Chapter 36 #2
“Heard,” Rafe says quietly.
“Fuck. Alexei shared bank transfers with Waylon,” Nico continues. “They used to work together, man.”
I freeze mid-step, my stomach twisting. I search for any of my friends but cannot find them in the sea of people. Oh, god. This can only mean one thing: Alexei expected interference. He’s planning to hijack the event. Or worse, he wants Rafe dead.
Hesitantly, I turn from the stage and finally see Rafe just near the dining hall entrance. He’s standing perfectly still, dark suit blending into the shadows. I make a beeline for him.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“Kieran, eyes on us. We’re heading that way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rafe,” I whisper. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop my tray.
He turns, and I see an intensity in his eyes that makes me nauseous.
Without a word, he starts moving, and I follow, dropping my tray on a refreshment table.
We leave the lights, music, and laughter behind, slipping through the quiet halls of the mansion.
The farther we go from the event, the more the music fades, Jude’s song trailing off.
I rip off my heels and carry them so I don’t attract attention. My chest is tight, and I can’t breathe fast enough. Rafe moves silently, scanning every shadow, doorway, and hallway.
“We’ve got eyes on them,” Kieran’s voice comes through the comm. “Duck to your left, now.”
Before I can process, Rafe has his body caging mine behind a clock tower. My chest is heaving from how fast he reacted.
“They’re heading into the back den,” Kieran says quickly. “They’re isolated there, boss.”
Rafe’s jaw tightens. “Go,” he says without looking at me, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I stop for a moment, panic flaring. “Rafe, that’s suicide—”
“Go,” he repeats. His gaze flicks toward the main hall where the lights and music still shimmer faintly. “Don’t come back. Finish what we came to do.”
I swallow hard, terror twisting my stomach, but I do what he says. I take a step back, pressing myself against the wall. My ears strain for any sound, but Jude’s guitar is muffled through several walls and rooms, leaving only the quiet of the mansion around us.
Rafe slips forward into the shadows ahead, his eyes focused and lethal.
He disappears with his gun at the ready.
I stand frozen in the corridor, fingers trembling at my sides.
I press my back to the wall, suddenly sick, knowing what Rafe is walking into.
I don’t move. I can barely breathe. Every second stretches, my pulse roaring in my ears. Then—
A door slams somewhere, echoing through the quiet halls.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
My chest jumps, my stomach dropping. Something heavy hits the floor. I recoil when my earpiece screeches for a moment. Then a rush of sounds: grunts, a scuffle, boots dragging against the floor, the hard smack of flesh. Fighting.
Rafe. I know it’s him. My hands keep me steady against the wall as I peek around the corner where he disappeared to. Behind the door, there’s a sudden loud, sickening thud. Bile crawls up my throat when I see blood seeping from beneath a door.
I immediately collapse, pressing my hands to the floor, nails scraping the stone.
No, no, no.
My mind screams to run, to do something, but I can’t. I’m frozen, every muscle refusing to obey what I know I need to do. Run.
Then I hear the unmistakable horror of a body being dragged across a floor, followed by a choked sound.
“Rafe,” I whisper into the comm, voice raw. “No. No, no, no—”
“Emma, get out of there,” Nico growls. “I can’t see inside the room. I don’t know what’s going on. Get away from there.”
My stomach twists in knots, my thoughts smashing against the raw, primal panic that curls inside me. “Do you think he’s—”
“Move!” he yells now.
He can’t be gone.
I close my eyes, rocking back on my heels, trying to force myself to remember what to do. My fingers dig into the marble in my panic-fueled desperation. I tell myself to breathe. One slow inhale. One slow exhale.
But I can’t.
Damn it.
My legs finally move on instinct, carrying me into the dining hall and toward the stage.
The music pounds between sets, bass shaking the floor beneath my bare feet.
I suddenly realize that I left my heels back in the house.
Everyone is still laughing and dancing, oblivious to the gunfire that just took place in the next building.
Oblivious to the horror and the sound of my heart breaking.
Jude’s still there, perched on the edge of the stage, vodka bottle in hand. The clear liquid swirls as he lifts it to his lips. My throat tightens. I clear it softly, as I approach him. I can do this. I can do this.
“Do you…take requests?” My voice carries a weak Russian accent—Adela’s teaching paying off.
He doesn’t look at me. “No,” he says flatly.
