The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 1008

Leilani's heart hammered frantically against her ribs, but the moment Callahan's rough palm wrapped around her wrist, an inexplicable wave of calm washed over her.

Before he could pull away, she immediately flipped her hand and grabbed his cold fingers, squeezing back hard to let him know she was still fighting.

Their hands stayed locked together in the suffocating darkness.

It felt like an eternity before the violent tremors finally subsided. The world outside fell into an eerie, graveyard silence, broken only by the settling of dust and the bitter scent of cordite.

In the pitch black, the first sounds were suppressed coughs and the ragged, desperate gasping of people who had just cheated death.

Leilani was the first to lift her head from behind Callahan's back. Ignoring the layer of concrete dust coating her body, she croaked into the void, "Mr. Larson? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Is everyone alright?"

"I'm... okay..."

Callahan and the men at the door had absorbed the absolute worst of the kinetic impact. Tucked safely in the back, Mr. Larson hadn't taken any physical damage, though the sheer exertion of the escape had completely drained whatever little stamina he had left.

"I'm good."

"Still breathing."

Bason and Abel chimed in, confirming they were all in one piece.

The adrenaline crash was hitting them hard. Even though the tremors had stopped, they all felt a lingering sense of vertigo, struggling to process the fact that they hadn't just been vaporized.

Relieved by the sound of their voices, Leilani let out a breath and turned her attention back to Callahan, who was still slumped heavily against the steel door.

Even in total darkness, her hyper-attuned senses picked up on something wrong.

Her hand came away dripping in something hot, thick, and sticky.

Leilani's stomach plummeted as if a block of ice had settled in her core. Her words rushed out. "You are bleeding! Don't move, let me see!"

A sliver of pale daylight filtered through a crack in the ceiling rubble. By the faint glow, she saw it.

A jagged, splintered piece of wood had been blown completely through his tactical jacket and was embedded deep into his upper left arm. Blood was freely pouring out, soaking his sleeve and dripping onto the stone floor.

"It just looks messy. It's really nothing, don't panic," he murmured. Cold sweat beaded along his hairline from the agony, yet his first instinct was still to comfort her.

"Shut up. You've got a stake in your arm and you didn't even make a sound. Did you honestly think you could hide this from me?"

"I'm going to kill you when we get out of here."