He crashed hard onto the concrete, his head bouncing off the floor with a dull wet thud.

The rope slipped from his fingers.

The distraction was instantaneous.

Victor jerked his gun toward Bishop.

“Kill that dog!” Victor screamed.

The second guard raised his rifle, trying to track Bishop’s fast-moving shape in the shadows.

In that brief second of chaos, I twisted my bound wrists.

I had been secretly rubbing the plastic zip-tie against a sharp rusted bolt on the metal pillar behind me for the last ten minutes.

The plastic was already frayed.

With a hard, agonizing snap of my wrists, the remaining plastic gave way.

The sharp edges sliced into my skin, but I barely felt the pain.

My hands were free.

I dove to the right, rolling behind a stack of wooden shipping crates.

A bullet chipped the concrete where I had been standing a millisecond before.

Dust and stone chips rained down on my hair.

“Mara!” Lucian shouted.

His voice was a low roar that echoed off the metal walls.

Above us, the metal walkways groaned.