The Price of Protection and the Dancer Who Refused to Bend
The concrete floor was cold through my thin shoes.
Above us, the faint sound of suppressed gunfire echoed from the main living area.
My stomach twisted as I thought of the guards downstairs who hadn’t known their schedules were compromised.
We reached the heavy metal door of the stairwell.
I held the door handle, waiting.
“According to the sheet, the patrol on the fourteenth floor rotates every five minutes,” I whispered. “We have ninety seconds before they look up this shaft.”
Dante opened the door slowly.
The stairwell was a vertical tunnel of gray concrete, lit only by dim green exit signs.
We began our descent, moving as quickly and quietly as possible.
My knees felt weak, but I kept my eyes on the steps.
I had to survive.
Lily was waiting for me.
She was safe at the suburban safehouse with Mrs. Patel, miles away from this nightmare.
I had to get back to her.
We reached the tenth floor when a door slammed open two levels below us.
“Check the stairs,” a voice shouted from below.