Chapter Twenty-Seven
“D on’t move .”
Damian froze.
I almost didn’t recognize Harrison’s voice.
The back door to the gallery burst open as Talon Talerco and Neil Christensen rushed out.
His eyes a cold fury, Damian raised his hands, directly ignoring Harrison’s order. “What are you gonna do? You’re surrounded.”
Standing behind Damian, Harrison held a gun to his head. “I said, don’t move. ”
“You shoot me, you’re dead,” Damian replied in a lethal calm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sawyer get out of the SUV behind ours, weapon drawn. The back door to the gallery opened again and Collins came out, his gun aimed at Harrison.
Harrison angled to Damian’s side and glanced in Collins’s direction. “One more step and your friend dies.”
“You don’t lower you gun, you die,” Collins countered.
“Get in the vehicle, Princess ,” Harrison ordered, spitting out my title like it was unconscionable.
It was him.
Harrison was the stalker.
Harrison my assistant—unwaveringly polite, never abrasive, never aggressive, never anything I would’ve associated with a madman—was holding a gun on Damian.
On my Damian.
I didn’t get upset. I got furious. “I am not— ”
“Get in the car, Calandra,” Damian quietly commanded.
Shocked, betrayed, irate, I didn’t know what I felt. “Damian,” I countered, equally as quiet.
“Now.” His eyes bore into mine.
That’s when I saw it. He was communicating that he had a plan, and he was telling me it was going to be all right. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the vehicle, but I knew Damian wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Even though I barely knew him, I trusted him with my life.
As if sensing my thoughts, he nodded once. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Reluctant, I slid into the seat, and he started to close the door.
“Not so fast.” Harrison jammed the gun harder into the back on Damian’s head. “Give me your gun and get in after her.”
Damian stared at me for a full heartbeat. “You want my gun, Harrison.” He slowly turned his head toward him. “Shoot me.”
“Damian, no!”
It happened so fast, it was a blur.
Damian slammed my door shut and lunged.
Harrison fired shot after shot, the bullets hitting the SUV’s door and window with an almost cartoon-like plunking sound, but none shattered the window or penetrated the metal.
Then four successive shots rang out and the passenger side windows of the SUV got hit with a bright red explosion of splattered blood.
Something thumped against the car, and I panicked, utterly and completely.
Screaming Damian’s name, I pulled the door handle and pushed and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge.
Pounding on the glass covered in blood, I couldn’t breathe. “Damian, Damian!” Oh my God. Oh my God, no . “Please, please, please, please.” Useless words tumbling out, the door not opening, I hitched the skirt of my dress up and crawled over the center console in sheer terror.
I reached for the handle and the door flew open.
There he stood. Covered in blood.
“ Damian .” I burst into tears.