CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Ella

AFTER THE CAMERA SHUTS OFF, THEY ABANDON ME AGAIN. Daphne’S BODY IS dragged away, and the floor is hastily mopped, leaving behind several smeared, reddish-brown streaks.

I stare at them, my thoughts sluggish and disoriented, as though trapped in a daze. The trembling has mostly subsided, though an occasional shudder still shakes me.

My stitches throb with a dull ache, and I wonder if my earlier struggles caused any to tear. Since no fresh blood stains my hospital gown, I assume they remain intact.

Not long after, they bring me water. I drink the entire cup in desperate gulps, prompting laughter from some of the men, who murmur in Arabic while making crude gestures toward their crotches.

I get the sickening impression that they’re hoping Lucifer doesn’t come through, eager for their own chance to 'play' with me before the Suit takes over.

For now, though, they grant me solitude. I am even permitted outside briefly to relieve myself, once again under the watch of the same impassive guard. I assume he’s now my designated bathroom escort, mentally dubbing him Toilet Guy.

I begin assigning names to the others, too. The one with the thick black beard reaching his chest—I call him Blackbeard. The balding man earns the name Baldie. The short one who led the clinic raid—I decide to call him Garlic Breath.

It’s a distraction, a way to keep my mind from lingering on Beth. I can’t afford to think about her yet—not if I want to hold on to my sanity. If I survive this, then I’ll grieve for the woman who became my friend.

If I make it out alive, then I will allow myself to mourn, to rage against the cruelty of her death. But for now, I can only focus on trivial, absurd things to avoid being crushed by the brutal reality surrounding me.

Time drags. As darkness falls, my gaze shifts aimlessly between the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I think I doze off a couple of times, only to jolt awake at the slightest noise, my pulse hammering.

They still haven’t fed me, and the hunger gnaws at my stomach like an insatiable ache. But that hardly matters. I’m just grateful to still be breathing—a state I know won’t last unless Lucifer delivers the weapon.

Shutting my eyes, I try to imagine being home on the island, stretched out on the beach with a book. I pretend that, at any moment, I could return to the house and find Beth there, preparing dinner for us.

I tell myself Lucifer is simply away on one of his business trips, that I’ll see him again soon. I picture his smile, the way his dark curls frame the sharp perfection of his features.

I ache for him—for his warmth, for the safety of his embrace—even as my mind drifts into an uneasy sleep.

A LARGE HAND PRESSES FIRMLY OVER MY MOUTH, YANKING ME FROM SLEEP. MY EYES snap open, adrenaline flooding my veins.

Panic grips me as I begin to thrash… until a familiar voice murmurs in my ear, “Shh, Ella. It’s me. You have to stay quiet, okay?”

Trembling with relief, I give a slight nod, and the hand slips away. I turn my head, staring at Lucifer in stunned disbelief.

Crouched beside me, he’s clad entirely in black. A bulletproof vest shields his chest and shoulders, and streaks of black paint slash diagonally across his face.

A machine gun rests against his shoulder, with an arsenal of weapons strapped to his belt. He looks lethal, almost unrecognizable—except for his eyes, which shine brilliantly against the dark paint.

For a brief moment, I’m convinced this is a dream. He can’t really be here, in this remote warehouse, speaking to me. Not when his enemies are only thirty yards away. My heart hammering, I dart a frantic glance around the room.

In the far corner, the men appear to be sleeping, sprawled on thin blankets across the floor. I count eight of them—which means others are likely stationed outside, guarding the perimeter. The Suit is nowhere in sight; he must also be outside.

I shift my focus back to Lucifer and watch as he slices through the ropes around my ankles with a wickedly sharp knife. “How did you get in?” I whisper, still dazed by his presence.

He pauses briefly, lifting his gaze to mine. “Be quiet,” he breathes, barely audible. “I need to get you out before they wake.”

I nod and remain silent as he continues cutting. Despite the looming danger, I feel almost lightheaded with joy. Lucifer is here.

He came for me. Love and gratitude swell inside me, so overwhelming I can hardly contain it. I want to throw my arms around him, but I stay still as he severs the last of the restraints.

The moment I’m free, he hauls me to my feet and crushes me against him. I can feel the faint tremor in his powerful frame before he pulls back, placing his hands on either side of my face.

His blue eyes lock onto mine, intense and fiercely possessive. In that silent moment, I understood.

I know he will always come for me.

I know he would kill for me.

I know he would die for me.

Lowering his hands, he grasps mine. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving mine. “We don’t have much time.”

I clutch his hand tightly as he leads me toward the shadowed side of the warehouse, opposite the sleeping men.

The towering shelves and stacked boxes provide cover, concealing us from view. Lucifer halts, crouching down and releasing my hand. I hear a faint rustling as he searches for something along the floor.

Then, with a quiet creak, he lifts a wooden board and sets it aside.

A large square opening gapes in the floor before us.

