CHAPTER 10
ANDREI P.O.V.
My brain was a jagged fucking mess of static and absolute, crystal-clear possession.
The dead, apathetic void I’d been living in for the last five years just evaporated the second I dragged her face into the light.
It was her. The girl from the cafe. The one who spilled hot coffee over my custom suit and just sighed, staring dead into my eyes like I was a mild inconvenience instead of the guy who ran the entire Russian underworld in this city.
Her absolute lack of fear had been scratching at the back of my skull ever since, and now here she was, dumped into this high-tech slaughterhouse for a bunch of bored billionaires.
Blyad. I wasn't asking her to move. I wasn't asking her anything.
I grabbed her wrist—it was so fucking small, I could snap it with two fingers—and hauled her toward the heavy mahogany door.
She was dead weight, her mind clearly short-circuiting trying to figure out why the monster who just had her pinned in the dark was now wrapping her up in his own clothes.
"Move," I barked, stopping for a split second to roughly jerk the lapels of my suit jacket higher over her bare shoulders.
The smell of my sandalwood and tobacco cologne flared in the tight space.
Good. I wanted her reeking of me. I wanted every degenerate out there to smell my mark on her before they even saw my face.
"Don't look at anyone but me," I told her, my fingers digging into her skin just enough to ground her. "You’re staying with me."
I threw the door open and we burst out of the dark VIP wing directly into the main executive lobby.
The transition was violent. Garish neon pink light blasted my retinas.
The air was a suffocating mix of expensive champagne, nervous sweat, and the sharp ozone stink of the building’s automated security systems locking into place.
The floor was swarming with these pathetic fucks in porcelain, leather, and gold masks, laughing too loud, drinking too fast, pretending they were apex predators when they were just rich tourists playing with real blood.
I dragged Ruby through the crowd like a shark cutting through glass fish.
She tripped on the oversized hem of my jacket, her bare, bruised legs buckling on the slick marble.
A waitress in a black lace mask stepped right into our path offering a silver tray of crystal flutes.
I didn't even break stride. I swerved so hard my shoulder clipped her, nearly sending the entire tray crashing to the floor, and I didn't look back.
"Stay close," I growled, yanking Ruby flush against my side so my arm formed a solid barrier between her and the wandering hands of these masked clowns. "Eyes down."
She was barely keeping her footing, her breathing erratic, chest heaving against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Where is he?" I muttered to myself, scanning the far end of the hall over the sea of heads.
The heavy, thudding bass of the techno music rattled the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
I could feel the heat radiating off her body.
Her free hand came up, white-knuckling the silk lining of my jacket across her chest, her knuckles turning bone-pale.
"Keep your feet," I snapped, though my grip on her kept her from falling. "Look at me." Her wide, hyper-vigilant hazel eyes flicked up to mine. "We're almost there."
A guy wearing an ornate gold sun-god mask swayed right into our path.
He had a glass of gin in one hand and a disgusting smirk underneath his mask.
He didn't even look at my face. His eyes dropped straight to Ruby’s bare legs, tracking up to where my jacket swallowed her thighs. He let out a low, wet whistle.
"Nice selection, friend," the guy slurred, his fingers twitching as he actually reached out to touch the silk of my jacket. The jacket she was wearing. "Is she for trade? Look at those legs."
I stopped so fast Ruby slammed hard into my back. I didn't reach for my gun. I didn't need it for a maggot like this. I leaned down right into his personal space, dropping my voice into a low, guttural vibration that cut straight through the deafening bass.
"Look at her again and I will carve out your fucking eyes."
The guy froze. The bravado evaporated from his face so fast it was comical. The circle around us went dead silent. His fingers spasmed and he dropped his crystal glass. It shattered on the marble floor, spraying gin and shards of glass all over his expensive leather shoes.
"Walk away while you still have a tongue," I told him, staring right through his stupid gold mask. "She is mine."
He scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet, and melted into the crowd.
Fucking coward. I was half-hoping he’d talk back so I could snap his jaw and give these people a preview of what was coming.
I wrapped my arm fully around Ruby’s waist, hauling her tight against my hip, and resumed my march.