I exhale and push further, reeling from the fact that I'm actually talking to him. “Too bad. I would’ve asked you to sing something special for me.”
His eyes flick toward me, just enough to see the black bodysuit and the masquerade mask hiding half my face, but not enough to truly register. My heart is racing now, because I know we don’t have much time.
Kieran’s voice comes through the comms. “No eyes on Vaughan. Several more men coming up the back.”
“On it,” Adela replies sharply.
I take a step closer, ignoring the comms as best as I can, and the possibility that Rafe is dead. That Adela just lost her husband.
It’s all my fault.
“The song…” I start, voice trembling more than I want. I drop my accent entirely. “Is ‘Right Here’ by Lil Peep.”
Fear crashes through me the second he freezes, vodka paused mid-lift. His gaze snaps to me, sharp, unblinking, searching even with my face half-hidden. My heart is racing. I hold his eyes for a breath, then duck toward the exit, keeping my pace quick but quiet.
Night has fully fallen outside the windows, and the air carries a faint chill.
I can feel his stare following me as I slip away.
Behind me, Micah purposefully emerges into Jude’s view, eyes trained on him.
Then he falls into step behind me as we reach the side exit.
We’re baiting him, controlling the chase.
Please, Jude, follow me.
My comm buzzes. “Emma, Alexei isn’t here. Not a sign. He didn’t even attend the event. The motherfucker knew something was off.”
My stomach twists. No.
I force my panic down, though I can’t. I can’t. Everything has gone wrong. He outsmarted us. And now, we’re going to lose Jude forever, or possibly, lose our lives tonight. I push through a pair of swinging doors into the night. My fingers curl around the comm, keeping their voices close.
“Do we have Graves?” Adela asks, her voice filling my head.
“Drawing him outside now,” I respond swiftly.
“Nico, Kieran, get the cars,” she commands. “Everyone, be ready to get the hell out of here within five minutes.”
“Getting Heather now,” Micah clicks through.
I force my legs to keep pace as I walk away from the dining hall, though every nerve is screaming.
I’m almost to the shed when a hand clamps around my throat from behind, and I’m slammed hard against the cold wooden wall of it.
My knees threaten to buckle as my lungs scream for air.
I gasp, hands pushing, but the grip is practically iron.
Jude’s hardened face is glaring down at me, his eyes as sharp as a predator’s.
“It’s me…” I croak, barely able to speak, my fingers scratching at his wrist, trying to pry him away. To get in some damn air. My heart is pounding so violently, it’s all I can hear.
Jude’s body cages me in, his eyes dark and...dead. Like in my nightmare. Music from inside thumps faintly, guests still unaware of the bloodbath in the mansion. He shifts, his fingers still locked around my throat.
I try to scream, but it comes out as a strangled croak.
I feel the mask on my face, the flimsy barrier hiding me.
He leans in closer, almost studying me, and then rips it off in one swift, brutal motion.
The mask flies from my face, and I’m exposed, vulnerable.
My now dark, short hair falls in disarray, my eyes wide and frantic.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, the cold night air rushing across my sweaty skin.
His entire body tenses, including his fingers. I can see a war playing out behind his eyes, but still, he refuses to let me go. If anything, he’s frozen in place. His heart is thundering beneath my hands that are pushing against his chest.
“J—Jude!” I plead, voice cracking, trembling in ways I didn’t think possible. “It’s me—Emma. P—please come with me. We’re here for you.”
His eyes snap to mine for a heartbeat, and I swear I can finally see a flicker of recognition, but it’s gone almost immediately.
His lips part in a hiss, teeth bared, and he punches the wood beside my head with a force that makes me wince.
The vibration rattles through my body, and instinctively I squeeze my eyes shut.
His grip tightens around my throat, cutting off my oxygen entirely.
My lips part in a silent scream as I try and fail to breathe.
He doesn’t recognize me. He’s going to kill me.
Why is he killing me?
Micah and Heather are rushing up, voices shouting his name, but I can barely hear them over the roar of my own pulse. My body is trying to stay alive. Everything is amplified—the brush of Jude’s leather against my skin, the tension in his muscles, the cold scrape of the wood beneath my palms.
The edges of my vision begin to darken, and my arms loosen at my sides. I refuse to look at anyone else while I die, even if the man killing me is the one I love.