Chapter 5 - Blood on the Marble
The shattering of the crystal glass was the only warning Mave got.
Before the sound could fully register in her panicked brain, the grand chandelier hanging directly above the ballroom floor exploded.
It wasn't an electrical malfunction. It was a sniper's bullet.
Thousands of razor-sharp glass shards rained down like diamond shrapnel. The orchestra screeched to a halt, replaced instantly by the deafening, collective scream of three hundred socialites. The lights plunged into darkness, save for the eerie, flickering glow of the catering team's flambé stations.
"Down!" Rowan roared.
His massive hand clamped onto the back of Mave’s neck, shoving her violently to the marble floor. He threw his entire body weight over hers, covering her with his bespoke tuxedo just as a second gunshot echoed through the cavernous hall. A marble pillar three feet from Mave’s head exploded, showering her hair in white dust.
"Elias! South exit, secure the corridor!" Rowan barked into a comms device hidden in his cuff.
Chaos erupted. People were trampling each other in their designer gowns, slipping on spilled champagne and shattered glass. Mave lay paralyzed beneath Rowan, her heart hammering so hard she thought her ribs would crack. The smell of gunpowder cut through the expensive perfumes, acrid and suffocating.
"Mave, look at me," Rowan commanded. His face hovered inches from hers in the dim light. The terrifying void in his eyes was gone, replaced by a hyper-focused, lethal clarity. "Are you hit?"
"No," she gasped, her hands shaking violently as she gripped the lapels of his jacket. "No, I'm okay."
"When I say move, you run exactly where I push you. Do not stop for anyone. Do you understand?"
She nodded frantically.
"Move!"
Rowan hauled her to her feet, his arm wrapping around her waist like a steel band. He didn't run toward the main doors where the panicked crowd was bottlenecking. He dragged her toward the kitchen swinging doors.
A man in a waiter’s uniform stepped out from behind a dessert cart, raising a suppressed pistol directly at Mave’s chest.
He didn't even get to pull the trigger.
Rowan moved with terrifying, predatory speed. He didn't reach for a gun. He lunged forward, grabbed the assassin's wrist, and twisted it with a sickening snap. The man screamed, dropping the gun. Rowan drove his knee into the man's ribs, sending him crashing through the dessert cart in a tangle of limbs and ruined pastries.
"Keep moving!" Rowan yelled, shoving Mave through the swinging doors into the stainless-steel labyrinth of the catering kitchen.
The kitchen staff had already fled. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and panic. Elias was waiting by the loading dock exit, holding a matte-black assault rifle that looked entirely out of place against his tailored suit.
"Two shooters on the roof, boss. Snipers," Elias reported, his voice infuriatingly calm. "Volkov's men are blocking the alley. The town car is pinned."
"We go down," Rowan ordered, kicking the heavy fire door open. "To the subway maintenance tunnels."
"Rowan, my heels," Mave cried out, stumbling as she tried to keep up with his massive strides. The four-inch stilettos were a death trap on the slick, greasy floor of the loading dock.
Without breaking stride, Rowan scooped her up into his arms. Mave gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. He carried her as easily as if she weighed nothing, his chest rising and falling in steady, controlled rhythms despite the chaos unfolding around them.
"Hold on," he muttered, kicking open a rusted grate that led beneath the venue.
They descended into the damp, echoing darkness of the city's underbelly. The sounds of sirens began to wail in the distance, muffled by the concrete above them. Rowan didn't set her down until they were deep into a service tunnel, lit only by flickering emergency bulbs.
Mave hit the ground, her bare legs trembling violently. She leaned against the damp concrete wall, gasping for air. The emerald dress was torn at the hem, ruined by grease and dirt.
Rowan stood in front of her, his tuxedo covered in white dust, a thin cut on his cheekbone bleeding sluggishly. He looked feral. He looked like the monster everyone claimed he was.
"Volkov tried to kill me," Mave whispered, the reality crashing over her. "He didn't aim at you. The bullet hit the pillar right next to my head."
Rowan’s jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked rapidly in his cheek. He stepped forward, pinning her against the wall, his hands slamming into the concrete on either side of her head.
"He missed," Rowan snarled, his voice a dangerous, low vibration that echoed in the tight space. "And it is the last mistake Viktor Volkov will ever make."
Mave looked up into his eyes, terrified, exhausted, and running on pure adrenaline. "You said I would be safe! You said the security would protect me!"
"I underestimated his desperation," Rowan admitted, his voice softening just a fraction. He reached up, his thumb wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek. His touch was shockingly gentle compared to the violence he had just unleashed. "I will not make that mistake again, Mave. From now on, you don't leave my sight. You don't breathe without my permission. Do you understand?"
It wasn't a request. It was a vow.
Mave stared at the blood on his cheek, at the terrifying, unyielding possessiveness in his dark eyes. She had agreed to be his bait for thirty days. But looking at the devil in the dim light of the tunnel, Mave realized she was no longer just playing a part.
She was at war. And Rowan Mercer was her only shield.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant sirens. "What's our next move?"
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Rowan’s lips curved into a cold, ruthless smile.
"We stop playing defense," he said. "We burn his kennel down."
