Chapter 941
“Alistair?” Skye pushed herself upright, glass shards falling from her hair.
Alistair was sitting up, his face pale. A jagged piece of window frame had sliced his forearm. Blood, dark and thick, was already soaking through his white shirt and dripping onto the leather seats.
“I’m fine,” he gritted out, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth. “Driver, go. Safe house. Now.”
The driver floored it.
Twenty minutes later, in the sterile living room of the safe house, Parker was pacing, ripping the Maximillian contacts from his eyes.
“They used a car as a weapon!” His voice cracked. “That wasn’t a warning — that was an assassination attempt!”
Skye said nothing. She was watching Alistair, who sat on the sofa while a medic stitched his arm. He didn’t flinch as the needle went in, but Skye felt every puncture in her own skin.
She pulled out her phone. Her fingers were shaking — not from fear, but from a cold, white-hot fury. She dialed.
“You knew,” Skye said the moment the line connected.
Sа𝘷𝖾 у𝘰𝘂𝘳 f𝖺𝘃o𝗋𝘪𝘵𝗲 n𝗼𝘃𝖾𝘭ѕ o𝗻 𝗀𝘢𝘭𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝘭𝘴.𝖼о𝘮
“Is everyone intact?” Julian’s voice was calm, filtered through the static of an encrypted line.
“Alistair took a piece of metal to the arm because your plan isn’t working,” Skye hissed. She moved to the window and stared at the closed blinds. “You said the Mastermind would move cautiously. That was a brute-force attack in broad daylight. They aren’t afraid of Maximillian Sterling. They want him dead.”
“Chaos is part of the process,” Julian said — and then came the sound of a heavy, wet cough on the other end. It lasted too long. When he spoke again, his voice was weaker, breathless. “The fact that they struck so quickly means we touched a nerve. The Mastermind is desperate.”
“Desperate makes them dangerous,” Skye countered.
“And predictable,” Julian whispered. “Keep the boy safe, Skye. The game has only just begun.”
She hung up. The nausea was immediate. Julian had sounded detached, almost clinical. He hadn’t asked about Alistair’s arm. He hadn’t asked whether Parker was all right. He cared only about the reaction of their enemy.
Alistair rose and nodded for the medic to leave. His arm was freshly bandaged, stark white against his blood-stained shirt. He crossed the room and rested his good hand on Skye’s shoulder. The warmth of his palm was grounding.
“It wasn’t just a hit,” he said quietly. “The driver — the way he maneuvered. He anticipated the security protocol. He knew we would protect the VIP seat.”
“An insider?” Skye asked.
“Worse.” Alistair’s eyes darkened. “He used a PIT maneuver variant that only Thorne family bodyguards are taught. Specifically, the Praetorian Guard — my father’s personal unit.”
Skye felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. “Dominic’s men? I thought they were liquidated after his arrest.”
“They went underground,” Alistair said. “But if they’re active, it means my father is pulling strings from inside his cell. Or someone has inherited his leash.”
.