Chapter 3 - Ghosts in the Dark
The thunderstorm over Lake Michigan intensified as Damian’s convoy slipped out of the estate. Rain slammed against the bulletproof windows of the sleek, black armored Sedan.
Damian sat beside Emma in the dark back seat. He had changed into a dark turtleneck and an olive tactical jacket, looking like a king preparing for war. Beside him on the leather seat sat a sleek 9mm pistol, fully loaded.
Emma kept her distance, staring out at the rain-streaked highway. Her mind was a chaotic storm of memories. She remembered her mother’s soft laughter, the way Helen would always check the door locks three times before bed, the way she never allowed Emma to post her face on public social media accounts.
She wasn't being paranoid, Emma realized with a terrifying jolt of truth. She was hiding me.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Emma murmured, her voice breaking. “If my whole life was built on a lie, why leave me in the dark?”
“Because ignorance keeps you alive,” Damian replied quietly. He wasn't looking at her, but his voice carried an unusual trace of empathy. “In my world, truth is a dangerous weapon. If you don’t know where the body is buried, nobody can torture you for the map.”
Emma turned her head to look at him. In the passing glare of streetlights, his hard jawline and high cheekbones looked like they had been chiseled out of granite.
“And what about you?” Emma asked softly. “What is your truth, Damian? Are you really the monster the newspapers call you?”
Damian turned his gray eyes onto her. The intensity of his gaze made her breath catch in her throat.
“I am whatever I need to be to keep control of this city,” he said coldly. “My father died ten years ago trying to play nice with viper families like the Blackwoods. I don’t play nice. I burn my enemies to the ground.”
“And what are you going to do to me once we find this box?” Emma challenged, raising her chin. “Throw me to the wolves?”
Damian leaned closer, his chest almost touching hers. The warmth radiating off his body made her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
“I don’t throw away valuable things, Emma,” he murmured, his thumb brushing a soft stray lock of copper hair behind her ear. His touch was surprisingly tender, sending a strange, thrilling electric shock through her skin. “Especially not women who bleed copper hair and carry my mother’s ghost in their hands.”
Emma’s breath hitched. Before she could process the sudden shift in atmosphere, the car slammed its brakes hard, tires screeching against the wet pavement!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Automatic gunfire erupted from the darkness of the country road!
The lead escort vehicle exploded into a fireball as an anti-tank rocket hit its engine block!
“Ambush!” Marcus shouted from the front seat, drawing his weapon. “Boss! They knew our route!”
“Damian!” Emma shrieked as the Sedan skidded wildly across the slippery asphalt, crashing into the tree line at fifty miles an hour.
Airbags deployed with a deafening pop. Glass shattered. smoke began pouring into the cabin.
Through the haze, Damian’s strong hands grabbed Emma, pulling her down toward the floorboards as bullets rained down upon the armored frame like heavy hail.
“Stay down!” Damian roared. He racked the slide of his pistol, his expression changing instantly into that of an apex predator.
“There are at least six shooters!” Marcus yelled, firing through the cracked bullet-resistant windshield before a bullet caught him in the shoulder, knocking him back.
“Damian, he’s hit!” Emma cried out, reaching over to apply pressure to Marcus’s bleeding shoulder despite the deafening noise of gunfire around them.
Damian looked at Emma—at the sheer terror in her eyes, mixed with her instinct to save his man rather than curl up in fear. Something dark and possessive flared in his gray eyes.
“Keep your head down,” Damian commanded, his voice tight. “I’m taking care of this.”
He kicked open the rear door, using the heavy metal body of the armored SUV as cover, and vanished into the rain and shadows.
Emma held Marcus’s wound shut, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. Outside, the night exploded with gunfire, heavy shouts, and the dreadful sound of men falling.
Damian moved through the storm like a shadow. Three shots echoed—crisp, precise, lethal. Then screaming. Then silence.
Less than two minutes later, the rear door opened again.
Damian stood in the downpour, blood splattered across his jaw and jacket—none of it his own. Rain washed down his pale face, sticking his dark hair to his forehead.
He reached into the vehicle, offering his hand to Emma.
May you like
“It’s clear,” he said calmly, as if he had just taken a walk in the park. “Out. Now.”
Emma looked at his outstretched hand, then into his cold, gray eyes. She took a deep breath, gripped his hand tightly, and stepped out into the bloody rain beside the most feared man in Chicago.
