Chapter 14 #3
Even if I had walked these corridors before, I would not recognize them tonight.
The ballroom has swallowed the estate whole, dressing it in fabrics cascading from the ceilings, towering ice sculptures catching the candlelight, performers suspended from invisible wires above the guests like creatures from another world, and somewhere beyond all of it lies the veranda where Tristan, Deputy Garron, and the rest of the team planned to corner Cole before he could reach an exit.
Only we are not going there. Not even close.
The farther we walk, the thinner the music becomes, until the orchestra sounds like a memory my mind is desperately trying to hold on to.
The laughter fades too, replaced little by little by corridors dressed for the occasion with velvet runners and flower arrangements, where only catering staff hurry past carrying silver trays and crates of empty champagne flutes.
I tug at his hand, my thumb already brushing against the pendant hidden beneath the neckline of my dress.
Three taps.
That is all it would take for the emergency signal to reach Tristan.
“What!” Loud and annoyed, the word split my skin, every ounce of fake charm evaporating from his face. There he is. The real Cole. I lift my chin to the opposite hallway, where the veranda is. He frowns.
“You wanna go that way?” His eyes search mine.
“Why?” I tug again, this time threading my fingers between his despite every instinct inside me screaming to rip my own hand off before letting him touch me another second.
Affection. He likes affection. Maybe, just maybe, if I play into whatever fantasy he has built inside his head, I can steer him where the police want him.
For the first time since he approached me, he hesitates.
His gaze lifts over my shoulder, then farther down the corridor, searching.
A waiter standing too still near a service elevator.
A woman in an emerald evening gown adjusting the strap of her purse without ever taking her eyes off us.
Two men in black tuxedos who look like guests until one of them touches two fingers to his cufflink almost imperceptibly.
Recognition passes silently between them.
His people. Realization hollows my stomach. He’s not alone.
“You really think I’d come here without my own insurance?
” His words are almost playful. He looks behind us again, and one of the men gives the slightest nod.
Cole answers with one of his own. “Nah.” He clicks his tongue.
“I’m not changing my plans. There’s a car waiting for us behind the service entrance, two more following once we leave the estate, and another vehicle waiting if anyone gets clever enough to block the first one.
” His smile widens, almost proud. “You tried, though. That’s cute.
” The urge to cry rises so suddenly it burns behind my eyes.
He leans closer, brushing his lips against my cheek.
I flinch when his tongue catches my tear before it can fall. Every muscle inside me turns to stone.
“I’ll kiss it away once we’re home.”
Tristan. His voice is low, rough enough that I can hear everything he is not saying.
For one impossible moment, I exist between two worlds, Cole’s mouth still against my skin and Tristan’s voice inside my ear, one man reminding me what captivity feels like and the other reminding me there is still a home waiting for me if I can survive long enough to reach it.
I stare at our joined hands. If someone offered me a knife, I think I would cut off my own before spending another minute attached to him.
Cole pushes open the final service door.
Cold night air rushes over my face. Stars.
Fresh air. Freedom, so close I can almost taste it.
A large black SUV is parked beside the rear entrance, headlights off, engine still humming.
Another dark vehicle waits farther down the service road with its lights extinguished, while a third rolls slowly past the gates before disappearing again, circling like a shark.
There’s no world in which I’m his captive again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Three times on my necklace.
Help.
“We’re on our way,” Tristan murmurs in my ear. Two men step out almost simultaneously. One opens the rear door while the other scans the area with a rifle pointing at the darkness. Cole tightens his grip.
“After you.” Every instinct screams at me to run away, but I trust Tristan, his plan, and his will to save me.
So I climb inside. Distant voices crackle through the earpiece, too many at once for me to separate.
Commands. Names. Someone saying my name.
The driver’s hands settle on the steering wheel.
Cole remains outside, then slams the door shut.
What is he doing? An awful stillness settles over everything, the kind that comes seconds before a thunderstorm breaks, like birds abandoning the trees before anyone else notices the sky changing.