I kneel beside it, peering into the darkness below.

“Climb down,” Lucifer murmurs near my ear, his hand resting briefly on my knee before giving it a reassuring squeeze. The familiar touch steadies me slightly. “There’s a ladder.”

I swallow hard, reaching out to locate it. How does he know this?

“I hacked into their system and pulled up the building’s blueprints,” he explains softly, as if reading my mind. “There’s a storage area beneath us with a drainpipe that leads outside. Find it and crawl through.”

His hand slips away, and I immediately feel its absence, the weight of our dangerous situation pressing down on me again.

My fingers brush against cold metal, and I grab hold, carefully shifting my weight toward the ladder. Lucifer steadies my arm as I position my feet and start my descent.

It’s pitch-black below, and under any other circumstances, I would hesitate before entering an unknown basement. But right now, nothing terrifies me more than the men hunting us.

A few rungs down, I glance up. Lucifer is still crouched at the edge, his expression tense, his posture alert. He’s listening.

Then I hear it—a murmur of voices, followed by sharp shouts in Arabic.

They’ve discovered I’m missing.

Lucifer moves in a fluid motion, standing and gripping his machine gun. “Go,” he commands, his voice low and urgent. “Now, Ella. Get to the drainpipe and out. I’ll hold them off.”

“What? No!” Panic grips me. “Come with me—”

His glare is fierce. “Go,” he hisses. “Now, or we both die. I can’t fight them and protect you at the same time.”

For a brief second, I hesitate, torn between fear and instinct. I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t be the reason he doesn’t make it. “I love you,” I whisper, looking up at him. A quick flash of his teeth in the darkness is his only response.

“Go, baby,” he says, his tone gentler now. “I’ll find you soon.”

My chest tight, I obey, climbing down as fast as I can. The shouting grows louder. The men are searching the warehouse, starting with the maze of crates in the center. It won’t take long before they reach this side.

My hands tremble with adrenaline as I focus on keeping my grip, forcing my legs to move faster into the abyss.

Rat-tat-tat!

Gunfire erupts above, jolting me. I descend even faster, my breath sharp and uneven.

My feet hit solid ground. I stretch my hands into the void, feeling my way along the wall for the drainpipe.

More gunshots. Screams. Chaos. My pulse pounds like a war drum in my ears.

Something squeaks beneath me, tiny paws skittering over my bare toes. I ignore it, frantically searching. Rats are insignificant right now.

Somewhere above, Lucifer is fighting for his life. Whether he’s alone or has backup, I don’t know—but the thought of him being injured or worse is unbearable. I shove it aside. I can’t afford to think about that. Not if I want to make it out alive.

My hands press against the wall, but I can’t locate an opening. It’s too dark.

Gasping for breath, I move along the smooth surface, sweeping my palms up and down in desperation. Pain pulses from my stitches, but I barely notice. I need to escape. If they capture me again, I won’t last long.

Another round of gunfire erupts, followed by frantic shouting.

I keep searching, my panic intensifying with every second. Lucifer. He’s still up there. I try not to dwell on it, but the thought refuses to leave my mind. There’s nothing I can do to help him—I know that.

I’m barefoot, dressed in nothing but a flimsy hospital gown, and completely defenseless. Meanwhile, he’s armed, protected by a bulletproof vest, trained for moments like this.

But logic does nothing to dull the excruciating fear of losing him.

He will make it, I tell myself, forcing my shaking hands to keep moving. Lucifer knows what he’s doing.

This is his domain, his battlefield. This is the side of his life he tried to shield me from on the island.

My fingers brush against something solid near my knees—then sink into an opening.

The drainpipe. I’ve found it.

A sharp squeak pierces the silence, and something scurries out of the pipe. I jerk back, startled, but quickly drop to all fours and crawl inside, bracing myself for more unwelcome creatures.

The pipe is just big enough to maneuver on my hands and knees, and I scramble forward as fast as I can, trying to ignore the damp stench of sewage and rust.

Luckily, the floor is only slightly wet, and I push away the thought of what might be causing the moisture.

At last, I reach the far end. Curling myself into a tight ball, I manage to twist around and slide out feet first.

Stepping away from the pipe, I take in my surroundings.

Above me, the night sky is littered with stars, while the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and dense jungle vegetation.

The warehouse looms on a small hill less than fifty yards away, its shadowy outline stark against the darkness.

I stare at it, my stomach twisting with fear for Lucifer. Another round of gunfire cracks through the night, accompanied by bursts of bright light.

The fight is still raging—a good sign, I tell myself. If Lucifer were dead, if the terrorists had won, the gunfire would have ceased. He must have brought backup after all.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I lean against a tree, my legs trembling from the relentless surge of terror and adrenaline.

And then, suddenly, the night erupts in blinding light as the warehouse explodes.

A blast of scorching-hot air slams into me, sending me hurtling backward into the thick bushes several feet away.