Chapter 8 - The Traitor Within
Rose’s vision blurred as the arm tightened around her windpipe.
Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her bandaged hands clawed desperately at the assailant’s thick tactical sleeve, but the man was twice her size, immovable as concrete.
With his free hand, the intruder reached into his tactical vest, pulling a sleek combat knife from its sheath. The polished steel caught the faint green glow of the server lights.
“Sterling sends his regards, little maid,” the man hissed.
Rose didn't panic. Two years of surviving on the harsh streets of Queens had taught her one thing: when you’re outmatched in strength, fight dirty.
She slammed the heel of her bare foot down against the intruder’s instep, driving her weight onto his toes. At the same time, she jammed her elbow back with everything she had, striking him square in the floating ribs.
The man grunted, his grip on her throat loosening for a split second.
Rose twisted her head free and screamed: “NATHANIEL!”
The intruder cursed, lunging forward with the blade aimed straight at her chest—
*BANG!*
A deafening gunshot shattered the darkness of the office.
The intruder’s right shoulder exploded in a mist of crimson. The force of the bullet spun him around, the knife clattering to the hardwood floor. He slammed into the server rack, howling in agony.
Rose fell to her knees behind the desk, gasping for air, her ears ringing violently from the muzzle blast.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the corridor lights, was Nathaniel Callaway.
He wore only black dress trousers, bare-chested, his sculpted torso rigid with fury. In his right hand was a custom matte-black Sig Sauer, smoke curling from the barrel. His gray eyes were burning with a primal, terrifying rage.
Behind him, Marcus Vance flooded into the room with an assault rifle raised, tactical flashlights cutting through the gloom.
“On the ground! Face down! NOW!” Marcus roared.
The wounded intruder didn't comply. Bleeding heavily, he reached with his left hand for a secondary weapon tucked into his waistband.
Nathaniel fired a second shot.
The bullet struck the man’s kneecap. The intruder collapsed with a sickening wail, completely immobilized.
Marcus rushed forward, kicking the secondary weapon away, planting his heavy combat boot on the man’s spine, and ripping off the black balaclava.
Rose looked up from the floor, her chest heaving as she pulled air into her bruised lungs.
When the mask came off, Marcus gasped.
“Julian?” Marcus muttered, genuine disbelief in his voice.
Rose stared. It wasn't an outside assassin.
It was Julian Croft—the head butler who had managed the Callaway estate for the last six years. The man who had served Eleanor her herbal tea every single morning.
“Julian,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping into an icy whisper that was far scarier than the gunfire. He lowered the pistol to his side and walked slowly toward the groaning butler. “My mother treated you like family for six years.”
Julian spat blood onto the floor, a twisted, sneering grin breaking across his pale, sweating face. “Your mother… is an arrogant old hag, Callaway. Sterling paid me two million dollars. Two million… to ensure the flash drive disappeared tonight.”
“Where was the secondary contract, Julian?” Nathaniel asked, stopping inches from the bleeding man. “You brought a knife. Your orders weren't just to steal the drive, were they?”
Julian let out a wet, ragged cough. “The girl was supposed to die in Queens. Since your men pulled her out… the Senator wanted her throat cut in your own house. A message. To show you… you can't protect anyone.”
Nathaniel looked down at him for three long, terrifying seconds.
“Marcus,” Nathaniel said calmly. “Call the private medical team. Patch him up so he doesn't bleed out. Then take him to the basement holding cell at the docks. I want every bank account, every phone number, and every contact Julian has had with the Sterlings over the last five years.”
“On it,” Marcus replied, dragging the groaning butler out by his collar.
The office fell silent again, save for the hum of the servers and the sound of Rose’s trembling breath.
Nathaniel turned. The lethal rage in his eyes vanished the moment his gaze found Rose sitting curled against the side of the desk.
He dropped the gun onto the desk and knelt beside her in the dark.
“Are you hit?” he asked, his hands moving quickly, checking her neck, her shoulders, her bandaged hands for any signs of blood that wasn't Julian’s. “Rose, talk to me. Did he cut you?”
“I’m… I’m not cut,” Rose whispered, her voice shaking violently. “He… he was in the safe. I heard the noise…”
Nathaniel’s hands stopped on her shoulders. He pulled her gently toward him, and before Rose could stop herself, she buried her face against the bare skin of his chest.
He was warm. His heart was hammering a furious, frantic cadence beneath his ribs. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly against him that she could feel the vibration of his voice in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel murmured into her hair. “I swore to you that you would be safe here. I failed you.”
Rose closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of cedar and gunpowder. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city.
Then, her eyes opened.
Right beside her on the floor, spilled from the open safe during the struggle, lay a thick manila folder labeled in bold black ink:
**CASSIDY LOGISTICS — 2016 LIQUIDATION & ACQUISITION.**
Rose froze.
The air in her lungs turned to ice.
Nathaniel felt her body stiffen. He pulled back slightly, his gray eyes searching her face.
Then, his gaze followed hers down to the folder lying between them.
May you like
The silence that fell between them was heavier than the gunshot that had shattered the night.
***