Someone shouts outside. Metal slams against metal.
A gunshot explodes. Then another. God, please protect Tristan, take me instead.
Crouching down, I clap my hands over my ears as others follow, until the world disappears beneath a rain of bullets striking the body of the SUV, each impact vibrating through the doors and windows until the entire vehicle shakes around us.
I cannot see anything beyond the darkly tinted glass, only flashes of light reflected across the windshield and shadows running past outside.
I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Please, somebody, help me, please.
Blood shatters the windshield as the driver’s head snaps violently sideways. Red sprays the dashboard, his body collapsing over the steering wheel with a sickening weight. I recoil, pressing both hands over my mouth.
Tristan. Nate. His mother. Are they out there? Are they lying on the pavement? Are they…
The rear door flies open. My heart simply stops. My last thought belongs to Tristan.
I love you, forever, and always.
Tristan
“I’ll kiss it away once we’re home,” I murmur into her earpiece, molten rage pulsing beneath my skin until it feels like lava searching for somewhere to break through.
Every instinct I possess narrows to one objective: destroy him, break every bone in his body, and leave nothing of the man who dared touch what was never his to touch.He takes her hand with the casual entitlement of someone who has spent his entire life confusing possession with love, leading her toward the staff entrance and away from the terrace where we carefully planned to trap him.
Wrong direction, wrong on every level. Cole’s posture remains loose, almost leisurely, every movement carrying the confidence of a man who believes he has already won.
Ella…
God.
Ella is beyond fear.
Her shoulders are impossibly rigid beneath that pale blue silk, every muscle locked so tightly I wonder how she’s still standing.
We are way past fear now; she’s somewhere near horror, balancing on that frightening edge where the mind begins protecting itself by simply leaving.
The officers hidden throughout the ballroom see it too.
Masks do not hide the way bodies shift. One by one, they subtly reposition, conversations abandoned mid-sentence, champagne glasses left untouched as they drift toward the service entrance without looking like they are drifting anywhere at all.
“Change of plans,” Garron’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Everyone to the staff entrance. Nobody moves until we give the go-ahead.”
Too late.
I am already moving.
I shoulder past sequined gowns and tuxedos worth more than a small car, apologizing to no one as masked guests stumble out of my way. Nate stays on my heels, his voice a constant stream of restrained profanity.
“Don’t lose your shit.” Another guest. “For fuck’s sake, Tristan.
” Another apology I do not bother making.
“Walk. Don’t run.” But he has her. He has my girl, and every second I spend pretending otherwise feels like betraying her.
The orchestra continues behind us as though nothing is happening, violins spilling through the ballroom while I carve a path toward the staff corridor, every laugh and champagne toast dissolving into meaningless static.
Where is she now?
A sweep of pale blue fabric disappears through the service door.
Something tears inside my chest with such brutal violence I genuinely wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like.
Brenton steps into my path. Even dressed in a tailored black suit with half his face hidden behind a paper-gray masquerade mask, I recognize him right away.
“Mr. Ashford.” He plants himself squarely in front of me, panting. “Wait, sir. Wait for the signal. Do not engage. He needs to be in a clear area to avoid collateral damage.”
“Move.” I shove his shoulder hard enough to stagger him sideways, but Nate catches my arm before I can take another step. I wrench against his grip. He does not let go. Brenton straightens immediately, his hand drifting toward the radio clipped beneath his jacket.
“Wait until he’s outside,” he says, speaking fast enough that every word lands before I can interrupt. “If we engage here, it turns into a bloodbath.”
“He already has her.”
“I understand, sir,” he pants. “But Cole didn’t come alone.
We’ve identified seven men who weren’t on the guest list. All disguised, and likely armed.
Wait until they step through the staff entrance, and we’ll take them clean.
” I almost laugh. There is nothing clean about watching the woman you love walk beside the man who broke her.
Nothing clean about the way she keeps her head slightly bowed because terror has folded her inward until she barely occupies her own body. Nate tightens his grip.