Kapitel 22: No Way Out… Or Not?

A gunshot cracked through the air.

The sound echoed in the small space. For a second, everything was still, almost dream-like. Then Finn collapsed, blood spreading from his chest. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Henry froze, his eyes locked on Finn's lifeless form, the fury that had consumed him moments ago evaporated, giving way to a look of disbelief.

"Move, now!" Alexander's voice cut through the silence, sharp and urgent. He grip tightened around my arm, pulling me but my feet felt glued to the floor. Henry wasn't moving either.

The shooter, a dark figure masked by the dim light, slowly turned toward the rest of us. The barrel of the gun gleamed, and I knew what was coming next.

But I couldn't move.

Neither could Henry.

I felt Alexander's hand tighten around mine again, and suddenly, I was yanked backward as he bolted for cover. My body jerked into motion, and the violent pull snapped me out of the trance. The situation caught up to me all at once—the blood, the fear, the desperate need to escape.

"Wait!" I screamed at Alexander, digging my heels into the floor. "We can't just leave him there!"

"He's dead, Freya!" Alexander barked back, not stopping as we weaved through the maze of crates and scattered debris. His voice was raw with frustration. "There's no saving him!"

"That's not true!" I pushed against his hold, my heart pounding in my chest. "You just don't want to go back!"

Alexander suddenly stopped, spinning around, his face twisted in anger. "And what's so wrong with that?" His voice boomed over the chaos around us, fury and fear mingling in his words. "If you're so fearless, then go ahead and save him yourself! Don't drag me into it."

The harshness of his words cut through me, freezing me in place. My breath hitched in my throat, and for a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. His chest heaved with each breath, his eyes burning with something wild—something I hadn't seen in him before.

Without saying another word, I nodded. Silently, I turned back.

I wasn't sure what drove me—whether it was guilt, or grief, or maybe some part of me that couldn't bear to leave another person behind. But I moved. I retraced our steps back to where we'd left Henry.

The scene before me hit harder than I expected. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes still wide open in shock. There was no doubt he was gone.

I fell to my knees beside him, my fingers trembling as I gently closed his eyes. A sob escaped me, and I collapsed over his body, the weight of everything finally crushing me. The innocents who had died in this bloodbath. The people who had been wronged. It was all too much.

Tears streamed down my face as I grieved for the lives lost, for the suffering that had led us to this moment. My sobs came in waves, my body shaking with the weight of it all.

And then, through the blur of tears, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned and saw Alexander. His expression had softened, his anger momentarily replaced by something gentler, something almost regretful. He didn't say anything, just let me cry against his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt.

After a few moments, his voice broke the silence. "Now's not the time," he said softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back. "We have to find a way out of here."

I nodded, wiping my face with the back of my hand. He was right. We couldn't stay here. Not like this.

Together, we moved through the room, trying to avoid being seen, trying to avoid the next bullet. The air was thick with fear and the lingering scent of blood. Each step felt heavy, but we had no choice but to keep moving.

As we rounded a corner, the sound of a voice made us freeze in our tracks.

"Don't leave any witnesses," a voice barked, harsh and cold. "Find the Ashford heir and kill him. Leave his pretty bitch for me."

I looked at Alexander, my heart racing in my chest. His jaw clenched, but he didn't say a word. He just shook his head and kept moving. There was no turning back now.

We kept going, weaving through the dimly lit space until we found it—a door leading outside. Freedom. Or so we thought.

Before I could react, something hit me with a force that knocked the breath out of my lungs. My world tilted as I was shoved to the ground, my body slamming into the cold earth. Alexander's weight pressed down on me, his arms braced above my head in a push-up position.

I blinked up at him, wide-eyed and gasping for air. "Why the fuck did—"

"No time," he rasped, already pulling me up by the arm. "Run!"

I stumbled to my feet, We bolted down a narrow path, the shouts of the shooters echoing behind us, boots pounding in pursuit. I ran until my lungs burned, the wind stinging my cheeks as we fled through the darkness.

Up ahead, I spotted it—a steel door, half-hidden by the overgrown bushes. Without thinking, we pushed through, slamming it behind us.

