Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
GRACE
The door slammed behind me, and the world narrowed to the split second before disaster hit.
Ignacio lunged, that same cruel, twisted smile stretched across his scarred face.
My stomach pitched. My hands shook, my muscles frozen—but my eyes landed on the paperweight sitting heavy on the corner of the desk.
Instinct overrode fear. I grabbed it, hefted it, and hurled it as hard as I could. It smacked into Ignacio’s temple with a satisfying crack. He staggered sideways, swearing, but didn’t go down. My chest heaved, adrenaline lancing through every vein.
From the corner of my eye, a hidden door burst open and men poured in.
Weapons raised, faces twisted in rage. My knees nearly buckled, but I threw myself behind the desk, grabbing the heaviest object within reach—a brass lamp.
I swung it at the closest man as he lunged.
The lamp smashed against his shoulder, sending him sprawling backward, arms flailing.
“Grace!” Bones’ voice cut through the chaos, sharper now, urgent. “Hold—”
A second man dove toward me. Reflex finally caught up with my brain.
I rolled to the side, dragging the desk chair partially between us, and grabbed a hefty book.
The man’s aim wavered; he stumbled as I threw it, and it clattered against his chest, knocking him off balance and giving Voodoo the opening to pin him to the floor.
Ignacio recovered from the first hit and lunged again, eyes wild, rage spilling over. I froze, a frozen statue of fear and nausea—but before he could reach me, Bones slammed into him from the side, twisting him off balance. My stomach dropped when I realized he might… no, he could kill him.
“Wait!” I gasped, voice trembling but sharp. “We can use him.”
Bones’ hand tightened on Ignacio’s arm, and for the first time, he paused. Voodoo hesitated as well, their eyes flicking to me, questioning. I swallowed bile, forcing my voice steady. “Don’t kill him.”
Movement flickered from the corner of my eye and I twisted to see the last man lunging at me. I grabbed the ornate paperweight again, hurling it directly at his knees. He went down with a sharp yelp, scrambling to regain footing, but Voodoo was on him instantly.
“What about them?” Bones’ voice was a shard of winter cutting through the room. His intonation was flat, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth, as if the question barely registered in the air around him.
“I don’t care about them.” Truth. Harsh.
Implacable. I didn’t know who they were and my attention was on Ignacio.
Bones locked an arm around Ignacio’s throat, strangling the man who struggled, clawing at his arm to no avail.
Ignacio’s eyes went wide, even his milky scarred one and I didn’t look away as the fear and terror registered on that man’s reddened face.
The grim satisfaction that flooded me in those seconds before the man lost consciousness was a kind of brutal wakeup call.
But I didn’t care. I wanted Ignacio to hurt.
I wanted him afraid. The thump of Ignacio dropping as his expression went slack and Bones rendered him unconscious added another savage layer to the whole scene.
The next sounds were the cracking of necks.
It wrenched my attention from the man now on the floor that Bones secured to the others in the room.
Voodoo went through them one at a time. Eliminating them.
I kept waiting for the revulsion to hit me, but it didn’t.
He removed their weapons once they were dead.
No one left to come after us from behind.
Some distant part of my mind even registered why Voodoo used his hands rather than a weapon. No blood spatter. No DNA. Not that we’d be able to hide the signs of violence.
My legs shook, my blouse was damp, and my hands were slick with sweat.
My chest heaved, every inhale tasting copper and panic.
Bones’ eyes flicked down; his gray gaze was sharper than steel, cold enough to cut, yet scorching in intensity.
He seemed to take in everything about me—from my trembling hands to the flush creeping across my skin, reading me as if I were laid bare.
For just a heartbeat, his expression softened.
Before, he’d always seemed so remote, so meticulously composed, without a hint of feeling.
That wasn’t him at all. It was a mask. The veneer of control, taut and precise, concealed a fire that could scorch and consume.
Beneath it all was the violently passionate man I’d come to know and love.
I’d never been so grateful to know he had that power—especially now, with Ignacio in our custody.
“Housekeeper secured,” AB’s voice cut through the comm. “Sweeping the house. Clear except for your room.”
Bones exhaled sharply, then looked at Voodoo. “Back him up.”
Voodoo brushed a knuckle down my cheek, soft but grounding. “Good job, Firecracker,” he murmured before he disappeared through the broken door.
