Chapter 19: Glass Houses
The limousine tore through the streets of Manhattan.
Traffic blurred past us in streaks of red and yellow light. The driver was a professional. He mounted the curb to bypass a garbage truck. He ran two red lights without touching the brakes.
I sat in the back with my phone clutched in my hand. I stared at the security feed from the penthouse.
The screen was black.
"Signal jammed," I whispered. "They cut the hardline."
Kael sat beside me. He was vibrating with tension. He had ripped off his tie. His knuckles were white as he gripped the door handle.
"How many men?" Kael asked. His voice was a low rumble that shook the seat.
"Dorian has a team of four," I said. "But my father would not send thugs. He would send the Reapers."
"Reapers?"
"Private military con
