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Chapter 832
“Wait,” I said. “That’s suicide. The wolves will be guarding her.”
“Let them try,” he said.
The elevator dinged. The doors opened to the penthouse foyer.
Two wolves stood guard. Before they could even raise their bats, Liam moved.
It was a blur of violence. He stepped into the first wolf’s guard, pivoting his hips and driving an elbow into the man’s throat. As the man gagged, Liam grabbed the second wolf’s arm, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening crack, then slammed the man’s head into the marble wall.
𝗗𝗈ո’𝘵 𝘮𝘪ѕѕ 𝗇e𝘸 𝗿e𝗅𝘦а𝘴𝘦ѕ 𝗈𝗇 g𝗮ln𝗈𝘷𝘦𝗹𝘴.co𝘮
They dropped like stones.
I stared at his back. The efficiency. The brutality. It was different from Alistair’s military precision. This was raw, fueled by a penance only I understood.
“Clear,” Liam said, adjusting his cuffs. He didn’t even seem winded.
He pointed to a large ventilation grate near the floor.
“That leads to the main salon,” he said. “I’ll go through the front door. Draw their fire. You flank her.”
“You’ll be killed,” I said, frowning. “Liam, you don’t have to do this.”
He looked at me. For a second, the mask seemed to disappear, and I saw a depth of pain in those gray eyes that stole my breath.
“I owe you, Skye,” he said softly. “Let me pay the debt.”
He turned and kicked the double doors open, charging in with a roar.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
“Go!” I shoved Victoria toward the vent.
We crawled through the dusty metal tunnel. The sound of chaos was deafening below us—shouts, gunshots, smashing glass.
I reached the grate overlooking the salon.
Bianca sat on a velvet sofa, sipping wine. She wasn’t even looking at the door where Liam was fighting off three men.
She was looking down at something on the floor.
A man. Or what was left of one.
Simon Stone. The financier who had helped launder money for the K-Syndicate.
“You greedy little pig,” Bianca sneered, pressing her stiletto heel into Simon’s bloody hand. “You thought you could steal from me?”
“Please…” Simon wheezed. “I can get it back…”
“Too late,” Bianca sighed.
Outside, thunder rumbled.
But it wasn’t thunder.
It was a rhythmic, concussive thumping.
“Lucian,” I whispered, recognizing the sound of C4 charges being primed. “They’re blowing the wall.”
