I let Dante leave?

We exited through a heavy door, and the cool evening air hit me like a slap. A light spray from the water misted my legs, dangling awkwardly in front of Noah. I pushed up a few inches, desperate to get my bearings.

It was so dark.

When Noah turned, the lights on a small boat nearby shone directly onto us, and I had to avert my eyes. Spots crowded my vision, and I craned my neck to see the museum looming high above us.

We were on a stone dock with a few stairs leading down into the Mediterranean.

“Please, Noah, don’t!” I pleaded, my voice cracking. “Don’t take me!”

The gentle purr of the boat’s engine slowed next to us. From my position over Noah’s shoulder, all I could see was the tip of the port to our right. It was at least a quarter of a mile away. If I screamed again, would anyone hear me? Would it bounce off the water and the cliff above us, stopping anyone from figuring out where I was?

Noah walked down the stone steps toward the small boat and passed me to someone else. The exchange was quick and rough.

The scar. The snarl. The angry?—

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