Page 30 of Stealing Cinder

In my fantasies, the knight in shining armor swoops in, throws me over his horse and gallops into the sunset while I swoon in his arms.

There are never bullets flying at my head in those fantasies.

The last of Edgar's enforcers are still firing blind from deep in the hallway when Samuel hooks one arm under my knees and bands the other around my back, hauling me against his chest. My world lurches sideways. His heartbeat pounds against my shoulder and his stride eats up the foyer at a pace that has my teeth clacking together. Gunpowder and copper flood my nostrils with every breath I pull in and the acrid sting makes my eyes water.

I shove against his chest. Solid muscle absorbs the blow and he doesn't break stride. My palm connects with his collarbone and I push harder, twisting in his grip.

"You can't do this." I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank. "You don't understand. I can't leave."

I finally have the Beretta, but the safe upstairs holds more. Documents. Financial records. The paper trail I've been after for five months is just out of reach. All of it is sitting behind a mahogany panel in my father's study while this stubborn, infuriating criminal carries me away from it.

"You don't owe this man a damn thing." Samuel's voice rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my ribs. "If he wants money, too bad. He'll be dead in a minute anyway."

"It's not that easy. I need more evidence."

He rounds a corner and the gilded hallway stretches ahead of us, crystal sconces throwing fractured light across the walls.

An enforcer steps out of a doorway ahead, weapon up, barrel sweeping toward us. Samuel doesn't slow. His boot connects with the man's kneecap and the joint buckles sideways with a wet crack. The enforcer drops, his gun skidding across the hardwood, and Samuel steps over him.

I shove against his chest again. "Put me down. I can run."

"You can run when we're outside."

Another hallway. More stairs. The staircase to the ground level is narrow, a servants' passage I used to play hide and seek in before Francesca moved in. Samuel's shoulders brush both walls as he descends, his grip on my legs tight enough to leave bruises.

A shadow shifts at the bottom of the stairwell.

I open my mouth to warn him, but Samuel is already turning, his free arm moving with a speed that contradicts his size. He sets me on my feet on the step behind him, and his gun clears the holster in the same fluid motion. One shot. The muzzle flash burns white in the narrow space and the percussion rattles through my eardrums.

Cole Vane's body hits the floor. The enforcer's dead eyes stare at the ceiling and the gun he drew hangs limp from his trigger finger. Blood spreads under him in a dark, creeping pool.

Nasty fucker was always too handsy with the catering staff. With me. I watched him corner a young server in the kitchen two hours ago and shove his hand up her skirt while she froze. I am not sorry to watch the light leave his eyes.

Samuel grabs my wrist and pulls me past the body. Warm blood soaks into the sole of my shoe and my heel slides on the hardwood. His fingers tighten, steadying me, and we push through the library doors.

The library opens onto the back of the mansion through French doors. My father's book collection lines the walls, leather spines and gold lettering, and the grief punches through me so fast my stride falters. Samuel's arm bands around my waist.

“Keep moving, princess.”

Cool night air slaps my face as we clear the doors. The grounds stretch into darkness, my father's overgrown garden swallowed by shadow, and the smell of wet earth and untended lavender replaces the cigar smoke and blood.

Blood? The scent hits me and this time it’s from Samuel. I grab his forearm.

"Wait. You're hit."

A dark stain spreads across his left bicep, soaking through the white fabric of his shirt. His jaw tightens a fraction but his stride doesn't change.

"It's nothing. We need to keep moving. You’re not safe here."

Gravel crunches under our feet as we round the east side of the mansion. Every footstep announces our position and my pulse spikes, but the grounds are empty. Edgar's men are inside, dealing with the damage four men left in their wake.

"I know this is a shitshow of epic proportions and nothing about tonight came out as planned, but we leave and then what? Do you have a plan to keep this from flowing into the streets?"

Samuel's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward.

"You’re right. We’re winging it all the way. Tonight was about keeping the peace, not measuring dicks and bullets."

My hand presses flat against my belly and I stop walking. Samuel does the same, probably thinking I need to slow for the baby. He’s not wrong. “I just need a second.” I look back over my shoulder at the dark silhouette of my father's mansion against the Chicago skyline. Every light is still on. Every window glowing with the mess we left behind. Five months of planning, three months of rehearsing every step across those floors, and I'm leaving with one gun and zero guarantees that I'll ever get back inside.