Chapter 19 - Maisie

The guard's hand is cold and heavy on my hip, his fingers gripping me too hard. I force myself to keep smiling, but inside, every single muscle in my body is coiled tight, my skin crawling under his touch. I’m disgusted to the point of nausea. My pulse thunders in my ears. The air around me feels so thick, too thick to breathe in. I can’t shake the sense that everything is spiraling out of control.

This part was supposed to be easy. I told the team I could do it no problem. After all, I’m better for this particular job than Zane. Flirt, distract, annoy; anything to give the team enough time to get in and out. They’re almost free of this place. But I can feel it now, the tightness of his hands on me, the growl of his voice, how his eyes narrow, lingering on me too long, too eager.

He’s no longer just playing along with my drunkenness. He’s too close. His breath brushes my neck, sour and hot, and I’m barely holding myself together.

Get away, get away, get away.

I have to pull back. I have to get out of here before—

“Hey, there you are!”

Zane’s voice cuts through the night toward me like a lifeline.

The guard stiffens, loosening his grip just a little. Breath fills my lungs as if a vice has been released from around my throat.

My heart leaps as Zane strides toward us, weaving a little as if he’s drunk, but the glint in his eyes—sharp, focused, and furious—tells me this is no act for him. He’s furious.

“There you are,” Zane repeats, louder now, letting out a half-slurred laugh. “Man, I thought I lost you back at the bar!”

Before I can react, he’s next to me, one arm slipping around my shoulders as he tugs me back and away from the guard, whose hands finally leave me. Zane’s playing it loose, leaning into me as if he’s barely keeping his balance. But I feel the strength in his grip, the way his fingers dig into my skin—a silent reassurance, a question: are you okay?

I swallow hard, nodding almost imperceptibly.

The guard, looking between us, frowns. “You know this guy?”

His voice drips with suspicion, as if he doesn’t believe Zane’s story for a second.

Zane stumbles slightly, making a show of catching himself on me and pulling me closer. His cheek presses against mine, his breath warm against my ear.

“Sorry, Babe,” he mutters just loud enough for the guard to hear, voice rough with forced drunkenness.

I clear my throat, still trying to regain my breath. “I told you not to wander off like that.”

Ignoring me—I wonder if should be concerned that he plays the ‘dumb boyfriend’ role so well—Zane turns to the guard, flashing a lopsided grin. “We had a few too many, y’know? Thanks for lookin’ out for her, man, but I’ll take it from here.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, but I can see the indecision flicker across his face. He’s annoyed, maybe a little suspicious. His hand is hovering in the air as if he’s going to make a grab for me again, and I can feel the heat of Zane’s anger radiating off him, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Just head home,” the guard grunts eventually, stepping back. “And take your hussie girlfriend with you before she causes more problems.”

Zane doesn’t hesitate to do what he does next.

He pulls me toward him and presses me up against the wall in one fluid motion. Before I can register what’s happening, his mouth is on mine.

The world stops for a split second, the air between us crackling as his lips crash into mine. It’s not like before, not gentle or careful. This kiss is rough, sloppy, a drunken kiss for the benefit of the guard, but I can feel the tightness in every inch of him. My hands fly up, gripping his shoulders to steady myself as he kisses me harder, as if he’s pouring all his frustration, all his protectiveness, into this one moment.

I can’t breathe. I don’t know if it’s from the kiss or from the way my heart is pounding in my chest, but it’s overwhelming, dizzying. His hands grip my waist, holding me against him as if he’s terrified to let go. I feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his fingers dig into my sides like he’s anchoring us both.

For a moment, I forget about the mission, about the guard watching us, about everything except the way Zane is holding me, the way his lips move against mine like this kiss is the only thing keeping us alive.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over.

Zane pulls back, just enough to break the kiss but still close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a split second, the whole world narrows to that point—to the heat between us, to the unspoken desire that’s been simmering for weeks.

“You good?” he breathes, his voice low, strained.

I nod, my heart still racing, but there’s no time to process what just happened.

The guard, clearly bored with our performance, waves us off.

“Get out of here,” he growls, turning away.

Zane doesn’t hesitate, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him, leading us toward the edge of the alley, which leads to the back of the building, where, hopefully, we can slip away and make it to the extraction point.

Then, the unimaginable happens.

There is a crackle of noise. Behind us, the guard is radioing someone. We exchange panicked glances. The next shift of security must be rotating in at any moment now.

But we’re not through yet. The team’s still inside, and our window of time is closing. Thinking fast, I glance over my shoulder at the side of the building to my left. If I can just buy us a little more time…

An idea flashes through my mind. Reckless. But it might work.

Zane glances at me, his eyes questioning. I squeeze his hand, signaling that I have a plan.

“Just go with it,” I mutter under my breath.

Before he can protest, I trip deliberately, falling forward and slamming my shoulder into the wall beside me.

Pain ricochets through my body as I crash into the emergency fire alarm hard enough to set it off.

The alarm blares immediately, shrill and loud, filling the air with the sound of sheer chaos.

Zane swears under his breath, but there’s no time to explain. Behind us, the guard shouts in surprise and rage. I scramble to my feet, grabbing Zane’s hand and pulling us to the entryway to our left, into the shadows.

"Run!" I gasp, barely able to hear myself over the deafening wail of the alarm.