I forced a shaky nod, aware that the adrenaline was fading, leaving me raw and trembling—but alive. Alive, and with a tiny, burning spark of control that seemed to have evaporated with Ignacio’s arrival.
The room finally settled into an eerie stillness, broken only by the ragged rhythm of my own breathing. Bones moved closer, silent but watchful, like a shadow that had softened its edges for me.
I sank to the floor, pressing my palms into the carpet, trying to steady the trembling that had taken root in my bones.
Every inch of me felt raw, exposed, fragile.
That’s when the smell hit me. My stomach lurched.
The wet heat at my thighs, the slick copper tang in the air.
I’d pissed myself. The dampness on my blouse was my own vomit and it clung to me, smeared in some places.
I froze, a wave of panic overtaking the adrenaline, the brief triumph, everything. My hands flew to my face, my body shaking so violently that I could hear it in the quiet.
Bones knelt beside me before I could even move, calm as a mountain. His gray eyes locked onto mine, steady, assessing—but not judging. Not once had I felt anyone look at me like this before, and it made my chest tighten.
“Do you want to clean up?” he asked softly, his voice an anchor in the storm of my shame and fear.
When he lifted a hand to touch my face, I shook my head, voice a broken whisper. “No… I… I’m filthy.” I shouldn’t have let Voodoo touch me.
“Filthy,” he echoed, carefully, almost like testing the word against the room, against me. This time, he reached for my hand. “Grace.”
I flinched, yanking it back. “Don’t touch me. I’m… I’m disgusting.”
Bones didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, still calm, still unflinching.
“You’re alive. That’s what matters.” His voice didn’t scold.
It didn’t pity. It simply… held. I could feel the warmth of his hand hovering near mine, patient, steadying, as if just being in contact might anchor me back to myself.
“I… I—” I swallowed, the words catching in my throat, my trembling redoubling. My knees drew up instinctively, hiding, curling in on myself.
I let my breath hitch, a single tremor rippling through me, and my hands rose to rest atop his, letting the warmth of both anchor me even as the humiliation and the shaking surged.
Bones’ thumb brushed against my knuckles, methodical, steady, and I realized I was clinging to it—not just for support, but because it reminded me I hadn’t failed completely. I hadn’t been broken, not entirely.
I wasn’t back in that warehouse. I wasn’t chained, gasping for air, unable to protect myself. I wasn’t there at all.
“You’re safe now,” Bones said, low and even. “No one can hurt you here. Not while I’m standing.”
I wanted to believe him, wanted to stop trembling, wanted the room to stop spinning and the nausea to fade. But I let myself stay there, huddled, fragile, and alive. I couldn’t see Ignacio, Bones blocked my view of him.
“Do you need to clear the house?” I asked, my voice still small, unsure.
Bones shook his head slightly. “Alphabet and Voodoo will handle the clear. You don’t need to worry about it.” His gaze didn’t leave mine, steady and unflinching.
I hesitated, fumbling for what we were supposed to have been doing, then asked, “Do we need to search the office?”
He shrugged, an almost faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It will keep.”
My chest tightened. “I thought we were on a timetable,” I pressed, finally meeting his gaze squarely.
“The only timetable we’re on,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, “is our own.”
“But… the plan…” I argued, the words tumbling out even as my stomach knotted.
Bones didn’t pull away. Instead, he continued to rub my knuckles in slow, deliberate circles. Each touch chipped away at the tension coiled in my limbs, bit by bit loosening my death grip on my knees.
“Plans change,” he murmured, as if reading my mind.
“I… I—” I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. I didn’t have another argument.
Bones didn’t rush me. He let his touch anchor me, methodical, steady. His thumb brushed against my knuckles again, drawing my hands to rest atop his. The warmth radiating from him seeped through the tremor, and despite my retreat, it was like he held me.
“Still with me, Dollface?” The utter gentleness in his voice threatened to undo me.
“I think so,” I whispered and shifted just slightly, letting my body lean toward him without realizing it.
The pressure of his presence was grounding, the slow, deliberate touch of his hand a lifeline in the storm inside me.
And though my mind raced, my chest heaved, and my legs still shook, there was a small, stubborn spark of control flickering inside me.