Cora
Panic was a clawing, useless thing. I thrashed against the iron grip, kicking my heels into his shins, my nails scrabbling for purchase on the arm around my waist. The hand over my mouth was suffocating, relentless.
Then I smelled it. A scent I hadn't encountered in five years, but one my body remembered with a traitorous jolt. Cedarwood, expensive wool, and something sharp, like ozone before a storm. Max.
The shock was a cold plunge, worse than the fear. It couldn't be. Not him.
He dragged me deeper into the server racks, his body a solid wall of muscle against my back. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear.
“Stop fighting me, Cora.”
His voice was a low growl, a gravelly sound that vibrated through my entire skeleton. I froze, not from obedience, but from pure, unadulterated shock.
“If you make a sound,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “you will die. Do you understand me?”
I gave a weak, angry nod against his hand. He relaxed his grip just enough for me to breathe, but not enough for me to scream.
Suddenly, the thick, soundproofed server room door splintered. A deafening blast of automatic gunfire echoed through the cavernous space, chewing through the reinforced metal.
Max shoved me down, pinning me to the cold floor behind a server rack. He covered my body with his own, his weight a suffocating, protective blanket. The air filled with the smell of cordite and burnt wiring.
“Stay down,” he commanded.
“Get off of me!” I hissed, my voice muffled by his chest. “What is happening? Did you do this?”
“I’m saving your life,” he bit out. “Now be quiet.”
Two figures in black tactical gear stormed through the ruined doorway, flashlights mounted on their rifles cutting through the darkness. Their beams swept the room.
“She’s in here somewhere. Find the primary console.”
“The power’s dead. We’ll have to pull the drives manually.”
Max drew a handgun from a holster I hadn’t seen. The weapon looked like a natural extension of his arm. It was equipped with a suppressor.
“Who are they?” I whispered, a new wave of terror washing over me.
“People who want what’s in your head,” he murmured back. “And they don’t care if they have to crack it open to get it.”
One of the men got closer, his flashlight beam dancing just over our heads. Max was utterly still, his breathing controlled and even.
“You brought them here,” I accused, my voice trembling with rage. “This is another one of your schemes to steal my work.”
“Your work is going to get you killed,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “This has nothing to do with us.”
“There is no ‘us’.”
“There is if you want to see tomorrow.”
The man rounded the corner of the server rack. His eyes widened for a split second before Max moved. It wasn't a fight; it was an execution. Two silent, precise shots. The man crumpled to the floor without a sound.
“Target down,” the second man yelled from across the room.
He opened fire, spraying bullets wildly in our direction. Sparks flew as they ricocheted off the metal racks. Max pushed me farther down, shielding my head with his hand as metal shrapnel rained around us.
“You arrogant bastard,” I choked out, tasting dust and fear. “You think you can just show up and play the hero?”
“I’m not a hero,” he said, his eyes scanning the darkness. He fired three more times, the suppressed pops of his weapon barely audible over the ringing in my ears. A heavy thud echoed from the other side of the room.
Silence fell again. A thick, heavy quiet that felt louder than the gunfire.
“Is it over?” I asked.
“It’s just starting.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet. “We have to move. Now.”
“Move where? They destroyed the door.”
“Not the way we’re going.”
He dragged me toward the west wall, his grip on my bicep bruising. I stumbled after him, my legs unsteady.
“Let go of me, Max. I can walk.”
“You’re a liability right now. Stop talking and start moving.”
He stopped in front of a blank section of the wall, a solid expanse of brushed aluminum panels.
“It’s a dead end,” I said, yanking my arm. “Are you insane?”
“Far from it.” He ignored me, pressing his palm against a specific panel. There was a low hiss of pneumatics. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, dark opening.
My jaw dropped. “What is that?”
“Your exit.”
“That’s impossible. I designed this room. I designed this entire building. There is no elevator there.”
“And yet,” he said, pushing me toward the opening, “here it is.”
“How did you know about this?” My mind was reeling. This wasn't just a secret elevator. It was my secret elevator, a personal escape route I had designed for a doomsday scenario, known only to me and Aura.
“I know everything about this building,” he said, his voice dropping. “Just like I know everything about you, Cora.”
“You’ve been spying on me.” The words were acid on my tongue.
“I’ve been watching you,” he corrected, his tone possessive and dark. “There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
“We can argue about it later. Right now, more men are on their way up, and they won’t be as easy to deal with.”
He shoved me into the small elevator car. It was pitch black inside, no bigger than a closet. He stepped in behind me, the space becoming suffocatingly small. Our bodies were pressed together from shoulder to knee.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
He didn't answer. He pressed another panel inside the car, and the door slid shut with a heavy, final thud, sealing us in the darkness together. The elevator began a rapid, silent descent. Trapped with the one man in the world I truly hated.
