Chapter 429
Chapter 429:
Liam waited until her footsteps faded. Then he threw the covers off.
He moved with desperate, jagged determination. His shattered leg screamed in protest—a symphony of agony that nearly blacked out his vision—but he forced himself to ignore it.
He dragged his body to the edge of the bed.
He couldn’t walk. Standing was impossible.
He spotted a wheelchair folded in the corner. He gritted his teeth and slid off the bed, landing on his good knee. He crawled, dragging his ruined leg behind him like dead weight, sweat pouring into his eyes.
He reached the chair.
With a groan that tore from his throat, he hauled himself up and into the seat.
He wheeled himself to the closet. His clothes were there. He pulled his jacket on over his gown and checked the lining.
Beatrice had missed the burner phone.
He dialed a number he had memorized years ago—a mercenary group he had once considered hiring.
“This is Code Black. Asset Alpha,” Liam whispered, his voice trembling with pain but steel-hard. “I need extraction. Roof. Now p>
“Sir? We thought you were incapacitated p>
“I’m back,” Liam said, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
The confused boy was gone. The man staring back was hardened by the fires of two lifetimes.
“Get the helicopter. And bring the heavy gear. We have a war to join p>
The Cloud Zenith Hotel was in lockdown. Police cars surrounded the entrance, lights flashing blue and red against the rain, but they kept their distance. The gunfire from the roof had spooked them.
Inside the penthouse, the air was thick with tension. Lucian was in the hallway, screaming at the police chief over the phone, demanding an extraction team.
Skye was alone in the suite. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since they were on the yacht.
A knock on the door.
“Police! We need to clear the room!” a voice shouted. “Bomb threat p>
𝘜𝗇𝘮𝗼𝖽𝗂𝗳𝗶ed c𝘩𝖺𝗽𝘁еr𝗌 𝗈n 𝘣еlո𝗈vе𝗅ѕ.с𝗼𝘮
Skye frowned. It sounded urgent, but something was off. The accent was wrong.
She walked to the door and checked the peephole.
Two men in SWAT uniforms stood there, helmets on, visors down. But they weren’t holding standard-issue weapons. They held suppressed pistols.
She undid the deadbolt but kept the security chain on. She opened the door two inches.
“I need to wait for Mr. Graves p>
The “officer” didn’t wait. He kicked the door with a force that shattered the frame and ripped the chain from the wall.
Two men burst in.
Rocco, a hitman with a scar running through his eyebrow, and a massive brute named Vinnie. They weren’t police.
They were Mrs. Chandler’s Cleaners.
Skye grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the console table and swung it with all her might.
Rocco caught the lamp mid-swing with one hand. He didn’t even flinch.
“Feisty,” he grunted.
He backhanded her.
The force of the blow sent Skye spinning. She hit the floor hard, the room darkening.
“Grab her,” Rocco ordered. “Use the freight elevator. The ambulance is waiting in the alley. Mrs. Chandler wants her alive first p>