Chapter 1 - The Sound on the Board
The soft, protesting groan of a dry floorboard behind me felt like a starting gun inside the cavernous silence of the penthouse library.
My spine locked. Every instinct I had developed from weeks of sleeping on a pull-out sofa and dodging eviction notices screamed at me to run. But before I could turn, Lincoln moved with terrifying, predatory speed. His uninjured arm shot out, his hand wrapping around my wrist and pulling me flat against the solid wall of his chest as his other hand swept down to his waistband, drawing a heavy, dark-barreled automatic pistol.
“Don't move,” he breathed against my ear, his voice a low, rough rumble.
In the dim amber glow of the library desk lamp, the shadows along the hallway stretched and warped. Another creak. Then, a slow, dragging scuff of leather against marble.
My breath hitched. I thought of my eight-year-old niece, Naomi, currently sleeping soundly in a cramped apartment across town, trusting me to figure out rent, groceries, and tomorrow. If I died here on the marble floor of a mob kingpin’s glass fortress, who would even look for her?
“Lincoln?” a smooth, high-pitched voice called out from the dark corridor.
The tension in Lincoln’s body didn't break, but a flicker of cold recognition crossed his gray eyes.
Garrett Mallory stepped into the light of the doorway, his silk robe tied loosely around his waist, an expression of mild, polite concern carefully pinned to his face. He blinked against the glare, holding up an empty glass.
“Good lord, Lincoln,” Garrett murmured, his eyes flicking from the weapon in Lincoln’s hand to where I was pressed tightly against his side. “Some of us are trying to sleep. Pacing with a gun on a Tuesday morning isn't exactly conducive to rest—and who is this?”
Lincoln didn't lower the pistol. He didn't even let go of my wrist.
“You’re up late, Garrett,” Lincoln said, each word spaced out with deliberate, freezing precision.
“I heard a noise,” Garrett replied smoothly, his gaze sliding over me with a calculated mixture of curiosity and subtle disdain. “Didn't realize you had company. Especially not… housekeeping.”
The slight emphasis on the word made my stomach turn. Garrett knew more than he was letting on.
“Go back to bed, Garrett,” Lincoln commanded softly.
Garrett held up his hands in a gesture of absolute surrender, a thin, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Of course, Lincoln. Just be careful. Vicious town we live in. You never know who you can trust.”
With that, he turned on his heel and melted back into the shadows of the hallway.
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Lincoln waited until the second-floor door clicked shut before slowly lowering the gun. But he didn't let go of me. He looked down, his eyes searching my face with a terrifying intensity.
“Still want your money, Delia?” he whispered.
