Page 62 of Heir of Ashes
Tears clogged my throat. This was all I needed to complete my humiliation. Dr. Dean pulled me to him, taking a step back and out the door. A Hilton staff member lay slumped, unconscious beside a pile of debris, and I knew without a doubt Logan and Rafael would be blamed for it. Dr. Dean was nothing if not thorough. He’d cover his tracks and let others take the fall.
Two stone-faced Elites stood by the elevator, keeping the metal doors open. Before we stepped inside, Dr. Dean said, “Shoot to kill.”
The sound of breaking glass behind me was like needle stabs in my heart. My insides screamed at me to fight back, yet I was unable to do anything but follow Dr. Dean like a puppet on strings. I was surrounded by four guards, not counting Dr. Dean, and all were armed to the teeth. A closer look told me that all their blue auras had darker rings surrounding them.
Several hotel guests milled in the lobby, talking with nervous excitement. Staff members worked to calm those with frayed nerves while others clung tightly to the sobbing children.
A hush fell over the crowd as we approached, leaving only the children’s cries and the sound of the Elite’s marching boots to break the quiet. Beady Eyes and another guard took the lead,while the remaining two brought up the rear. I stayed beside Dr. Dean, moving to their rhythm.
We exited through the back door into the parking lot, where a few guests had sought refuge. They stood in huddles, some dressed only in flimsy nightgowns, others barefoot on the cold pavement.
All of them backed away when we appeared, putting as much distance as possible between us without leaving the parking lot. A barefoot man retreated into the hotel, realizing the danger was now outside.
A PSS SUV waited for us, idling in the middle of the lot. Another guard sat in the van, ready to take us to the nearest base. Without warning, the guard behind me fell limp to the ground, followed by the guard directly in front of me and the one behind. Three guards down—before Dr. Dean had the sense to cover himself, pulling me closer and using me as his human shield.
The few guests in the parking lot screamed and ran for cover, some holding up their cellphones in a desperate attempt to record the chaos. Beady Eyes whirled around, his shotgun ready, but there was no one behind us to shoot at. The shooter was upstairs, firing through a window.
The window of the room Logan and I had previously occupied. Beady Eyes realized that, raised his weapon, and fired blindly a few times before moving back towards the van for cover. But he never made it. A single, precise shot hit him squarely in the forehead, leaving a neat hole in front and a gory mess in the back of his head.
Dr. Dean tightened his grip on me, angling toward the van, pressing the muzzle of a compact gun against my temple. Meanwhile, the driver in the van opened fire at the hotel window.
When Dr. Dean moved far enough that I could raise my eyes without having to move my head, I realized why no one was getting a clear shot. The sun reflected off the glass surface, making it impossible to see the shooter, or even which window the gunshots were coming from.
There was another single shot from the hotel, followed by the van’s horn blasting as it lurched forward, the driver slumped lifeless on the steering wheel. The van crashed into a red Lincoln, denting the metal and setting off its alarm. Just then, Logan emerged from the hotel’s back door, gun raised. Sirens wailed in the distance, still far away but approaching fast.
“Let her go,” Logan said in a tone I had never heard before. It was devoid of inflection, of life. His face was cold, his eyes empty—the face of the killer I had met once in the desert.
Dr. Dean kept the gun pressed against my temple, his harsh breathing echoing in my ears and bringing back awful memories.
“Let her go,” Logan repeated.
“No, you back away or I’ll shoot her!” Dr. Dean shouted.
“You have no way of escaping without giving me or Rafael an opening. I won’t shoot you if you let her go, and neither will Rafael.” His voice was smooth, too smooth. It was a lie, and we all knew it. He was holding the gun in front of his body with both hands, his aim unwavering. He was barefoot. Neither he nor Dr. Dean seemed to care that the parking lot was littered with dead bodies.
“I’ll shoot her if you so much as take a step.” Unlike Logan, Dr. Dean’s voice was filled with emotion—fear, rage, hatred.
“If you shoot her, you’ll lose your only bargaining chip. I promise I won’t shoot you if you let her go unharmed.”
“All I have to do is wait for the police to arrive,” Dr. Dean said.
It was true—once the police got here, it wouldn’t take much brainpower to figure out who the villain was, especially given that Dr. Dean carried government credentials. The sirens were growing louder, closer, and all he needed to do was wait for a little bit more.
“Are you so sure Rafael won’t find an opening before then? Look at your men. It took him about thirty, forty seconds to dispose of them all. He could be …”
Logan’s voice trailed off, muffled by the nonsensical words Dr. Dean mumbled under his breath. No, not mumbled—chanted. He was chanting. Words I didn’t recognize. In a language I didn’t understand. Logan’s lips were still moving, but the sudden rush in my ears made his words sound as if they were underwater. Then the world began to tilt, and then I was falling.
Chapter 20
I fell, rolled, skidded, and straightened, only to fall and roll and lurch again. After what felt like an eternity, I lay face down on the rough, rocky ground. Sharp points dug into my flesh, leaving a web of shallow cuts across my face and palms.
My head spun, the world a dizzying blur, and bile rose. I raised my head and narrowly avoided choking on my own vomit, my stomach convulsing. After dry heaving for a minute, the nausea subsided, leaving me weak and disoriented.
I looked around. It was dark, very dark. Even my enhanced vision couldn’t pierce through the blackness. The ground beneath me was rocky and cracked, parched soil that hadn’t seen water in centuries. Jagged rocks, some as sharp as needles, jutted up from the desolate soil. I glanced up and found myself facing a pair of shiny black shoes. My gaze traveled up and up until it rested on Dr. Dean. His attention was focused on the distance, and I followed his gaze, seeing nothing but the vast empty dark.
“You finished that disgusting thing. Good,” he said, startling me. His voice didn’t echo or resonate, telling me we weren’t in a cave.
How long had I been out? Back at the Hilton, it had been late afternoon. Here, wherever here was, it was night, so I had been unconscious for at least a few hours. Dr. Dean grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet. “Stay still,” he commanded, unaware the spell’s hold on me had faded. I wiggled my toes and closed my fist. Yes, I had full control of my limbs again. I remained in the position he left me, facing ahead, and searched the area with only my eyes. There was nothing but cracked soil and more rocks. No sounds of traffic, animals, or birds. It was a quiet that made my skin crawl.