The Prison-Made Queen novel Chapter 900

While the team was still processing the absolute insanity of the tiger, the hidden speakers above them cracked to life once more.

The heavily distorted, robotic voice echoed through the lab, dripping with forced, sickening cheerfulness.

"I see my esteemed guests have found my private collection."

"Just a friendly reminder: you have exactly forty minutes left on your tour. Please, take your time admiring these... priceless masterpieces."

"Hehe..."

Before the chilling laugh even faded, a series of deafening metallic slams echoed across the room!

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

Bason was the first to move, sprinting toward the door they had just come through. He shoved his weight against the heavy steel, but the blast door had dropped shut, sealing them in completely.

He spun around, his face pale, a rare crack of panic showing in his voice. "Boss! We're trapped! The doors are totally deadlocked!"

Callahan remained ice-cold. He rapidly visually inspected the other exits, confirming they had all suffered the same fate.

Seeing the creeping terror in his team's eyes, Callahan planted his feet and raised his voice, his absolute authority cutting through the rising panic.

"Nobody lose their heads! Stay focused!"

"Panic is what gets you killed!"

"We tear this place apart. There's always a backdoor. If this psycho wants to play games, he left a control panel or a way out! Find it!"

...

While Leilani was fighting for her life in the lethal underground of Northern Myanor, Tamara Sloan was experiencing a very different kind of afternoon.

The vibration was coming from her phone on the table.

Tamara frowned, her eyelashes fluttering as she dragged herself back to reality. Squinting against the bright sunlight, a flash of irritation hit her.

Who on earth was calling her now?

Ever since she had ignored Hackett's last phone call, the Sloan family had practically stopped reaching out. And it certainly wasn't Milford or Gloria; they despised her too much to ever dial her number.

Was it Fitch?

Using the armrest for leverage, Tamara clumsily pushed herself up, the blanket slipping to the floor. She shuffled her feet into her slippers and walked over to the table.

When she looked down at the screen, her heart skipped a beat.

It was an unknown number.