The gravel in the main courtyard crunched violently under the heavy tires of the approaching vehicle. Down in the concrete corridor, the frantic warning from the radio transmitter was still echoing off the walls. Asher didn't waste a single heartbeat. Despite the fractured ribs tightly bound beneath his ruined shirt, his movements were instantaneous, driven by the raw, protective instinct of a father. He drew his custom matte-black handgun from his holster, the heavy slide clicking back with a lethal, metallic snap.
"Jupiter, stay with the prisoner," Asher commanded, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating register that chilled the blood. "Marcus, with me. If anyone so much as blinks wrong at those gates, paint the courtyard red."
"On it," Marcus growled, his face twisted in a mask of pure fury as he pulled his own weapon.
