Page 109 of Rescuing Aria
I see her.
Choked. Lifted off the floor. A brute of a guard presses her against the concrete wall, arm flexed. Her legs kick weakly. Her hands claw at his wrist.
Near them, a body lies still. Another guard. A teenage girl crouched by him. Bloodied. Blade shaking in her grip.
Time stops. Something inside me snaps.
I’m on him before thinking. I snatch a length of rusted rebar from ruined shelving mid-charge. My first swing connects with the guard’s head—solid and brutal. He grunts, stumbles.
Drops Aria.
She crumples.
I swing again. Catch him in the temple, full force.
His knees give out. He crashes to the floor.
I swing once more for certainty.
Then I’m beside Aria.
Catching her, holding her close as her body shakes and gasps for air. Tears stream down her dust-covered cheeks. Blood from a temple cut threads into her hairline.
My voice comes apart.
“Aria—” My hands desperately check for injuries. Jaw. Sides. Arms. Shoulders. “God, you’re bleeding?—”
She clutches my wrist like it’s the only real thing left on earth.
“Jon…” she croaks.
THIRTY
Aria
Am I?I touch my cheek, feeling wetness. Not my blood—Wolfe’s, or my father’s, or the nameless girl’s. The thought makes me shudder.
“Not mine,” I tell him. “My father—he’s free. He attacked Wolfe. I think he might have killed him.”
Jon’s expression darkens as he takes in my disheveled appearance, the blood staining my clothes—not mine, but evidence of violence nonetheless. His gaze shifts to the nameless girl, who stands frozen, knife still clutched in her hand.
“Who’s this?” he asks, though I suspect he already knows.
“She helped me,” I explain quickly. “She’s been Wolfe’s prisoner. We’re taking her with us.”
“We need to move,” he says, already assessing our options. “The alarm will bring every guard in the building.”
As if confirming his words, shouts echo from multiple directions. The house is mobilizing around us.
“This way.” Jon leads us down a utility corridor I hadn’t noticed. “I’ve mapped most of the east wing while looking for you.”
The girl follows hesitantly, staying close to me, clearly uncertain about this new variable in her escape attempt.
“He’ll help us,” I assure her. “Jon rescues people. It’s what he does.”
We follow Jon through a maze of service corridors, the wailing alarm masking our movements. He pauses at intersections to check for guards before waving us forward.
“How did you escape?” I ask as we duck into what appears to be a laundry room.