She looked up at me, absolutely horrified, realizing that the most dangerous thing in this room was the guy currently holding her.
"Don't look back," I said, shoving a guy in a bird mask out of my way. "You’re with me now. I've got you."
I felt her small hand move from the jacket lapel to the front of my dress shirt, her fingers curling tight into the fabric.
The gesture made something tight and violent twist in the center of my chest. It wasn't lust. It was this primitive, unhinged need to slaughter everything in a fifty-foot radius just to give her room to breathe.
"There he is," I muttered.
Arthur Hemlock was standing near the gold elevator banks, holding court in the center of a laughing circle of sycophants, swirling something dark in a lowball glass.
He looked like the smug piece of shit master of ceremonies he was.
I cut a straight line toward him, completely ignoring the offended shouts as I shoved people aside.
"Don't say a word," I told Ruby, my hand dropping to the small of her back to guide her through the last gap in the crowd with a firm shove. "Hemlock!"
Hemlock’s security team—four massive guys in cheap tactical gear—instantly tensed.
I stopped three feet from him, planting my boots.
I shifted my weight just enough so my coat flared, exposing the suppressed pistol holstered at my ribs.
The conversation around Hemlock died instantly.
The air from the HVAC vents suddenly felt freezing.
"We need to talk, Arthur," I said, staring at him until his practiced smile strained at the edges. "Now."
"I'm making an executive decision," I added, letting the threat hang. I was already doing the math. Three guards on the left, two on the right. I could drop four of them before the fifth cleared his holster.
Hemlock recovered his poise, glancing down at Ruby with a knowing smirk. He saw my oversized suit jacket engulfing her and his eyes lit up with this disgusting, shared-joke amusement, like he thought I was just stepping out to compliment him on his catering.
"Enjoying your preview, Ignatov?" Hemlock asked smoothly, his heavy gold rings clinking against his glass. "She’s a spirited one, isn't she?"
He actually reached his hand out to flick the lapel of the jacket covering her.
I moved so fast he didn't even blink. I caught his wrist mid-air, squeezing the bones together with a sickening crunch. Hemlock gasped, his drink sloshing over the rim of his glass.
"I knew she’d suit your... refined tastes," he wheezed, trying to pull his arm back.
I shoved his hand away with a violent jerk. "She’s not for rent." My voice was flat. Dead. "I’m buying her. Outright."
Ruby’s breathing hitched beside me. She looked back and forth between us, realizing her life was being haggled over like a stolen painting.
"Name the number," I demanded.
Hemlock let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, rubbing his bruised wrist. He gestured up at the massive digital clock mounted on the lobby wall. The red numbers were already ticking down into the single digits of the final countdown.
"You can't be serious," Hemlock scoffed. "The lockdown protocol is initiating. The house rules are absolute. Everything inside is fair game."
I pulled my custom encrypted phone from my pocket. I didn't give a fuck about the clock. I didn't give a fuck about his rules. My thumb hovered over the black screen. My grip on the casing was so tight the plastic groaned under the pressure.
"Everything has a price," I said, my voice dropping an octave, sounding like shifting gravel. "I don't care about your rules. Name yours."
A low-frequency klaxon suddenly thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating right up through my boots.
The five-minute warning. The rich assholes around us stopped laughing.
The vibe in the room instantly curdled into something feral.
People were checking their expensive watches, sliding hands under their jackets to check their weapons.
The smell of hot grease drifted from the walls as the mechanical tracks warmed up.
Ruby flinched violently at the sound of the horn, her shoulders hiking up to her ears.
"Hear that, Andrei?" Hemlock asked, leaning back against the closed elevator doors and crossing his arms. "Time’s up. Last chance to join the fun."
I just stared at him. The blue light from my phone screen illuminated the sharp angles of my face. I was perfectly still. I was going to bleed him dry right here and he knew it.
Hemlock sighed, thinking he could shut this down by throwing out a number so absurd it would force me to back off. "Fine. Fifty million." He smirked. "Transferable now. Or you can take your chances in the halls like everyone else."
Fifty million. Fucking clown. He thought that was a hurdle. He had no idea what I was willing to burn to ground for the girl standing next to me.
