The basement was smaller than Bethany expected—concrete walls, a single flickering bulb, and two metal chairs. Derek slumped in one immediately, his head in his hands.
"This is all your fault," he muttered. "If you'd just stayed in line, none of this would have happened."
"My fault?" Bethany's voice came out stronger than she felt. "You're the one who gambled away our lives."
"I had it under control until you brought in that FBI bastard."
"I thought he was helping me escape from you!"
Derek looked up, his face haggard. "And look how well that worked out. Now we're both dead."
Bethany studied the basement—one door, no windows, but she noticed something Derek had missed. In the far corner, partially hidden by shadows, was a grate covering what looked like an old ventilation shaft.
"We're not dead yet," she said quietly.
"Vincent doesn't make idle threats, Bethany. When he says we disappear, we disappear."
"Then we don't wait around for him to decide our fate."
Derek laughed bitterly. "What are you going to do? Fight your way past six armed men?"
Bethany didn't answer. Instead, she moved to the grate and examined it closely. The screws were old, rusted. If she could find something to use as leverage...
Her wedding ring caught the light. White gold, with a diamond setting that had sharp edges.
"What are you doing?" Derek asked.
"Getting us out of here." She twisted off her ring and began working at the screws. The metal was soft enough that the diamond cut into it slowly but steadily.
"That's insane. Even if you get that open, where does it lead?"
"Anywhere but here."
Derek watched her work for several minutes before speaking again. "Bethany... I'm sorry."
She paused, looking at him over her shoulder. "For which part? Gambling away my inheritance? Using me as collateral? Or pointing a gun at me?"
"All of it." His voice cracked. "You deserved better than what I gave you."
"Yes, I did."
"I wasn't always like this. The gambling, the anger... it started after my father died. I felt like I was drowning, and instead of asking for help, I just kept making everything worse."
Bethany returned to the screws. Three down, one to go. "Feeling sorry for yourself won't get us out of here."
"I know. But I want you to understand—I never meant for you to get hurt."
"Except you did hurt me. Every day for three years."
The last screw came loose. The grate swung open, revealing a narrow shaft that disappeared into darkness.
"Where do you think it goes?" Derek asked.
"Up." Bethany peered into the shaft. It was barely wide enough for her shoulders, but she could see light far above. "Probably to the roof or an exterior vent."
"I can't fit in there."
She turned to look at him. Derek was right—he was too broad, too tall. The shaft would accommodate her, but not him.
"Then you'll have to create a distraction," she said.
"What kind of distraction?"
"I don't know. Make noise. Demand to see Vincent. Buy me time to get out and call for help."
Derek stared at her for a long moment. "You're not coming back for me, are you?"
The question hung in the air between them. A week ago, Bethany would have lied, would have tried to spare his feelings. Now, she simply told the truth.
"No."
He nodded slowly. "I wouldn't either, in your position."
"Derek—"
"It's okay. I made my choices. Time to live with the consequences."
Footsteps echoed on the stairs above them. Someone was coming.
"Go," Derek whispered urgently. "Now."
Bethany squeezed into the ventilation shaft just as the basement door opened. The metal was cold against her skin, and the space was so tight she could barely breathe.
"Well, well," Vincent's voice drifted up through the grate. "Where's your lovely wife, Derek?"
"Bathroom," Derek said without missing a beat. "Women, you know how they are."
"In a basement with no bathroom?"
"She's... modest. Asked for privacy."
Bethany heard Vincent's footsteps moving around the room. Any second now, he'd notice the open grate.
She began climbing, using her elbows and knees to propel herself up the narrow shaft. Below her, she heard Vincent's sharp intake of breath.
"Marco! Tony! Get down here!"
The shaft angled upward sharply, and Bethany's muscles burned as she climbed. Behind her, she could hear shouting, Derek's voice raised in protest.
Then the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
Bethany froze, her heart hammering. Derek's voice had gone silent.
She forced herself to keep climbing. Getting captured now wouldn't bring Derek back, and it would make his sacrifice meaningless.
The shaft seemed endless, but finally she saw bright light ahead. An exterior grate covered in decades of grime and rust. She attacked the screws with her ring, working frantically as voices echoed up the shaft below her.
The grate gave way, and she tumbled out onto the warehouse roof. The morning sun was blinding after the darkness of the shaft, but she didn't have time to adjust. Vincent's men would be swarming the building any moment.
She ran across the roof toward the fire escape on the building's north side. As she climbed down, she could see black SUVs surrounding the warehouse. Vincent wasn't taking any chances.
Her phone was gone—Derek still had it—but there was a gas station across the street. She sprinted toward it, not caring who saw her.
The clerk looked up in alarm as she burst through the doors, covered in dirt and rust, her clothes torn.
"Please," she gasped. "I need to call 911."
"Lady, are you okay? You look like—"
"Please. Just let me use your phone."
He handed her the cordless phone from behind the counter. Her fingers shook as she dialed.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"My name is Bethany Chen. I just escaped from Vincent Torrino's warehouse on Industrial Boulevard. He's holding people prisoner, and I think he just killed my husband."
"Ma'am, did you say Vincent Torrino?"
"Yes. I have information about FBI raids, about corruption, about murder. I need to speak to Agent Lennox Vale immediately."
"Ma'am, I'm going to transfer you to the FBI field office. Please stay on the line."
As she waited for the transfer, Bethany caught sight of herself in the security monitor above the counter. Her hair was wild, her face streaked with grime, her eyes hollow with trauma.
But there was something else there too. Something she hadn't seen in three years.
Fire.
"This is Special Agent Morrison. Mrs. Chen? We've been looking for you."
"Where's Lennox?"
"Agent Vale is... unavailable at the moment. But we need to get you somewhere safe immediately. Vincent Torrino has put a bounty on your head. Half a million dollars, dead or alive."
Bethany's blood turned to ice. "How long do I have?"
"Every criminal in the city knows your face by now. We need to move fast."
Through the gas station window, she could see a black sedan pulling into the parking lot. Two men in suits got out, their eyes scanning the area.
"They found me," she whispered into the phone.
"What? Mrs. Chen, where are you?"
"I have to go."
She hung up and handed the phone back to the terrified clerk. "Is there a back exit?"
He pointed toward the rear of the store with a shaking hand.
Bethany ran for the back door, but she could already hear car doors slamming, footsteps on gravel. She was trapped between Vincent's men and whatever game Lennox was still playing.
But she'd escaped one prison today, and she'd be damned if she was going into another one.
The back alley was empty except for a rusted pickup truck with keys dangling from the ignition.
As she hotwired the engine—a skill she'd never imagined needing—Bethany Chen made herself a promise.
She was done running from other people's wars. It was time to start her own.