The Tailor Who Stitched the Truth for the King of the Underworld
He slammed the heavy mahogany panel shut, cutting off the sound of the gun battle.
The silence of the hidden shaft was sudden and heavy.
“Is there another way out?” I gasped, my chest heaving.
“The service elevator,” Aries said, his hand still on my shoulder, guiding me down the stairs.
We reached a small metal door with a glowing green key pad.
Killian shoved past us, his face smeared with black soot and a thin line of blood running from his temple.
He punched a code into the keypad, and the steel doors slid open with a low hum.
We stepped inside the small, utilitarian elevator.
The doors closed, sealing us in the cramped space as the lift began its rapid descent.
I leaned against the metal wall, trying to catch my breath.
My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold onto the silk shirt.
Aries leaned his head against the opposite wall, his eyes closed.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.
“Are you hit?” I asked, looking at the dark stains on his jacket.