I didn't blink. My thumbs flew across the glass screen with surgical precision. Offshore routing. Three layers of biometric bypass. Confirm. The phone let out a soft, melodic chime that sounded absurdly cheerful in the middle of this hellscape. Fifty million dollars, gone.
I shoved the glowing screen inches from Hemlock’s nose.
"Done," I told him, my face a stone wall. "Check your balance. She belongs to me."
Hemlock stared at the white Transaction Confirmed text on the screen, his jaw literally unhinging. He looked at the phone, then at me, then down at Ruby. His hands were actually shaking as he pulled out his own device. It buzzed in his palm. He had just lost all his leverage and he knew it.
"You... you actually did it," Hemlock stammered, staring at his banking app. "Ignatov, you're insane." He looked up, his smirk entirely gone, replaced by a nervous twitch. "She’s yours. For all the good it’ll do you once the doors lock."
The second siren hit.
It was ear-splitting, a wailing scream that drowned out the techno music.
Deep, percussive booms started echoing through the foundation of the skyscraper.
Across the lobby, the first of the massive, six-inch-thick steel shutters violently slammed down over the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The screech of metal on metal was deafening as the city lights were instantly choked out.
"It's starting," I yelled over the noise. I grabbed Ruby by the shoulder, spinning her away from the glass just as the shutter hit the sill with a bone-jarring impact. "Get back! Don't look at the windows."
Ruby lost it. Her survival instincts hit a wall.
She flinched at every single boom, her entire body shaking so hard the tremors passed right through my arm.
She dug her dirty fingernails straight into my forearm, piercing the fabric of my shirt and breaking the skin.
I didn't care. I needed her to stay grounded.
Her eyes were wide, glassy, panicked as she watched the room turning into a tomb.
"Ruby! Look at me," I barked, grabbing her face with my free hand, forcing her to look away from the slamming shutters. "Breathe."
She gasped, her chest heaving.
"I’ve got you. Stay with me," I ordered.
The main crystal chandeliers flickered twice and died.
Pitch black. The entire crowd went dead silent for a fraction of a second.
Then the emergency backup generators kicked in, flooding the lobby in a hellish, pulsing crimson light.
The marble floors looked slick with blood.
The shadows stretched out long and jagged across the room.
The transition from civilized party to slaughterhouse was absolute.
I reached under my coat and checked the seating of my pistol, feeling the cold steel under the red glare. People around us were already racking the slides on their own weapons. The mechanical clacking echoed off the marble.
"Here we go," I muttered. "Watch the shadows. Stay behind me."
The final shutter—the colossal reinforced blast plate over the main entrance—dropped.
It hit the floor like a bomb detonating.
The shockwave rattled my teeth. The airtight seals engaged with a heavy, pneumatic hiss.
The building was locked. We were boxed in with two hundred heavily armed psychopaths for the next twenty-four hours.
Ruby’s knees completely buckled. She dropped toward the floor, the adrenaline crash hitting her all at once. I caught her under the armpits, hauling her right back onto her feet.
"Stand up," I told her, my voice hard, refusing to let her break. "No one is coming to help. It’s just us now."
The silence in the room was shattered by a computerized female voice echoing from the overhead speakers. It was perfectly calm, perfectly sweet, and absolutely deranged.
"Lockdown complete," the AI announced. "The Purge has commenced. Good hunting."
I scanned the red-lit room. Half a dozen guys in masks were already staring directly at Ruby. They weren't looking at her like a guest anymore. They were looking at her like meat. I locked eyes with the closest one, my hand resting on the butt of my gun, until he nervously looked away.
"Run," I told her quietly.
I didn't waste another second. I pulled her away from the center of the kill-zone, dragging her toward a narrow service corridor hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain on the far wall.
I kept her tucked tight against my body, physically shielding her from the sightlines of the room.
My hand slid down and found hers, my fingers interlacing with hers in a grip that felt like a fucking shackle.
"Don't stop for anything," I ordered, pushing her through the heavy fabric into the suffocating darkness of the hall. "I've got you."
Fifty million dollars to buy her life. Now I just had to make sure neither of us got a bullet in the brain before midnight.