Page 66 of Depraved

Glass shatters, and Logan grunts. He drops to one knee.

“Keep going,” he grits out. “The safe room is behind the portrait of the lady in a silver dress.”

He points to the end of the hallway, gesturing at the painting he’s described.

“The code is your birthday.”

“You’re not staying out here,” I insist. “Come on.”

He doesn’t stand when I try to pull him to his feet.

“I’m hit. You need to move.”

I see the bullet wound now. A crimson stain is spreading on the right shoulder of his white t-shirt.

“I’m not leaving you. Put your arm around me.”

He shoves me away, and I stumble. He’s not quite as big as Brandon, but he’s much stronger than I am, even injured.

“He’ll kill me if anything happens to you. I might as well die now rather than my best friend murdering me later. They’re coming.”

“Then you’d better get up,” I demand.

Logan grits his teeth and struggles to his feet. “He told me you’re brave. He never said how fucking stubborn you are.”

“You can insult me later. We have to get to that safe room.”

We lumber forward five steps, but we’re still yards away from the portrait when he drops to his knees again. This time, he sags all the way to the floor. Blood pours from his wound, a darker crimson soaking into the red carpet.

Boots pound on the hardwood floors. There must be at least a dozen of them in the house.

“Logan!” I shake him, but his eyes slide closed. “Please get up.”

I can’t simply abandon Brandon’s friend.

There’s a knife sheathed at Logan’s belt. I draw it and round on the men who burst into the corridor.

They’re dressed in black tactical gear, and I can’t help taking half a step back at the intimidating sight of them closing in on me.

The one at the front of the pack lifts a gun. “Drop the knife.”

I raise it between us instead. “Stay away from me.”

They creep closer, forming a wall of black-clad muscle between me and the way out. There’s still time for me to make a break for the safe room. I might not reach it in time, but I could at least try.

But Logan isn’t moving. He’s barely breathing.

He’s not dead yet. I won’t leave him as long as his heart is still beating.

The four men pause just out of lunging range. If I want to cut into them, I’ll have to throw myself at them. And they all have assault weapons.

“The boss wants you mostly intact,” the leader says. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Ice crystallizes in my veins. They’re not simply here to kill me. They want to take me somewhere.

They’ll set a trap for Brandon.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I hiss.