Page 44 of One Shattered Crown
We tear down the hallway. Justice whistles sharply, andLeo darts out of the open doorway, panting, tail up, eyes alert. He barks twice toward the blown-out kitchen, teeth bared in a silent snarl, then sticks tight to Justice’s side.
“They could’ve infiltrated the elevators,” I choke out, my voice high.
Justice glances at me but says nothing, scanning every shadow.
A helicopter thumps the air outside, blades cutting deep and loud.
“Is it yours?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. My stomach knots.
Then the chopper tilts, nose down.
Gunfire erupts and shatters the living room windows, bullets ripping into the furniture. The shots punch through walls, spraying drywall dust through the air.
I scream and grab Justice’s arm.
“Not ours,” he says, low and brutal.
Leo growls deep in his throat, teeth flashing white.
Justice drags me forward. “Go!”
We sprint the rest of the way. He kicks the wide double doors open, revealing his bedroom in tones of black and red.
I have no time to take it in. He pulls me into a walk-in closet lined with suits and rows of polished shoes. At the far wall, he shoves shirts aside and presses his palm flat against the unmarked surface.
The wall slides open.
He yanks me into a narrow chamber, and Leo leaps in behind us. A dim light flickers on overhead. The door seals behind us. My breathing is ragged.
Justice’s arm clamps around my waist, holding me steady. “Hold on.”
The chamber is metal, every edge perfect. He shifts me behind him with one quick motion, keeping my body shielded. His palm presses against another mirrored wall and it unlocks, revealing an arsenal stacked tight. He grabs two weapons, one for each hand.
The elevator drops without warning. My stomach flips, and I yelp. The chamber is a hidden elevator buried inside the skyscraper, carrying us away from the burning wreck above.
“I can’t believe this thing exists,” I gasp against his back. This box isn’t on any plans and nobody knows about it. We’re dropping way too fast for an elevator.
“Hold on to me.” He braces his feet.
I clamp my eyes shut and wrap my arms around his waist, plastering my body to his. The landing is going to be rough.
It is.
We smash onto the floor, bounce, slam again. Metal screeches. My teeth snap together, pain shooting up my jaw. I nearly lose my grip but force my arms tighter around his waist, refusing to be thrown.
I let go only when the chamber stills. Going on instinct, I reach into the storage compartment. My fingers find a weapon, heavy and certain. A Glock. I rack the slide. A round spits free. It was already chambered, but I want to be sure.
“Don’t shoot me,” Justice says, voice clipped.
The building trembles, rolling with muffled blasts.
Explosions. The ground shakes and I nearly fall but regain my stance. Someone just attacked the Malice Media headquarters with a missile. How many more do they have?
Gunfire echoes above us. Shouts rip through the night. His men are holding the line.
The chamber opens into a hidden garage with room for two vehicles, but just one is here. Not just any car. A Rezvani Tank, matte black, angular and brutal, armored with clean lines and military-grade plating. Rare, modern and built for survival as well as dominance.
