Chapter 2 - Into the Concrete Depths
The reinforced concrete of the escape stairwell swallowed the sound of the shattering glass behind them, turning the explosive crash into a dull, echoing thud.
Adrian did not let go of Maya. His arm remained locked firmly around her waist, his body a solid shield as he half-carried, half-guided her down the spiraling steps. The emergency lighting flickered to life—a harsh, sickly amber glow that cast long, distorted shadows against the damp concrete walls.
“Watch your step,” Adrian murmured, his voice low, urgent, and vibrating with an intensity that cut straight through the adrenaline fog in Maya’s brain. “There are three more turns before the landing.”
“I can walk, Adrian,” she panted, her hand instinctively pressing against her swollen abdomen as the baby shifted, startled by the sudden movement and noise. “Just... stop pulling me so fast.”
He immediately slowed his pace, though his grip on her didn't loosen by a fraction of an inch. His dark eyes scanned the stairwell above and below them, checking for heat signatures, movement, or any sound that didn't belong to the heavy boots of Grant Mercer and two armed bodyguards bringing up the rear.
“Are you having contractions?” Adrian asked, his gaze darting down to her stomach before snapping back to her face. The skin around his mouth was tight, white-hot panic barely masked by his ironclad self-control.
“No,” Maya said, though her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. “Just... the baby moved when the window broke. She’s fine. I’m fine.”
“She is eight months inside you, Maya. An explosive round just tore through my office. You are not fine.”
“Whose fault is that?” she snapped back, the sharp edge of her anger cutting through her fear. She pulled away from his grip, leaning against the cold concrete wall for support as she glared at him in the dim light. “You brought me here under false pretenses. You said your lawyers needed my signature in person. If you had just mailed the papers like a normal person—”
“If I had mailed them, you would have signed them in an empty apartment in Atlanta and I would never have known,” Adrian interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register that usually made grown men tremble. But Maya was too exhausted, too terrified, and too furious to tremble.
“That was the point, Adrian! That was the entire point of the divorce!”
Before Adrian could answer, Grant Mercer reached the landing, his breath coming heavily, a secure satellite phone already pressed to his ear.
“Boss,” Grant said, cutting off whatever retort Adrian was about to unleash. “The East Tower sniper nest is empty. They used a remote-triggered high-caliber rifle from the rooftop across the river. Sector Four is locked down, but traffic on the lower level is clear. The armored Suburban is waiting at Sub-Level Three.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Any casualties?”
“One of the receptionists on the forty-ninth floor took glass shrapnel, but paramedics are already up. It was a warning shot, Adrian. Or a calibration.”
“It wasn't a warning,” Adrian said coldly, his eyes fixed on Maya. “They knew exactly where I was standing. They wanted to see if I’d bring her to the office today.”
Maya felt the blood drain entirely from her face. “They... they knew I was coming?”
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“The leak isn't external,” Grant said grimly, looking away. “Someone inside the inner circle sold the schedule.”
“Find out who,” Adrian ordered, his voice dropping an octave into a tone of absolute, chilling finality. “Strip them down to bone and skin, and bring me their name before midnight.”
