Chapter 9 - The Underground Escape and the Confrontation in the Garage Apartment
We burst out of the maintenance tunnel twenty minutes later through a hidden exit near the perimeter fence, where an armored backup SUV was idling in the fog.
Martin shoved me into the back seat, climbed into the driver’s seat, and slammed the accelerator to the floor, tearing away from the pier before any of Cruz’s hit squads could intercept us.
During the entire twenty-minute drive back to Corsini House, my mind was racing with a terrifying, agonizing question.
Where was Julian?
He had stayed behind in the crossfire of the cargo hold to cover our escape.
When the black SUV finally roared through the iron security gates of Corsini House and screeched to a halt outside the main entrance, I didn't wait for Martin.
I threw open the car door and bolted across the gravel toward the grand entrance.
“Miss Quinn—wait!” Martin shouted, cutting the engine and jumping out after me.
I didn't listen.
I pushed open the heavy front doors of the mansion, sprinting through the dimly lit grand hall toward the library.
The house was dead silent.
Too silent.
I burst through the library doors, the brass candlestick still resting where I had dropped it earlier that morning.
Empty.
Panic clawed at my throat.
I turned on my heel and bolted back toward the grand staircase, heading straight for the third-floor security suite where Julian’s master monitors were housed.
As I reached the top of the stairs, the heavy oak door to the security suite was standing wide open.
I crept forward, my breath catching in my throat, peering into the room.
The bank of glowing monitors was dark, powered down.
Standing in the center of the room, looking out the large arched window toward the garage apartment below, was a tall, imposing silhouette.
Broad shoulders. Bespoke vest. A dark stain of harbor mud across his right shoulder.
Julian.
I let out a ragged, audible gasp of pure relief, stumbling into the room.
Julian turned around slowly.
His face was carved from granite, a thin scratch bleeding slowly along his cheekbone, but his dark eyes were burning with an absolute, terrifying calm.
“You didn't run far enough,” he said quietly.
“The tunnel led straight to the backup extraction vehicle. Martin followed protocol.”
“Protocol be damned,” I breathed, walking toward him, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand.
“You stayed behind in a crossfire, Julian! You could have been killed!”
Julian didn't answer right away.
He watched me approach, his dark gaze tracking every step I took, until I was standing right in front of him, close enough to feel the cold harbor air still clinging to his wool coat.
“And yet,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic register, “I’m standing right here.”
He reached out, his warm fingers gently catching my chin, tilting my face upward so I was forced to look directly into his eyes.
“You disobeyed my direct order to stay put this morning,” he whispered, his thumb brushing lightly across my cheekbone.
“You refused to run when the shooting started at the pier. And you came back into this house looking for me instead of saving yourself.”
“I’m stubborn,” I whispered back, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Apparently so,” Julian said, a slow, dangerous smile finally breaking through his hard exterior.
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“Which means my new employment contract is officially permanent.”
Before I could answer, his lips met mine in a fierce, consuming kiss that swept away all the fear, the secrets, and the blood of the night.
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