Todos los capítulos de BOUND IN IRON AND INK: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

AMOR AND ASHES​Kirrily”Rindy”Cross pov​The glow of the monitors flickered across my face in cold, rhythmic washes of silver and blue, doing nothing to warm the ice settling in my stomach.​I sat hunched over the control console in the secondary surveillance vault, my fingers pressed so hard against the edge of the metal desk that my knuckles turned bone-white. On the screen directly in front of me, Camera 4 captured the armory in sharp, merciless high-definition.​And there he was.​Jaxson stood in the center of the concrete room, his silhouette sharp against the stark halogen lights. He pulled a heavy Kevlar vest over his head, the thick tactical fabric settling over his chest with a dull, heavy thud that I could practically hear through the silence of the monitor room. Next came the reinforced leather vest worn at the seams, scratched from past violence, a piece of gear that carried the memory of every near-death experience he had ever survived.​My heart hammered against my ribs

THE COLD OUTSIDE THE CAGE​ Kirrily”Rindy”Cross pov​The sound of gunfire didn't register as a noise at first. It hit my chest like a kinetic blow, vibrating through the cold concrete floor of the secondary surveillance vault and rattling the metal frame of my chair.​Thump-thump-thump.​Remote. Muffled by inches of high-grade steel and the damp density of the surrounding eucalyptus woods, but unmistakable.​My breath hitched, catching on a jagged edge of pure instinct. I scrambled off the swivel chair, my knees knocking against the edge of the console, my eyes wildly darting across the wall of green-tinted night-vision monitors.​On Camera 1, the empty north gate swayed in the wind. On Camera 2, rain lashed down on the stone pillars of the east lawn, painting the darkness in strokes of ghost-white water. But Camera 7,the feed that only moments ago had shown a shadowy figure pointing directly into the lens was dead. Static crackled across the glass screen in sharp, jagged white lines,

Shadows at the ThresholdKirrily”Rindy”Cross pov​Silence in a storm isn't really silence. It’s a hollow, heavy weight that presses down on your eardrums until you start hearing things that aren't there,the click of a boot on tile, the rack of a rifle slide, the final, ragged exhale of someone you love dying in the mud.​I stood in the center of the grand foyer, my hands clenched so tightly around the grip of my Glock that my knuckles had gone completely white.​Outside, the sky was tearing itself apart. Rain rattled against the tall, stained-glass transoms above the entrance, sounding like handfuls of gravel hurled against the glass. Every few seconds, lightning would flash through the high windows, washing the dark mahogany paneling and cold marble floor in a stark, ghostly white.​Ten minutes.​He had been gone for ten minutes.​When Jaxson had looked me in the eyes before slipping out into the downpour, he had promised me it was just a quick perimeter check. He had used that low,

Thread and BoneKirrily”Rindy” Cross pov​The heavy blast shutter slammed down with a deafening, metallic crash, sealing us into the inner surgical bay just as gunfire erupted on the other side of the reinforced glass.​Marcus had sacrificed his own retreat to hit the emergency override on the wall, trapping himself in the outer room with the ghost from our past. Through the thick, bulletproof window, I saw Marcus thrown back against the filing cabinets, his sidearm clattering to the tile before a heavy leather boot kicked it away.​"Kirrily... no..." Jaxson gasped from the operating table.​"Stay down!" I ordered, my voice trembling as I shoved my shoulder against his collarbone to keep him from hauling his torn body off the cushion. "You move now, and your intestines will slide out onto this floor."​Outside, the intruder the man we had put six feet under six months ago didn't chase Marcus. He slowly turned toward the reinforced window, lifting his gaze to meet mine through the th

Tides of Iron and GlassKirrily”Rindy” Cross pov​The air in the surgical bay tasted like melted copper and burnt bone.​I couldn't move. My boots felt welded to the blood-slick tile, my lungs locked in a tight, agonized spasm. Through the swirling white haze of the melted blast door, five years of missing time compressed into a single, terrifying heartbeat.​"Elena..." The name tore from my throat like broken glass, so quiet it was swallowed by the hiss of cooling metal.​She didn't run to me. She didn't drop the revolver.​Elena stood in the jagged breach, framed by smoke and glowing embers, wearing tailored tactical gear that looked too clean for a war zone. Her dark hair the exact shade of mine was pinned back tightly, accentuating the high, sharp line of her cheekbones. Her eyes were fixed on me, dark and unblinking, devoid of any warmth, any grief, or any of the memory of the night she had vanished into the shadows of the capital.​Beside her, the man we had put in a shallow gr