Page 91 of Blood Heir

The man’s other hand shoots up and claws at the edge, trying to pull the door wider, his fingers grappling, scraping, and slipping against the metal. His face is wild now—red, veins bulging on his neck.

“Get off—get off!” I shout through clenched teeth.

Emilia plants both her feet against the wall and pushes with everything she’s got, her face twisted, breath coming out in sharp gasps.

The door groans and creaks as it wavers between us, like a scale tipping back and forth.

Then Emilia shifts her foot and kicks his trapped hand with her heel, smashing his fingers between door and frame. The man howls, recoiling instinctively.

His grip falters just long enough.

“Now!” I shout.

With a final, violent shove, we slam the door shut fully. The metal clangs loudly as it locks into place, echoing down the narrow hallway. Emilia twists the key fast—click—locking him in.

A heavy, muffled thud hits the door behind us. The man is pounding against it now, but we don't give him a chance.

“Run!” I grab Emilia’s wrist.

We take off, sprinting into the darkness of the open air. The air smells of mildew and concrete. My lungs burn, my heart rattling in my chest.

Ahead of us, another figure rounds the corner—a guard.

No time to think. My instincts take over.

I raise the gun.

One shot.

The blast cracks through the air like lightning.

He drops before he even knows what hit him.

The echo of the gunfire rings in my ears, my hands vibrating from the force of the recoil.

Emilia stares, wide-eyed. Then her head jerks back as distant shouts rise behind us. The reinforcements have heard.

“They’re coming!” she whispers, her voice sharp and thin.

She points at the bushes, and I understand. I grab the dead man’s legs and drag him to the bushes in the darkness. My arms strain under his weight as I wedge him between myself and the corner, using his bulk to shield my body from view. His blood stains my shirt, warm against my skin. My breath comes shallow, but I’m careful not to make a sound.

The footsteps echo louder. Flashlights slash across the corridor walls like searching knives. Then I hear them. Two guards.

A third voice joins in. “Where the hell did the shot come from?”

Then Emilia steps forward, right on cue, her voice shaking just enough to sell it. “I—I was bringing food like Monte said. I heard the shot—it came from that direction.” She points sharply down the opposite end of the hallway. Her voice wobbles like she’s terrified, and honestly, she’s not even pretending at this point.

The beam of their flashlight moves away from me. One of the guards squints at Emilia. “Ma’am, you shouldn’t be out here. Get back inside.”

“Yes.” She nods quickly, curling her arms around herself as if trying to ward off invisible cold. “I will. Of course.”

They don’t suspect her. Of course they don’t. To them, she’s Monte’s little pet—harmless.

“Let’s move,” one of them orders, and they all rush down the hall, their heavy boots pounding the concrete floor as they disappear into the distance.

I don’t waste a second.

The moment their footsteps fade, Emilia whips around and rushes back toward me, breathless, eyes wide. “Come on!” she whispers hoarsely, yanking at my arm.

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