Page 62 of Duty Compromised
My mind raced through options, probabilities, possibilities. We were outnumbered, probably outgunned, definitely outmaneuvered. Ty was hurt, I was untrained, and they knew exactly where we were. Unless…
“The fire suppression system,” I whispered, already pulling up the building controls on my phone. “I can trigger it manually, create confusion, but?—”
“Do it.”
My fingers flew across the screen, bypassing safety protocols with criminal swiftness. “This is going to be loud.”
“Good. Mayhem works in our favor. Especially when they can’t see straight.”
I triggered the system—every damn bit of it—and immediately, the world exploded into sensory overload. Sprinklers activated with the force of a monsoon, drenching everything in seconds. Every alarm in the building screamed to life—fire, intrusion, system failure—a symphony of electronic panic. Emergency lights strobed like we were in the world’s worst nightclub, turning reality into a stuttering nightmare of shadow and glare.
“Run!” Ty’s hand found mine, pulling me into motion.
We burst from hiding as our pursuers fought through the sudden deluge. Water turned the concrete floor into a skating rink. Someone shouted behind us—angry, frustrated, too close. Much too close.
Ty pulled me forward with sure strength despite his injuries. Water had turned the concrete floor treacherous, and we both had to focus on keeping our footing as we ran.
The exit door appeared through the water and pandemonium. Ty hit it with his shoulder, the metal slamming open into the night. We stumbled into the parking lot, soaked and gasping, the cold air biting against our wet clothes.
We were out. For half a second, I thought we’d made it.
Then shouting behind us—livid, fast, closing.
“They’re coming,” I gasped, though Ty already knew. He had his keys in his hand, moving with impossible control for a man drenched to the skin and bleeding adrenaline.
The truck was still twenty yards away, black against the glistening asphalt. My soaked clothes clung like weights, my bag smashing against my hip with every stride. Every instinct screamed to drop it, but it held the equipment—everything we’d risked our lives to retrieve.
“Keep moving!” Ty barked, not slowing. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t plan to.
Fifteen yards. Ten. The sound of pursuit grew louder—boots hammering pavement, voices fractured by the noises emitted from the building. I could almost feel their heat at my back. One of them shouted something, the words lost under the distant wail of alarms.
Ty reached the truck first, wrenched open the driver’s door. I grabbed for the passenger handle, my fingers slipping once, twice—metal slick beneath my wet palms.
“It’s locked!” My voice broke on the word.
Ty hit the unlock. I yanked the door open and dove inside, slamming it shut just as one of our pursuers reached us. His fist hammered against the window, face twisted with fury on the other side of the glass.
Ty didn’t wait for his own door to close. The engine roared to life, and we shot forward, tires screaming against the slick pavement. Through the rain-streaked window, one of the men lunged, caught the edge of the truck bed, and held on.
“Ty—”
He didn’t answer. The truck whipped in a brutal arc, the world blurring sideways. The man lost his grip, skidding across the asphalt as Ty slammed his foot to the floor. My head snapped back against the seat.
“Down!” he shouted.
I obeyed on instinct, ducking just as something cracked against the rear window—a deafening pop, followed by the sharp splinter of glass. Not a rock. A bullet.
Ty swore, jerking the wheel hard. The truck fishtailed, tires sliding for half a breath before gripping again. Another shot rang out, punching a hole through the corner of the tailgate. He cut the headlights, zigzagging through the parking lot, using the shadows for cover. My brain registered every motion—acceleration, angle, trajectory—an unwanted equation of survival.
The truck burst from the lot, fishtailing again as Ty floored it onto the main road. The turn was so tight the tires screamed again, traction fighting to hold. We teetered for a terrifying heartbeat on two wheels before gravity relented and slammed us upright.
I clung to the dash, pulse jackhammering. Behind us, the Vertex building receded into the rain—flashing lights, figures spilling out, chaos swallowing the night. The only sounds left were the truck engine and my own ragged breathing.
Ty’s jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the road. Water dripped from his hair, darkening his collar. Every line of him was focus and control and contained fury.
I wanted to say something—ask if we were safe, thank him, anything—but my throat refused to cooperate. Words seemed too fragile for the violence we’d just escaped.
