Page 15 of His to Take

With a satisfying click, the briefcase swung open to reveal its contents.

Dylan's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. Inside was his cellphone, switched off—

And a gun.

His heart pounded. "Okay, Dylan... No need to panic," he whispered, steadying himself. His fingers hesitated before gingerly wrapping around the weapon, lifting it from its resting place.

The cold metal felt heavy in his grasp, and he stared at it, trying to quell the uneasy feeling that lingered in the pit of his stomach.

With this, he could get away from Ajax and the Thorne mafia for good. He'd just point it at Ajax, and then run.

But even as he entertained the idea, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered doubts. Could he really pull it off? He was just some kid — Ajax was the real deal. He was in theThornes, for christ's sake. He must have faced worse than some idiot kid pulling a gun on him. He probably knew all kinds of moves to deal with shit like that.

And if Dylan did try it, and if Ajax did get the upper hand on him… What would he do to Dylan?

Shaking off the thought, Dylan focused on the gun, trying to convince himself that he wasn't afraid of it. It was just a tool, a means to an end. And maybe, just maybe, it could be his ticket to freedom…

There was a distant ding from the corridor outside.

Dylan's heart leapt into his throat. The elevator had arrived, and with it, most likely Ajax. Panic gnawed at him, sweat beading on his brow. He couldn't let Ajax know what he'd done.

"Shit," Dylan muttered, quickly placing the gun back in the case precisely where he'd found it. His fingers fumbled to lock it,adrenaline making everything harder than it should have been. He spun the wheels of the combination lock, and with a click, the case locked again. He shoved it back under the couch, hoping it seemed undisturbed.

He sprinted back to his room just as the front door creaked open. Collapsing onto his bed, he tried to appear casual, but his pulse was thundering in his ears.

"Dylan?" Ajax called out, wariness lacing his deep voice.

"Yeah?"

"Everything okay?"

"Huh? Of course. You were gone for like, ten minutes." Dylan replied, injecting a dose of his usual cockiness into his tone to mask the frantic beating of his heart.

He crept over and pressed his ear against the bedroom door, listening intently to Ajax's movements. Footsteps padded toward the kitchen, followed by the sound of water pouring into a glass. Then, they moved to the couch, fabric rustling as Ajax removed his jacket. And then... silence.

Dylan breathed out. He'd gotten away with it.

The sudden, heavy thud of Ajax's footsteps heading toward Dylan's room sent a jolt of fear through him, his heart pounding like a drum against his chest.

He barely managed to step back from the door before it was flung open with such force that it rattled in its frame. Ajax's eyes blazed with an intensity that made Dylan's blood run cold.

It dawned on Dylan that he'd only ever seen a fraction of the man's true power. Ajax had been handling him with kid gloves all this time. Now, standing before the ruthless mafia enforcer, Dylan couldn't help but tremble.

"I told you not to touch my briefcase," Ajax growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Chapter eight

Dylan instantly felt a cold knot of fear in his gut. "I-I didn't touch it!"

"That what you're going with?" Ajax stepped closer. "You should've made sure to set the combination back to how I left it, then."

Fuck.

Dylan tried to bolt for the door, but Ajax was quicker, moving with the speed and precision of a predator. Within seconds, Dylan found himself pinned against the wall, Ajax's strong hands gripping his wrists above his head.

"How did you crack it?"

"I don't know! I just guessed!" Dylan laughed. "I guess I'm a lucky guy."

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