Page 70 of Forbidden Empire
No fear, just focus.
One of Rhea's men popped up, his pistol aimed right at Ares’ head. I put two in his chest. He folded like someone had cut hisstrings. Another guy tried to swing around on the left. I got him under the jaw.
Blood hit the ceiling in a bright red spray.
Through the mess, I saw a flash of Rhea's crimson dress vanishing down the hallway. She was gone, leaving her men with us.
"Cover me!" I yelled, though I could barely hear myself over the bullets.
I pushed off, staying low, zigzagging between furniture. A bullet skimmed past my ear, so close I felt the heat. Another one punched through the space where my head was a second before.
Then something hit my side, a brutal, white-hot spike between my ribs.
I staggered and caught myself against the wall. My hand came away red with blood.
The pain was sharp, ugly, but underneath it, something hotter burned.
Rage. Focus. Desperation.
Rhea's heels hammered the marble floor, echoing down the corridor. She was running, but I was closing in. Every labored breath edged me closer. Each step was Esme’s name ringing in my chest.
Blood dripped down my side, leaving a trail. I ignored it, jaw clenched so tight my teeth hurt.
Somewhere ahead, Esme waited. And nothing—not bullets, not blood, not Rhea’s entire army—was going to keep me from her.
Fourteen
ESME
Gunfire. Like the world’s angriest drum line pounding against the walls, and then my heart, then everywhere.
I jerked, hard, the zip ties biting deeper into my wrists, panic in my mouth. I twisted, shoving the chair legs across concrete, ignoring the pain screaming up my back.
Sweat dripped into my eye, the one Rhea’s ring had gotten up close and personal with, leaving it all puffy and split.
Sweet flaming hell, it burned. I squirmed, shoulders howling, and reached for my stiletto.
The heels had seen better days. I was going to see another one, if I could just…
Yes. Got it. My fingers fumbled the tiny catch, and the heel’s secret compartment snapped open.
In a room this small, the click might as well have been a gunshot.
“Fuck yes.” It came out in a wet croak, my split lip stinging as I sucked in a breath.
Razor blade pinched between fingers, hands shaking so bad I almost dropped it.
Blood on my chin, sweat everywhere, ribs on fire, all thanks to Rhea’s goons.
The memory flashed, ugly and full of Rhea’s smeared lipstick and laughter. She’d watched her guards work me over. Laughed harder every time someone’s fist smacked into my face.
The plastic ties would not go. The razor was dull, and my hands were slippery. I sawed anyway, frantic, while gunshots kept count in the halls.
Each cut, closer. Each heartbeat, faster. Finally, the zip ties gave, my arms flopping forward like they’d died.
Pins and needles, stars behind my eyes, and I nearly screamed, but bit down instead, tasting blood.
Outside, boots stomped. Rhea’s guy was clueless. The gunfire rolled away, deeper into the building. Bought me a minute, maybe two.
