Chapter 172
Chapter 172:
“What do you want, Liam?” she answered, her voice cool.
“They have Lydia,” Liam’s voice was ragged, panic bleeding through the static. “I got a video. Someone took her. They’re asking for five million or they’ll kill her p>
Skye rolled her eyes. “Lydia is an attention seeker, Liam. She’s probably at a spa p>
“There was blood, Skye! Real blood!” Liam shouted. “And they mentioned you. They said… they said if I don’t come alone, they’ll come for you next p>
Skye paused. Her intuition—her Oracle sense—pricked at the back of her neck.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“The docks. Warehouse 4. I’m going now p>
“Don’t be an idiot,” Skye snapped. “Call the police p>
“I can’t risk it. Just… stay safe, Skye. Watch your back p>
He hung up.
Skye looked at Alistair. “Lydia has been kidnapped. Liam is walking into a trap p>
“Not our problem,” Alistair said, opening the car door. “We go to the server farm p>
“If Liam dies, the Kensington stock crashes,” Skye said, analyzing coldly. “And my voting rights become worthless if the company dissolves into chaos. We have to ensure he survives his own stupidity p>
“Skye p>
“Follow him, Alistair. But keep your distance. I’ll monitor from the command center p>
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Alistair growled.
“I have the detail,” Skye said, gesturing to the two bodyguards flanking the SUV. “Go. Save the idiot prince p>
Alistair hesitated, then nodded. He got into a separate car and sped off.
Skye slid into her SUV. “Take me to the Tower p>
The vehicle merged into traffic. The rain came down harder, blurring the lights of the city. Skye opened her laptop, trying to hack into the city’s traffic cams to track Liam.
𝘚𝗎pp𝗈𝘳𝘁 t𝗵𝘦 𝖺ut𝗁𝗼𝗋 𝖻у 𝗋ea𝘥i𝘯𝘨 о𝗻 𝗯𝖾.𝖼o𝗺
Suddenly, a heavy van slammed into the side of her SUV.
Metal screamed. Glass shattered.
The SUV spun out of control, then slammed into the concrete divider.
Skye’s head hit the airbag. The world went white, then gray.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard doors opening. Gunfire—short, controlled bursts.
Her bodyguards were down.
The back door was ripped open. A man in a tactical mask looked down at her.
“Target acquired,” he said into a radio.
Russian accent.
Skye tried to reach for the hidden knife in her boot, but her arm wouldn’t obey. A cloth soaked in chloroform pressed over her face.
The last thing she thought before the darkness took her was: Seraphina.
Pain was the first thing Liam felt—a throbbing, sledgehammer rhythm in his skull.
He stood in the center of the abandoned warehouse, rain dripping through the rusted roof. It was empty.