Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
I cicles clutched at his heart.
Thorn!
She was out there, in the middle of a barrage of bullets.
He lunged for the door, adrenaline and fear pumping through his veins like ice water, but strong arms yanked him back, slamming him against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of him.
“Stay down!” a voice barked, leaving him no choice but to comply.
He gritted his teeth, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer.
Dear God, please let her be okay.
The sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, punctuated by the shouts of men giving orders and the screams of the unsuspecting. Damian’s imagination ran wild—he could see Thorn out there, caught in the crossfire, her body jerking as bullets tore through the air around her.
He had no idea what was happening, and the not knowing was tearing him apart. Every instinct screamed at him to go to her, to fight his way through the chaos and protect her. But the arm across his chest was an iron bar, pinning him in place, forcing him to stay put.
Another burst of gunfire.
Then... silence.
An ominous, deafening silence.
Damian’s pulse roared in his ears.
Had they been hit? Were there casualties?
Was Thorn ? —
A sharp knock on the storeroom door shattered his frantic thoughts. The door creaked open, and Anna stood there, a reassuring smile on her face. “We got them. It’s clear. You can come out now.”
Damian didn’t wait for more. He bolted past her into the smoke-filled corridor, his only thought to find Thorn. The air was thick, choking, and he could barely see through the haze, but then he caught a flash of red hair—a beacon in the chaos.
Thorn was kneeling beside Hawk, who was alive but wincing in pain.
“Bastards,” Hawk muttered, his voice rough as he rubbed his chest where the bullet had struck.
Damian skidded to a stop beside them, barely resisting the urge to sweep Thorn into his arms, overwhelmed with relief that she was okay. His pulse was still hammering from the adrenaline. Instead, he placed a shaky hand on her shoulder, needing that physical connection to confirm she was really there, really unharmed.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice tight, still raw from fear.
Thorn looked up at him, her expression calm but eyes sharp, alert. “They attacked, just like we figured. Hawk took a bullet to the chest, but the vest held. Viper’s got a flesh wound, but he’ll be fine. We took down two of their guys.”
Damian’s gaze drifted down the corridor to where two men in firemen’s uniforms lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies riddled with bullet holes—center mass, headshots. Blackthorn Security hadn’t taken any chances. The bastards were probably dead before they even hit the floor.
The smoke was getting thicker, making it harder to breathe. Damian coughed, the acrid taste of burning plastic and fabric stinging his lungs.
“Let’s get outside.” Pat’s voice was rough as he pulled a coughing Hawk to his feet.
“Sorry for the deception,” Thorn shouted over her shoulder as they sprinted past the real firemen moving into the lobby, hoses at the ready.
Damian didn’t get a chance to respond. Water gushed from the hoses just as they reached the exit, the cold spray hitting them like a wall as they pushed through the door—the last ones out of the building.
The night air was a shock to the system, cool and clean compared to the smoke-filled inferno they’d just escaped. Damian took a deep breath, his heart still pounding from everything that had happened.
Thorn was beside him, her hair damp from the spray, but her eyes were bright and determined. He just wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, until the madness had quietened down.
“We knew they’d try to ambush us in the downstairs corridor,” she explained. “It was the weak point in our escape route. Instead of avoiding it, we decided to turn it against them.”
“It was our chance to take out these bastards,” Pat added with a grim grin. Anna was already on her phone, talking to emergency services about retrieving the bodies of the two thugs.
“I recognize them from Las Piedras,” Thorn said, her voice tight with anger. “Possibly Markov’s men.”
“Markov’s liquidating his assets as we speak,” Pat said, filling them in as he surveyed the scene. “He’s getting ready to run. Covering his tracks in case this attempt failed and your update goes live.”
“Bastard can’t be allowed to get away with it,” Damian growled, running a hand through his smoke-scented hair. The fear that had gripped him moments before morphed into something harder, more dangerous.
Rage.
He wasn’t just a target anymore, he was a man with a mission, and Markov was in his crosshairs.
“Let’s bring the update forward,” he snapped. “The conference will have to be postponed, and I want to do it now.”
Pat gave him a hard look. “I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll talk to the FBI.”
Damian nodded. He was ready to take his scumbag former father-in-law down.