Page 121 of Lost to Thievery
“We have to go,” Grayson said softly. “The others are here.”
I let Grayson pull me away from the door.
I let him rip me and Owen apart.
Ava
Ifollowedblindly,numblyafter Grayson, my world spinning out of control.
What the hell am I doing? What is wrong with me? They are my friends. How can I do this to them?
Grayson shook my shoulders. I blinked his face into view.
“Breathe, Ava.” He looked worried. “I need you to keep it together, just for a few more minutes, okay?”
I nodded, realising I was hyperventilating.
“Look around. Tell me what you see.”
I tried to blink away the blurriness in my vision. “Corridor. Ugly blue walls. You.”
Grayson smiled. “Keep your eyes on me. Breathe.”
My chest eased at the familiar softness of his smile. It wasn’t the sneering, taunting one I had grown accustomed to seeing.Thissmile had always been magnificent. Otherworldly.
“We can go back,” Grayson said quietly. He held out a pair of cuffs to me. “You can still take me in.”
I pushed the cuffs away, righting myself. “I made my choice.” Even if it was the biggest mistake of my life. Even if it could mean my death. With Grayson I never knew. But wasn’t that part of the appeal? “Get us out of here.”
Before I can think too much. Before I fall apart completely.
Grayson grabbed hold of my hand and jogged to the end of the passage. He peered down the adjacent corridor and swiftly stepped back. He held his fingers to his lips, and I held my breath. Someone was coming.
Grayson rolled his shoulders back, grasping the cuffs firmly around his fist. His lips moved soundlessly as he closed his eyes in concentration. Was he counting?
With a sudden, powerful swing, Grayson struck out. To my surprise, his fist connected perfectly to the face of an unsuspecting agent, running down the corridor. The agent’s feet flung out from beneath him with the force, and he landed on his back with a thud. Out cold.
We ran down the corridor, slipping into a doorway. A kitchen. It was deserted. Everyone must have evacuated when the fire alarm went off. Grayson led us past a door with an exit sign, and into another larger room. The museum cafeteria. There were metal tables and benches along the length of the room, but all were empty, except for the trays of abandoned food. We almost made it to the doors when they swung open, four agents barrelling into the room.
Grayson did not hesitate, like the agents did, caught off guard by us. In two smooth strides he was on top of a table, then leapt into the air, right into the group of agents. He took the onein the middle down, as he landed—the agent’s head knocking backwards as Grayson’s boot connected with his face.
Grayson rolled when he hit the ground, then shot up, his knife digging deep into the forearm of another agent. He used the knife to yank the agents arm down, and the man’s gun clattered to the floor. The other agents charged forward, unable to shoot at Grayson, not wanting to risk shooting their own.
I caught the grin on Grayson’s face before the men crowded him.
Psychopath.
One of the agents dropped to the floor, his breath knocked from him. Grayson’s knife was still sticking out of his arm. Another gun skidded across the floor, and the man scurried towards it, still heaving for air.
Grayson didn’t seem to notice him as he fought the other two agents, moving so precisely and gracefully, it almost seemed like a dance.
I made my way over to the agent who had reached the gun, picking up a metal tray from a table and swung hard. The tray connected with his skull in a loud bang, and the man dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Did I swing too hard? Was he dead? Gods, I hoped not.
I turned back to see Grayson grinning at me. He had a gun to a kneeling agent’s head, who was somehow handcuffed to the other one that was already unconscious.
“That’s my girl,” he praised, mischief dancing in his eyes.
