Page 98 of Blood Heir

The second lifts his rifle, but Cassian’s faster. One shot to the throat. The man gurgles, clutching at his neck before collapsing. The third charges, screaming like a madman,swinging a blade instead of firing. I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him forward, and I hook my arms around his neck, snapping his head back until something pops. He falls limp to the floor.

We stumble down the corridor, turning toward the west wing where the service entrance should be—but more men pour in from side halls, firing blindly through the haze.

Bullets ricochet off the walls. Stone chips fly like razors. One round grazes my upper arm, hot and sharp like fire licking my skin. I grit my teeth, forcing my legs to keep moving.

Cassian shoots two more as we dive behind a toppled table. We crouch, breathing heavy, hearing shouting up ahead—chaos breaking loose.

But something changes.

Gunfire erupts behind the men chasing us. Screams echo from the far corridor. We’re now in a slaughterhouse.

I see Gustavo through the smoke further down the hall, barking orders, panicking. His men are breaking formation under the pressure. The traitors aren’t prepared for a proper assault.

“Come on!” Cassian tugs me.

Two more men rush us. My ribs burn, but I charge. The first swings his baton wildly. I duck low, driving my shoulder into his gut, slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. I yank his pistol free and fire point blank into his chest before spinning toward the second attacker.

He tackles me.

We hit the floor hard, my spine screaming in protest. His hands close around my throat, eyes wild. My vision starts to blur. But I’m not dying like this.

Cassian fires two rounds into his chest from behind, saving me. My chest heaves. My ribs feel shattered. My mouth tastes of iron and dust.

“Keep moving!” I rasp, grabbing the fallen man’s gun.

Cassian nods, wiping blood from his swollen eye. We stumble forward as more gunfire rattles through the halls. Bodies pile along the floor—ours, theirs—it’s impossible to tell who’s winning.

The estate is a warzone now. Screams, orders, gunfire—it's all one symphony of violence.

Another squad of Gustavo’s men charges ahead, blocking the final hallway to the service exit.

I lift the pistol I just took.

Cassian raises his.

We open fire together.

The gunfire crackles around me like violent static, but all I can hear now is the pounding in my ears. Blood streaks down my ribs, warm and sticky from the earlier wound. Cassian and I have almost reached the final corner that leads out toward the service entrance when a voice cuts through the smoke behind us.

“Cousin.”

I stop cold.

Through the swirling haze, Gustavo steps into view, shirtless, chest glistening with sweat and streaked with blood, whether his or someone else's, I don’t know. His lip is split open, and one eye is swollen almost shut. His wild eyes lock onto mine.

“Finally, I get to pay you back for humiliating me. Over a woman, no less.” His voice drips with venom.

Cassian moves to step forward, but I raise a hand. This is mine.

I drop my empty pistol, letting it clatter to the ground.

Gustavo lunges.

We collide in the center of the hallway, fists flying, the world narrowing to just the two of us. I duck under his first swing, feeling the air shift as his knuckles slice past my jaw. My fist crashes into his ribs, hearing a satisfying crack. He grunts, stumbling.

I don’t let him breathe. I grab his shoulder, driving my knee into his stomach, folding him in half. He coughs, spitting blood, but he's not finished.

He surges up, headbutting me. My vision blurs. I stagger back a few steps, but I keep my footing.

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