“Do it,” Crouch says to the driver.

“Are you serious?” He hesitates, blinking as if he’s dizzy. But he keeps the gun raised. “I don’t think I can do it,” he wheezes. “She says she’s just the sandwich girl.”

There’s an extended silence and I realize Crouch is staring at me. With recognition this time. “Hold on a second. I know you were at the gala because you took that picture, but I didn’t remember seeing you until now. Pink dress. You were with one of my foreman. Gabe.” He adjusts his stance, the lines around his mouth increasing with tension. “What does he know?”

Cold purpose blankets me in a split-second. The noise in my ears recedes.

Apparently, this is a level of fear I’ve never reached before, because it involves someone I love being hurt. Throw in my protectiveness when it comes to Gabe and I’m nothing but a swarming hive of denial. They’ve made the connection between me and Gabe. He’s in danger now. And it’s only a matter of time before Banks and Tobias are, too. The very thought of them being hurt surges my fear to the highest point where it transforms into anger so sharp I can feel it cutting straight through me. In a burst of fury, I twist my wrists with all of my might and feel a snap, though I don’t dare show it on my face. My adrenaline has surged so fast, my vision grays at the edges.

Crouch gets in my face. “Answer me. What does he know?”

“Go to hell.”

The union boss backhands me across the face so hard my ears ring.

I can’t breathe around the sting. A metallic taste fills my mouth.

Crouch wrestles the gun out of the driver’s hand—and I know it’s now or never. The union boss is red-faced and irrational and I’m the target. I’m going to get shot. And then they’re going to go after Gabe. Tobias. Banks. I can’t allow this. Without giving myself another second to hesitate, I lunge out of the chair and knock the gun out of Crouch’s hands. The weapon goes flying across the half-constructed room and it’s a race, three against one. My odds of making it to the gun first are pitifully low, but I dive toward it anyway.

Falling a couple of inches short.

I’m dragged backwards by the ankles, taking the weapon farther and farther out of my reach. Alexander retrieves the gun with a resigned expression on his face that terrifies me. I twist around onto my back just in time for him to point it straight down at my head.

“Sorry about this, kid.”

There is something behind Alexander, though. Something that wasn’t there before. It’s the muzzle of a gun peeking around the entrance to the room. It’s followed by a police officer.

No…his bulletproof vest says SWAT.

Oh my God. It’s a whole team. They crowd into the entrance, seething like one single entity, then scatter, coming in and spreading in all directions, automatic rifles with scopes raised. Aimed at my three captors.