Chapter 42 Sadie
SADIE
Istand frozen in the service corridor, watching Landon adjust his cufflinks. He’s a man who’s done this before. He reaches inside his jacket, checking what I now recognize as a concealed weapon.
“Remember,” he says, “when we step outside, stay half a step behind me. If shooting starts, drop to the ground immediately. Don’t run—it makes you a moving target.”
I nod, my throat too dry for words. Through the glass doors, the grand ballroom glitters with chandeliers and diamonds, the charity gala continuing in blissful ignorance. Women in designer gowns laugh with champagne flutes in hand while men in tuxedos discuss stock portfolios and vacation homes.
Now my emerald gown feels inconvenient, the fabric too slippery, too cumbersome for whatever’s about to happen. The five-inch heels Landon insisted on earlier are no longer sexy accessories but potential death traps if I need to run.
“Testing comms,” a voice buzzes in my ear. Xavier. “Status check.”
“North entrance secured,” comes Knox’s reply. “I’ve got eyes on the main garden path from the topiary section. Three men visible, likely more concealed.”
“East wall compromised,” Vane’s voice is barely a whisper. “I’m on the perimeter. Two armed guards by the fountain. Standard issue semi-automatics, nothing fancy.”
“Security feed acquired,” Xavier confirms. “I see six heat signatures total. Four mobile, two stationary near the gazebo. One appears restrained. Likely your friend, Ms. Reynolds.”
Jolene. My heart pounds against my ribs. She’s alive. She has to be.
“Everyone in position,” Landon murmurs into his wrist where he’s concealed a comms microphone. “Remember, we need Orlov alive. The others are expendable.”
He turns to me. “Are you ready?” he asks.
No, I’m not ready. I’m a programmer who likes medical dramas, collectible robots, and erotic romance novels. I’m not built for hostage negotiations and garden ambushes.
But Jolene is out there. So ready is the only option.
“I’m ready,” I lie.
The moment we step through the glass doors into the garden, everything changes.
The orchestra’s waltz that filled the ballroom just seconds ago fades to a distant echo, replaced by nature’s nocturnal symphony—crickets chirping in the bushes and water gurgling from ornate stone fountains.
These peaceful sounds feel jarringly out of place against the deadly purpose of our walk.
Moonlight bathes the manicured landscape in silver, casting long shadows across the stone path. I can’t help but notice how beautiful it all is—how incongruous that something so terrible is about to happen in such a serene setting.
“Stay half a step behind me,” Landon instructs. “Keep your eyes on my right hand.”
He positions me behind his left shoulder, his body angled to shield mine while maintaining a clear line of sight. I feel his fingers brush against mine—two quick taps. Stay alert.
We move deeper into the garden, away from the safety of the ballroom. Landon’s footsteps are nearly silent on the stone path, while my heels seem to announce our presence with every step.
“If we’re separated,” he murmurs, “the service door behind the north trellis is unlocked. Xavier’s men are stationed there.” His fingers find mine. “The gazebo is a kill zone. Avoid it at all costs.”
My pulse quickens as we approach a fork in the path. Landon pauses, scanning the area. For the first time, I find his methodical nature comforting rather than terrifying, as he now represents our best chance of getting Jolene out alive.
Three quick taps against my fingers. Prepare to move.
“Remember,” he whispers, “when I give the signal, you find cover immediately. No heroism.”
A figure emerges from the shadows near the central fountain.
Not Orlov himself, but a man with a face that tells stories of violence—a jagged scar runs from his left temple to the corner of his mouth, pulling his lips into a permanent half-sneer.
Two armed men flank him, their weapons held casually but ready.
“Mr. Blackwood,” the man calls out in a thick Russian accent. “Looks like your woman delivered you to your demise as requested.”
I step forward before I can stop myself. “Where’s Jolene? I won’t go any further until I see she’s alive.”
The Russian’s eyes shift to me. “The woman insists on proof.”
Beside me, Landon remains perfectly still, his face an unreadable mask. Only the slight tension in his shoulders betrays his alertness. “The proof. Now,” he demands, voice like ice.
The scarred man makes a casual gesture with his hand. Two more men emerge from behind a sculpted hedge, dragging a figure between them.
Jolene.
My breath catches. Her wrists are bound with zip ties, a cloth gag secured around her mouth. Her makeup is smeared with tears, and there’s dried blood on her temple. But her eyes are alert, widening when she spots me.
“Satisfied?” The man asks.
I take another step forward, desperate to reach her, but Landon’s fingers brush against my wrist—a subtle, quick pressure. Stay put.
“Release her first,” I demand. “That was the deal. I brought Landon, now let her go.”
The man’s laugh is like gravel. “I’m afraid Mr. Orlov has modified the terms.”
As if summoned by his name, another figure steps into view from behind the fountain.
Unlike his rough-looking men, he’s impeccably dressed in a tuxedo that would blend seamlessly with the charity ball guests.
His salt-and-pepper hair is styled perfectly, and his smile appears genuinely warm—if you ignore the absolute coldness in his eyes.
“Mr. Blackwood,” Orlov says. “I’ve looked forward to meeting with you.”
My stomach drops as Orlov’s smile widens.
