Chapter 32 · Corridor of Fire

The gas hit my face like a wet fist.

Yellow. Sweet. Burnt pennies on my tongue. My eyes flooded, burning blind, and the vault door three feet in front of me turned to liquid.

"Don't breathe it," Dante grated out. "Lucia. Sleeve. Now."

I already had the torn hem jammed against my mouth. I'd ripped it off my hip before my brain even caught up. Funny what your body figures out once you stop acting like a captive.

Above our heads, that diamond drill screamed through the ceiling. Plaster showered down. A chunk the size of a dinner plate smashed against the floor and split.

"Up," I said.

Dante stayed on one knee against the wall, hand clamped over his side. Fresh blood was pouring through his black shirt, running down his wrist in heavy, dark pulses. He'd been leaking since the motorcade ambushed us. He swore it was a graze.

He lied.

"Get to the pier," he choked out. "Katia's boat is still at the east dock. Go."

"No."

"Lucia."

"You want me to run?" I shoved my shoulder under his armpit and heaved. He was pure dead weight, skin scalding, trembling from shock.