Page 45 of Hunted

I need to see. I need to know if Eth’s alive.

GODS DAMN IT, I need you to be alive, Ethan. Don’t you dare fucking leave me, too.

My mind whirled through all the possibilities. Short of cutting a hole in the ceiling—a dead giveaway to my location—the only direct way to see what lay below was through the ceiling vents.

Which still had ductwork attached to it.

I crept closer, mindful of every second it took. Mindful that each one could mean the difference between life and death. With panic lodged as a physical lump in my throat, I slid the dagger from its sheath on my vest. Soundlessly, I lined it up with the first of four screws holding the pipework to the vent opening, and began twisting.

To the sounds of muffled grunts and nasty threats, I twisted.

To the shock of hearing my name spilling from Sebastos’ lips again, I unscrewed.

“Has anyone found Sinclair yet?” he barked.

The person or people on the other end of his comms must have answered no, because the next thing he did was swear and thump something—or someone—else.

And finally, to the soundtrack of Seb’s livid vitriol over having not found me yet, the last screw came free.

Sliding the piping across, I froze when it made a crinkling sound. Thankfully, it hadn’t been heard by anyone below, and I exhaled, realising the sounds were muffled by something far worse.

Peering through the slits in the square-shaped air conditioning vent, the scene below was enough to stall my wayward heart.

So much for calm under pressure, Addie.

Ethan lay almost directly beneath me. His right eye was swollen completely shut, the left faring only marginally better. The rest of his face was a patchwork of blood and darkening bruises, and I clenched my teeth at the sight of him.

But he was breathing. And that was the only reason Sebastos remained so.

A helmeted somebody stood over him, with a gun pointed down at his face. Apparently Seb and his team were more than happy to literally take out the competition, consequences be damned.

“Somebody better find that bitch quickly OR I’LL START SHOOTING PEOPLE!” Sebastos roared, finally stomping into view.

He paced back and forth, in and out of my line of sight, fingers twitching by his sides as he ranted at someone across the room. “I swear, Lockwood, if you don’t give up that fucking keyword, I’ll find her and make you watch as I torture her for your secrets. You forget… I saw how you looked at her when she answered those stupid hacking questions… how she made the rest of us look like idiots.”

“You are an idiot,” Lockwood slurred.

Sebastos leaped out of sight to deliver a cracking blow.

“Hey! Sit back down, big guy!” someone else—Eric, I thought—yelled.

So, Beckett was here, too. Considering that the room and the people within it were in shambles, I figured someone must have him locked down well enough to avoid his justified wrath.

“Or I’ll give you a matching wound,” that same voice growled.

Definitely Eric.

I smirked, knowing it was my fault that he, at least, was bleeding. And if the crescendo of fury in my veins was any indication, Sebastos was next. But first, I needed to know who and what I was up against.

With incredibly limited supplies and even less time, I whirled through all options, finally landing on that same shiny dagger in my grip. Poking the tip through the slotted vent, I angled it back and forth until the other side of the room reflected back.

Evander was a mess—bleeding, broken, and tied to a chair. His usually preppy hair hung low over his face, slick with crimson.

Beside him was Beckett, seated on his ass on the floor. His hands were also bound, but his legs remained free—potentially a boon Sebastos had overlooked.

In the far corner lay the rest of my teammates, none of whom appeared conscious or even alive.

And in between them and me stood the devil himself.