The underground garage of Sinclair Tower was swarming with private security by the time the bullet-riddled SUV screeched to a halt.
Aria stepped out, her legs feeling like jelly. The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard. She looked down at her hands; the blood had dried into dark, tacky streaks on her palms, mixed with soot from the explosion.
"Secure the perimeter," Damien barked at the head of security, his voice leaving no room for failure. "If a delivery drone flies within fifty feet of this building, shoot it down. I don't care if it's carrying pizza or a bomb."
He didn't wait for a response. He scooped Aria up into his arms, ignoring her weak protest.
"I can walk," she mumbled into his chest.
"You're bleeding," Damien strode toward the private elevator. "And you're shaking."
Kai stepped out of the driver's seat, spinning the burner phone in his hand. He looked tired, the soot smudging his usually pristine face.