Zane doesn’t hesitate, his hand tightening around mine as we sprint through the narrow alleyway, our feet pounding the pavement. Adrenaline surges through me. My heart thrums in my chest. It’s different now. I’m not scared; I’m exhilarated. The wind whips through my hair. For the first time in weeks, I feel alive, really alive.

I glance over at Zane, his face set with determination, and I can’t help it.

I laugh. It bubbles up out of me uncontrollably—a wild, giddy sound that echoes off the alley walls.

Zane looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but a grin tugs at his lips, and before I know it, he’s laughing too.

“You’re crazy!” he shouts over the wind in our ears.

“You’re just as bad,” I cackle, breathless with mirth and exertion.

As if cued by our bizarre comedy of errors, sequential alarms begin to wail through the building, each set off by the last, seeming to follow us as we sprint north through the shadows. The noise is cacophonous. I’m dizzy with joy and fear and adrenaline. Zane’s hand in mine is my only remaining tether to reality, and I cling to it like the anchor it is.

We tear through the darkness, the world a blur of shadows and light. I’m on fire. I’m laughing still, the thrill of our escape washing over me.

But the sound quickly dies on my lips as a new noise crashes through the air. Gunfire.

My heart plummets. Our cheerful chaos curdles into something deadly and sorrowful.

Those shots weren’t far off. I think they came from inside the facility, where the team is.

“Zane!” I shout, panic clawing at my throat.

He glances back, eyes wide, the moment of joy replaced by urgency. “We have to keep moving!”

There is a faint hissing sound as the fire alarm persists. Then, the emergency sprinklers above us drench us in icy water, turning the pavement slick beneath our darting feet. I can barely see through the sheets of pouring water washing the world silver.

I hold tight to Zane’s hand, digging my nails in hard as our feet slip about in the water.

We’re so close to the extraction point, but gunfire echoes behind us, around us, more intense now. The narrow walls of the alleyway make it feel like it’s coming from everywhere as it echoes.

We round a sharp corner to the back of the building, and suddenly, there is movement all around us.

Shapes seem to materialize in the dark. Figures emerge from the shadows in all directions.

Armed men—shifters, I can tell immediately—their faces hidden by dark masks, stepping into our path with menacing confidence. Half a dozen of them.

My heart races as they raise their weapons, eyes glinting with intent.

“Run!” Zane shouts, but there’s nowhere to run to.

Zane lunges at the nearest combatant, tackling him to the ground, and before I know it, we’re in motion again, dodging and weaving through the sudden chaos. I follow, throwing punches, adrenaline igniting my every move. I’m no fighter, but somehow, with Zane, I feel like I could do this. The metallic taste of fear mixes with the excitement coursing through me, and for a moment, we’re a team—fluid, synchronized.

I dodge a wild swing and counter with a sharp kick, sending another attacker stumbling back. Zane and I lock eyes, a brief moment of unspoken communication that ignites my confidence. We’re doing this.

But then everything shifts. Zane surges toward me, I sweep back, and in a heartbeat, we lose our rhythm. Zane stumbles, pushed back by a powerful jab, and I instinctively reach for him, but another enemy rushes in between us, shoving me to the ground.

“No!” I scream, but it’s too late.

I’m yanked away from Zane, a strong hand gripping my arm and dragging me back. I twist, trying to break free,

Cold. Hard. The barrel of a gun presses against my throat, cold and unyielding. The masked man who holds me smirks down at me, a chilling sight in the dim light.

“Who do you work for?” he growls, eyes alive with menace.

“Get your hands off her!” Zane yells, fury igniting in his voice as he fights his way through the chaos, but I can’t look away from the gun pressed against my skin.

“Answer me,” the man demands, tightening his grip.

My heart races as I wrestle with panic, trying to think of a way out.

“I’m not telling you anything!” I spit.

The man’s eyes narrow with sardonic pleasure. “You’re making a mistake.”

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Zane struggling, grappling with the two other combatants still standing. I can’t breathe. Fear has stilled my lungs. It feels like it could still my heart, but I refuse to show weakness. I have to be strong.

In a swift motion, I kick out hard, catching my captor off-guard. The gun shifts just enough for me to duck under his arm, scrambling away. I glance back to see Zane breaking free, but the moment stretches thin as chaos reigns around us.

“Zane!” I scream. My voice breaks with desperation. I throw my body toward him; I stretch my hand out for him. His fingers brush mine for a millisecond.

Something hard cracks against the side of my skull.

I go flying, rolling across the concrete. My entire vision whites out for what feels like a moment but must, in reality, be a minute or so. I feel like I’m floating.

No, not floating. Flying.

I can’t hear anything.

Time is immaterial. It is a moment and hours at the same time. When sensation finally returns to my body, I have been wrestled up onto my knees, arms pinned behind me, and the muzzle of the gun has returned to its place against the side of my throat.

Blood is dripping sluggishly down the side of my head. I must have been crying, because my face is wet.

Zane is in front of me. He seems to hover, the sight of him not quite corporeal yet, though my vision is slowly returning, pieces of it snapping back to place. His hands are up, both of them bloody, and his face is splattered red, too, though I can tell the blood isn’t his own.

On the ground behind him lie the bodies of the other combatants. He tore them apart. Of course he did.

But Zane’s hands are up in surrender. Clearly, there was one man he missed.

Yes, I realize. It’s the man who is about to kill me.