Page 111 of Knight

I don’t see where the shot came from, but the force drives him down, a second shot following as he drops to his knees. Blood spreads across the front of his shirt. The echo of gunfire fades, leaving only the hum of destruction and the rasp of my shallow breathing.

Rook comes into view, close behind Sullivan, and his eyes meet mine as his third shot punches through Sullivan’s back, jerking him forward. Shock splashes across Sullivan’s face as a fourth round from Bishop strikes his chest, dropping him to the floor. His blood spreads like spilled ink, soaking his tailored suit. The threat dissolves into silence.

“Rook,” I grind out, voice scraping like gravel. “Take down the servers. All of it. Nothing left.”

Rook doesn’t hesitate. Gunshots ring out as he obliterates the equipment, sparks flying as processors and drives shatter. Smoke thickens, choking the air with a mix of scorched circuits and spilled coolant. The floor gleams wet with blood and chemicals.

“More incoming.” Bishop‘s tone is sharp. “Response team’s on the move.”

The remaining guards scatter, abandoning their posts rather than facing whatever took down their boss. My brothers haul me to my feet, their hands firm despite the slickness of my blood. Pain blazes through me with every step as we retreat, the world spinning.

The silence outside feels jarring, too quiet compared with the carnage we’ve left behind. The SUV is parked exactly where we left it, and my brothers load me into the back.

Pain and blood loss drag at my consciousness, pulling me under then releasing me in waves. Sometimes I surface long enough to catch snippets of conversation, voices filtering through the haze of agony and exhaustion.

"Bleeding's slowing." Bishop's voice comes from somewhere ahead. "Keep pressure on the exit wounds."

"Five minutes." Rook's response carries tension I rarely hear from him. "Traffic's clear ahead."

Darkness pulls at me, but I surface again when the SUV jerks to a stop. Familiar voices blend with the sound of doors slamming.

"Get him inside." Victor's command cuts through the fog. "Straight to the table."

"The wound—" That’s Michael, I think.

"Exit's are clean." Bishop again. "Through and through, missed anything vital."

Then Eva's voice, sharp with fear. "You left me behind!"

"Later." Rook's tone allows no argument. "Help us get him stabilized first."

Her hands find me, trembling but steady. The antiseptic burns, but the fire in her touch grounds me. Her scent cuts through the copper tang of blood and smoke, a reminder of something solid amidst the chaos.

“Next time,” she whispers, her voice fierce, “you don’t go without me.”

“Noted.” A smile tugs at my mouth despite the pain. Even half-conscious, I know there's no point arguing. She'll either come with us, or follow on her own. Probably get herself killed trying to prove something.

Her glare could cut steel. “You think this is funny?”

A weak laugh rasps from my throat. “Hilarious. You’re mad I’m not dead.”

Her hands pause, trembling just enough for me to notice. “If you die, I’ll kill you.”

"Good to know." The words emerge rough, but her hand tightens on mine.

"You're an asshole." But her touch remains gentle as she helps clean the wound. "A stupid, overprotective asshole who thinks he can make choices for other people."

"Nothing new there."

The pain starts to recede as whatever they've given me kicks in. Eva's fingers thread through my hair. My brothers' voices blend with Victor's and Michael's, discussing cleanup plans.

"You're not dying." Eva's whisper carries steel beneath the concern. "I haven't finished being angry with you yet."

“Can’t wait.”

Darkness pulls at me again, but her touch keeps me present. Everything hurts, but we accomplished what we set out todo. Sullivan's dead. His operation's destroyed. His servers are smoking ruins. Nothing left for anyone to salvage or rebuild.

And somehow, despite everything, I managed not to get Eva killed in the process.

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