The second bullet hit the wall above us.
Plaster rained down.
He didn't hesitate.
His arm wrapped around me and he rolled us behind the kitchen island just as another shot tore through the glass doors.
"Stay down," he ordered.
"I'm not helpless," I snapped.
"Tonight, you are."
Gunfire answered for him.
Sharp. Controlled. Precise.
Not random shooters.
Professionals.
He pulled a gun from the back of his waistband and checked the chamber in one smooth motion.
"How many?" I whispered.
"Minimum three. Possibly five."
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"They followed us."
"Yes."
"You said they couldn't."
"I said they shouldn't."
Another bullet slammed into the marble counter, splintering stone inches from my hand.
I flinched.
He noticed.
His jaw tightened.
"On my mark, we move," he said.
"Where?"
"Garage exit. There's a secondary tunnel."
"Another one?"
"Yes."
Of course.
He counted under his breath.
Three.
Two.
One.
He rose suddenly and fired twice through the broken glass.
A distant body dropped outside.
He grabbed my wrist.
We ran.
The hallway lights flickered as another shot shattered the overhead fixture.
We were almost to the garage door—
When he jerked violently.
His grip tightened painfully around my wrist.
Then loosened.
He stumbled.
For a second I didn't understand what happened.
Then I saw it.
Blood.
Dark.
Spreading through his shirt near his ribs.
"No."
He didn't fall.
Didn't groan.
Just pressed his hand against the wound and kept moving.
"It's nothing," he said through clenched teeth.
"That's not nothing!"
Another shot hit the wall behind us.
I grabbed his arm and forced him through the garage door.
He keyed in the override.
The reinforced door began sliding down slowly.
Too slowly.
Footsteps approached from outside.
Heavy.
Fast.
I looked around.
My eyes landed on his dropped gun.
Without thinking, I picked it up.
He noticed immediately.
"Put that down."
"No."
The door was halfway down.
A shadow moved toward the opening.
I stepped forward before I could think.
Raised the gun with shaking hands.
The first shot I fired missed.
The second didn't.
The man outside dropped instantly.
Silence.
The garage door finished closing with a heavy thud.
My ears rang.
My hands shook.
The gun felt heavier than before.
He stared at me.
Not angry.
Not impressed.
Something else.
"You've done that before," he said quietly.
I swallowed.
"No."
But my hands had steadied too quickly.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Interesting.
He filed that away.
The moment shifted.
He leaned against the wall suddenly.
The blood was spreading faster now.
This time he couldn't hide it.
I rushed to him.
"You're losing too much."
"It missed anything vital."
"How do you know?"
"I've been shot before."
Of course he had.
I helped him toward a metal cabinet on the wall.
He punched in another code.
Medical supplies.
Professional.
Prepared.
He sat heavily on a workbench.
I grabbed gauze, antiseptic, anything I could see.
"Move your hand."
He hesitated.
Then removed it.
The wound was deep.
Not fatal.
But serious.
I pressed the gauze against it.
He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't complain.
"You should've left me," I muttered.
"They want you alive," he said quietly.
"And you?"
"They want me dead."
Our eyes locked.
Something changed again.
This wasn't auction power.
This wasn't emotional manipulation.
This was survival.
Together.
"Why?" I asked softly.
He looked at me like he was deciding something.
"They don't just want leverage anymore," he said.
"They want revenge."
"For what?"
His gaze darkened.
"For what I did to their leader."
My stomach tightened.
"And what did you do?"
A pause.
Then
"I dismantled his empire."
Before I could respond
The garage lights cut out.
Everything went dark.
And from somewhere outside
A voice echoed through a loudspeaker.
"Bring the girl out, Adrian."
My heart stopped.
Adrian.
That was his name.
"And we might let you live."