The moment the door clicked shut, Alexander collapsed.

Panic shot through me as I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands trembling. "Alexander?" I called, shaking his shoulder. "What's wrong? Talk to me!"

He groaned, his face pale, his breathing ragged. That's when I saw it. Blood—dark and slick, seeping through his shirt, staining his side.

"Oh my God," I whispered, my hands immediately pressing down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. But it wasn't working. The blood kept coming, thick and relentless.

"You pushed me out of the bullets path didn't you? Why?"

He coughed, his voice faint. "You're my property. I protect what's belongs to me!"

"Stay with me, okay?" My voice shook as I scanned the room. We were in some kind of underground bunker—dark and damp, lined with old wooden shelves stacked with dusty wine bottles. My eyes landed on one, and without hesitating, I snatched it up.

Kneeling beside him again, I lifted his shirt, revealing the ugly gash beneath. "This is going to hurt," I warned, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded weakly, his jaw clenched in pain.

I uncorked the bottle and poured the alcohol over the wound. Alexander's body tensed, a deep groan escaping his lips as he sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes squeezed shut, his fists clenched against the dirt floor.

"Here," I said, offering the bottle. "Drink some. It'll help with the pain."

He shook his head, his refusal clear despite the agony etched on his face.

Stubborn man.

Without a second thought, I poured some of the alcohol into my mouth, leaned down, and pressed my lips to his. His eyes flew open in surprise, but before he could protest, I tipped the liquid into his mouth, forcing him to swallow. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me, the heat of his body radiating through his shirt.

Just as he started to relax beneath me, a soft cough interrupted the moment.

I jerked back, scrambling away from Alexander as quickly as possible. My heart pounded in my chest, fear coursing through me. Was it another shooter?

But when I looked up, my eyes met Sylus's cool gaze. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, one brow raised in a silent question.

"Oh," I breathed, the tension draining from my body. "Sylus! How are you here?!"

Alexander, with a groan, pulled me back toward him, his arm snaking around my neck. Without warning, his lips crashed against mine, rough and desperate. My mind went blank, my body instinctively responding to the kiss. I melted into him, completely forgetting Sylus's presence.

It wasn't until I heard Sylus clear his throat again that reality snapped back into focus.

"Right," Sylus said, a dry edge to his voice. "I'll inform the rest of the search party that I found you."

My cheeks burned as I pulled away from Alexander, but his arm remained loosely around my shoulders. He wasn't letting go anytime soon.

Sylus turned on his heel and disappeared through the door, leaving us alone again, though I knew it wouldn't be long before the others arrived.

Moments later, a few men rushed in, quickly lifting Alexander's unconscious body from the ground. He was too pale, his head lolling to the side as they carried him out.

Sylus returned to my side, his eyes softening as he saw me struggle to stand. I hadn't realized how bad the pain in my ankle was until I tried to move.

"You're hurt," Sylus muttered, his brow furrowing.

"I'm fine—" I tried to brush it off, but the sharp pain that shot through my ankle said otherwise.

Without waiting for my protests, Sylus bent down and scooped me up into his arms, holding me close in a bridal style. His chest was firm against mine, his grip secure but gentle.

As we exited the bunker, my breath caught in my throat. The ground outside was littered with bodies, remnants of the chaos we had narrowly escaped. My stomach twisted at the sight, and I gasped, turning my face into Sylus's shoulder.

"How did you find us?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. "I had someone follow you after you left my place," he began, his voice steady despite the situation. "They tried to follow the person who took you but got knocked out. It took a while to pinpoint your location after we lost your phone signal. I had no idea Alexander had been kidnapped as well though."

He paused for a moment, scanning the area before continuing. "When we got here, we saw a bunch of people in masks, roaming around. We opened fire, but a few managed to escape. That's when I spotted the bunker and decided to check it."

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes briefly flicked away from mine. "That's when I walked in on…" He cleared his throat, leaving the rest of the sentence unfinished.

Heat flooded my face. I opened my mouth to explain, but the words wouldn't come.

Sylus seemed to sense my discomfort. "You don't have to explain," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Alexander's your husband. I understand."

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