Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“You can’t go alone,” I choke out. “Don’t leave me.”
His thumb brushes my jaw. “I’m not leavin’ you.”
“You are,” I whisper.
“No,” he counters. “I’m not.”
And then— I realize what he means.
He reaches into the drawer beside the door and pulls out a second weapon. Not big. Not intimidating. Just a compact gun meant for emergency use. He hands it to me butt-first.
My eyes widen. “Ledger, I don’t know what to do.”
“You won’t have to use it,” he says softly. “I won’t let it come to that.”
“But if something happens.”
“It won’t,” he repeats. “Because you’re stayin’ right here by this door until I say otherwise. You hear me?”
I nod, hands trembling.
He steps back. “If anyone but me opens this door you shoot.”
“Riot.”
“Only if they come through,” he says. “But don’t hesitate.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
His eyes soften for a fraction of a second a tiny crack in his armor. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers.
There it is again, that tether. The undeniable pull.
“Riot,” My voice breaks without my permission.
He stops in his tracks.
Slowly, he turns back around.
I can’t help it. I step forward. He does too.
We meet in the middle breathless, scared, wanting, incomplete.
I rise onto my toes before I realize what I’m doing. His hand cups the back of my neck, warm and gentle and grounding. And for the first time since the accident, I kiss him.
Not a hesitant brush.
Not a testing peck.
A real kiss. A remembering kiss. A claiming kiss.
Soft. Desperate. Slow. Perfect.
His breath shudders. His lips part against mine. His other hand clamps around my waist, careful but hungry. He kisses me back like a man drowning.
But then he pulls away abruptly, breath ragged, forehead pressed to mine. His voice is almost inaudible. “Sunshine,” he whispers, “I swear to God, when this is over…”
He doesn’t finish. He can’t.
Because a crash echoes from somewhere outside metal slamming into concrete.
He jerks back, gun raised. “Someone’s here,” he growls.
“Riot.”
“Get behind the door,” he orders. “Now.”
I do. The safehouse lights flicker once. Twice.
Then—They go out completely.
Total darkness.
I hear Riot cock his weapon in the dark.
“Stay with me,” he whispers. My heart beat echoes in my ears.
“I won’t lose you,” he says — quiet, lethal, a vow and a threat wrapped together.
Then—The unmistakable sound of footsteps above us.
Heavy.
Purposeful.
Hunting.
My blood runs cold. They found us.
Again.
And this time, they didn’t come to warn us.
They came to finish what they started.
Nineteen
Ledger
If it’s war they want, I’ll give them annihilation.
The lights die.
Completely. Instantly. No flicker. No warning.
Just a harsh snap into black.
Kelly’s breath stutters behind the reinforced door panel where I positioned her. My own pulse roars in my ears as the darkness folds around us. I shift my stance, feet planted shoulder-width, gun raised and angled to the sound of footsteps scraping overhead.
They're deliberate. Too slow for panic. Too steady for amateurs.
Trained.
And close.
“Riot,” Kelly whispers, voice trembling.
“I hear them,” I murmur back. “Stay down. Don’t move until I say.”
The storm rages above, thunder pounding the earth like it’s echoing the same fury exploding inside my chest. I slip into that part of myself I don’t use often, the part that doesn’t feel fear or pain or hesitation. Compartmentalize.
The part of me that kills.
A groan of metal comes from somewhere in the ventilation tunnels above.
Then a thud. Another. Closer.
Whoever it is, they’re dropping into the underground ventilation path—trying to bypass the reinforced entry and come through the back.
Not stupid.
Not random.
But not as smart as they think.
Because I'm here.
I step silently across the concrete floor, slick boots making no sound as I crouch near the utility panel. Kelly stays exactly where I told her, pressed behind the secondary blast door partition, gun in hand, breaths uneven but controlled. This place is like Batman’s lair on steroids. Every chapter of the Kings came together to design this with all prior military bunker knowledge used.
Kelly, though, she’s my focus. I’m proud of her. And terrified for her.
A scraping noise drags across the upper vent.
I angle my gun up.
Finger tight to the trigger.
Focus narrowing to a razor point.
The grate overhead lifts just an inch— But enough.
A gloved hand slips through first. Then a knife. Curved. Serrated. Silent.
They're coming in quietly.
Wrong move.
I surge forward and fire once into the duct. Metal screams. Something inside grunts—low, pained—but another body shifts behind it.
Two. Maybe three.
“Kelly,” I growl, “stay hidden.”
Silence behind me, except for her shaky inhale. But no argument. No panic.
Good girl.
The vent above snaps, metal clattering, and the full weight of an attacker drops through the opening, landing in a crouch ten feet away.
He’s masked. All black. Bulky enough in combat gear.
He rises slowly, knife in one hand, pistol in the other.
The fucker thinks he’s even with me.
I fire—But he’s fast.
He rolls behind a support beam, my bullet pinging off concrete. A second attacker drops into the room right after him—this one smaller, quicker, already springing toward my side.