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“Careful. He’s heavy,” one muttered.

The cart started moving.

Cracks in the concrete bumped the wheels. Each jolt traveled up my body, but I couldn’t brace for any of it. Sweat dripped from my face. Boots moved quickly around me.

“A few more blocks and we’re clear,” one man said.

“His men haven’t even entered the house yet,” another said, chuckling. “Idiots.”

The tunnel grew darker, and the cadence of the men’s steps fell into line.

“After he gives up The Syndicate’s secrets, Señor Delgado will reward us for this job.”

The cart’s wheels hit a deep crack, and my head banged against the metal, sending a sharp ache through my skull.

The realization that no one would reach me in time spread through me worse than the drug. Nik had built a cage around the property, and Ciro’s men were moving me under it through a route no camera, tail, or man above would see.

My phone was upstairs, telling them I was still inside with a panicked woman I’d refused to leave in danger.

Then I remembered the tracker in my arm.

Nik had insisted that everyone close to him get one implanted under the skin. I’d called him paranoid. He’d told me paranoia was just foresight with better funding. I’d let the doctor put the damn thing in my arm because arguing with Nikolai Volkov was a waste of breath and because, in our world, his ideas usually saved lives.

If the tracker was still signaling, Nik would find me.

If it wasn’t, I had to stay alive long enough for Lucian to tear the world apart.

That thought gave me something to hold on to.

Not comfort.

Not peace.

But enough, because I knew without a doubt he would.

The tunnel opened into a garage. A motor groaned overhead as the garage door lifted, and frosty night air swept over me. They moved fast. Cart to van. Van door sliding open. Hands under my arms again.

My body hit the van floor hard.

“Let’s move,” the handler said. “Hudson Air Services is waiting.”

Within seconds, the van lurched forward.

I tried counting turns, but failed after the third. The drug blurred the edges of my mind, but I held on to sound because sound was all I had left. Tires over pavement. A hard right. Jet engines. The van braked hard and stopped, jostling me from one side to the other.

The side door opened, and lights hit my face.

A black SUV waited near an expensive-looking jet. Beyond it, a building displayed the words Hudson Air Services in clean, navy blue letters.

They hauled me out of the van.

My knees buckled, and two men yanked me up. The cold froze the sweat on my skin, and for a moment, the world cleared enough for me to see him.

Ciro Delgado stood near the SUV in a dark coat, a cigar between his fingers, his scarred face turned toward me with smug satisfaction.

Isabella came up from behind us and passed quickly, her boots clicking on the concrete.

She went straight into his arms and kissed him, one hand sliding up the front of his coat while her eyes stayed on mine.