Chapter Eleven #3
"They're coming after both of you now," Jake warned, urgency making his words clip together. "My team is twenty minutes out, but—"
"We don't have twenty minutes," Julian finished for him, his jaw tight as he surveyed the security feeds. "They've already started."
I followed his gaze to a screen showing the building's main entrance. Nothing seemed amiss—the usual doormen, a few residents coming and going. But then I saw it—a maintenance van parked just at the edge of the frame, two men in coveralls unloading equipment that could plausibly be repair tools.
Except Montgomery Industries employed its own maintenance staff. They didn't use outside contractors.
Julian's fingers flew across the keyboard, initiating what looked like additional security measures. "Jake, I need remote backup on the building's systems. They'll try to bypass the main—"
The screens suddenly flickered, images distorting before going completely dark. The lights overhead followed suit, plunging the security room into darkness so complete I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.
"Julian?" I called out, panic rising in my throat.
"Don't move," his voice came from the darkness, calm despite the situation. "Emergency systems should activate in three, two, one..."
A soft red glow filled the room as backup lights struggled to activate, casting everything in an eerie crimson hue that made the familiar space suddenly alien and threatening. The security screens remained dead, no sign of rebooting.
"They've cut the main power and somehow disabled the backup generator," Julian said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "That should be impossible without inside access."
I thought of Elizabeth's face as she'd watched us leave the boardroom, that strange mix of calculation and regret in her eyes. Had she given Harris access to Julian's security systems?
It seemed too coincidental otherwise.
"What do we do?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the fear clawing at my chest.
The soft whir of Julian's wheelchair was my only warning before he appeared at my side, the red emergency lighting casting harsh shadows across his face. He reached out, pulling me closer until I was leaning down beside his chair.
His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, "Don't make a sound. They're already here."
My breath caught in my throat, the reality of our situation crashing over me like a wave of ice water. This wasn't just corporate espionage or harassment—Harris was sending people to kill us, to silence us permanently just like those other young men who'd disappeared into his properties.
I strained my ears in the silence, hearing nothing at first but the pounding of my own heart. Then, faintly, a mechanical hum that shouldn't have been there—the service elevator operating despite the security lockdown.
Julian's hand found mine in the darkness, his fingers warm and strong as they intertwined with my own. He squeezed once—a silent promise of protection that somehow steadied me despite the danger closing in around us.
I squeezed back, trying to convey without words that I wasn't going anywhere, that whatever happened next, we would face it together.
Whether it had been days or a lifetime, Julian Montgomery was no longer just the man who had saved me from Harris—he was the man I would fight beside, the man I would protect as fiercely as he protected me.
The service elevator fell silent. They were here.
Julian maneuvered his wheelchair with practiced precision in the dim red light, guiding us away from the security room toward what I knew was his study.
My eyes had adjusted enough to follow his lead without stumbling, though I had to fight the urge to rush ahead, to pull him faster.
I knew better. Julian moved with purpose, with a plan, not blind panic.
I trusted that.
We made it to the study just as the first sounds reached us—the soft scrape of the service entrance door opening, followed by the barely audible footfalls of someone trained to move silently.
Julian positioned his wheelchair in a corner of the study where two bookcases met, then pulled me down beside him.
His body was tense but his movements remained precise, controlled.
He reached beneath his wheelchair and withdrew something that glinted dully in the red emergency light—a handgun I hadn't known he kept there.
The sight should have terrified me further, but instead, I felt a strange calm settle over me. Julian was prepared. Julian had planned for this.
"When I squeeze your hand," he breathed against my ear, so quietly I barely caught the words, "run for the panic room behind the false wall in our bedroom. Third book from the left on the bottom shelf activates it."
I nodded before realizing he might not be able to see the gesture in the dim light. I leaned closer, my lips nearly touching his ear as I whispered back, "Not without you."
His fingers tightened around mine, whether in frustration or appreciation I couldn't tell. There was no time to argue—the footsteps were drawing closer, moving with deliberate slowness through the main living area of the penthouse.
We sat frozen in the darkness, our controlled breathing and the faint click of what might have been weapons being readied the only sounds breaking the tense silence.
Julian's hand found mine again, his grip firm and reassuring despite the danger advancing toward us from the hallway.
I thought of everything that had brought us to this moment—the drugged drink at my family dinner, my desperate escape, stumbling into Julian's hotel room. A series of terrible events that had somehow led to the one person who made me feel truly safe, truly valued.
The footsteps paused just outside the study door. Julian's hand squeezed mine once—a silent promise of protection as the door began to slowly swing open.