Chapter 9 · Say Stay

The lamps blew first.

Then the entire counting room jumped, like a boot had kicked the foundation right out from under us.

I hit the floor off the cot. My dad's ledger flew out of my lap. Page 212. The first column of numbers that had finally started making sense. Now it was pitch-black, concrete dust was choking my throat, and my ears shrieked like metal scraping metal.

Upstairs, glass shattered. Men shouted. A rifle went off—three rapid, deafening cracks.

The door banged open against the brick. A flashlight beam whipped across the steel shelves, and Dominic cut through the dark behind it, gun raised.

"Mara."

"Here." My throat was raw. "I'm right here."

"Shoes. Now."

"I don't have—"

He didn't wait. He crossed the room in two strides, locked a scorching hand around my wrist, and yanked me up like I didn't weigh a damn thing. The ledger stayed on the floor. I twisted back for it.

"Leave it."

"It's my dad's!"

"It's paper." He dragged me flush against his chest. "You're not.