“Where are your brothers, by the way?” he asks Landon with casual curiosity. “The ones hidden around my perimeter?”
On cue, four men emerge from different points in the garden. My heart hammers against my ribs as I spot Knox being forced forward at gunpoint, blood trickling from his temple. From another direction, Vane appears with his hands zip-tied behind his back, his expression murderous.
“You see,” Orlov continues, “I anticipated your little countermeasures. Quite predictable, really.”
Landon’s jaw tightens—the only sign that he’s affected by this devastating turn of events.
“And your eldest brother?” Orlov gestures to another man who holds up a tablet. The screen shows Xavier unconscious on the floor of what must be the security room. “Temporarily indisposed.”
My blood freezes in my veins. The entire Blackwood contingency plan has collapsed in seconds.
“Now,” Orlov says, “let’s discuss business without these distractions.”
At his signal, his men begin dragging Knox, Vane, and Jolene away from the central area of the garden.
“Wait!” I lunge toward Jolene, but Landon holds me back with a grip like iron.
“They won’t be harmed,” Orlov assures us, “as long as our conversation remains productive.”
Landon’s voice emerges eerily calm. “What do you want, Orlov?”
“What every businessman wants, Mr. Blackwood. Market expansion, elimination of competition, and… proper respect.”
Orlov’s men position themselves around the perimeter, forming a tight circle of armed guards. We’re completely isolated in the center with him.
“The Blackwood territory has been profitable for many years,” Orlov begins, circling us slowly. “Your family has enjoyed dominance without meaningful competition. That changes tonight.”
“You won’t leave this garden alive if you harm my brothers.” Landon’s voice lacks any emotion.
Orlov laughs. “Such devotion to family. Admirable, even if misplaced.” He stops directly in front of Landon. “I don’t want to kill your brothers, Mr. Blackwood. I want to partner with them.”
“Partnership implies mutual benefit. I see nothing beneficial about this arrangement.”
Orlov’s smile vanishes. “The benefit is that I don’t eliminate your entire operation tonight.” He gestures around the garden. “I have men positioned throughout this charity event. One word from me, and the headlines tomorrow will be about the tragic massacre of Ravenwood’s elite.”
I watch the exchange, my mind racing. Landon’s fingers flex at his side—a tell I’ve learned to recognize when he’s calculating odds. Despite the chaos unfolding around us, I find myself cataloging his reactions.
“Here are my terms,” Orlov continues. “The Blackwood Group will cede thirty percent of their territory to my organization. Your distribution network becomes available to my products. And most importantly...” his eyes flick to me again, “you and your brothers personally step away from operations for one year while I take your toy.”
Landon’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel him tense beside me. “You seem particularly interested in Sadie,” Landon observes coolly.
Orlov’s smile is vicious. “She’s not part of the negotiation, merely an... insurance policy. She’ll remain with me during your year of retirement.”
The realization hits me like ice water. Orlov doesn’t just want Blackwood territory; he wants to break Landon personally by taking what belongs to him, by taking me.
“That’s not happening,” Landon states.
“I’m not a bargaining chip,” I interject.
Orlov regards me with amusement. “Ms. Reynolds, surely you see this as an opportunity? From one captor to another—at least I wouldn’t carve my initials into your skin.”
How long has he been watching us? The thought of being under surveillance by yet another man makes my skin crawl.
“You have thirty seconds to accept my terms,” Orlov states, checking his watch. “After that, I start with the woman’s friend, then move to your youngest brother. I understand Knox has quite the pain tolerance—it’ll be interesting to test it.”
Landon takes a deliberate step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. It’s a subtle movement, but it’s protective.
“You’ve miscalculated, Orlov,” Landon says quietly.
“Have I?” Orlov raises an eyebrow.
“Yes. You assume my primary concern is territory or business. It’s not.”
“What is it then?”
Landon’s eyes meet Orlov’s with chilling intensity. “What’s mine remains mine. Always.”
In that moment, I realize Landon’s priority isn’t the Blackwood empire—it’s me.
Orlov checks his watch again. “Twenty seconds, Mr. Blackwood.”
Landon’s hand moves to his jacket pocket in a casual gesture that I recognize as him reaching for his concealed weapon. At the same moment, I notice a small red dot appearing on Orlov’s chest—a laser sight from somewhere in the darkness.
“Ten seconds,” Orlov continues, oblivious to the targeting.
Landon’s fingers brush against my wrist—four quick taps, a signal we had practiced. I know what it means.
Get down. Now.
“Time’s up,” Orlov declares.
In that split second, several things happen simultaneously.
Landon yanks me to the ground, covering my body with his. A shot rings out from the darkness, but misses Orlov as he moves. His men open fire, bullets whizzing overhead. The garden erupts in chaos as shadowy figures emerge from unexpected positions.
Landon’s lips brush against my ear as bullets fly above us. “Stay down, little butterfly. The real trap is just beginning.”
I realize with a shock that Landon had anticipated this double-cross all along—and has a contingency plan I know nothing about. As gunfire erupts around us and we lie pinned down by Orlov’s forces, I catch a glint in Landon’s eye that suggests he’s exactly where he planned to be.