Chapter 4 - The Truth in the Dark
Claire’s finger tightened on the trigger, but she couldn't pull it. She could never pull it.
With a soft gasp, her grip collapsed. The gun clattered against the concrete floor. Her knees gave out, her body sinking toward the cold ground as the shock and blood loss finally claimed her remaining strength.
Before she touched the floor, Vincent caught her.
He pulled her up against his chest, lifting her easily into his arms. When her wounded shoulder brushed against his lapel, she let out a whimpering cry, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck.
“I’ve got you,” Vincent murmured into her hair, his voice fierce and possessive. “I’ve got you, Claire.”
He turned and walked back up the stairs, carrying her through the warehouse into the rain-slicked alley where his black armored SUV waited. Gabriel stood by the open rear door, his eyes widening as he saw the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Claire’s chest.
“Call the private clinic,” Vincent commanded Gabriel as he slid into the backseat with Claire in his lap. “Tell Dr. Thorne to prepare the surgical suite at the estate. Nobody else knows she’s alive.”
“Vincent—” Gabriel began.
“Do it now!” Vincent snapped.
The SUV tore through the city streets, its sirens muted. In the back, Vincent held Claire tightly against him, pressing a clean linen cloth to her bleeding shoulder. He felt her small, delicate body trembling against his.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Vincent asked softly, his lips pressed against her temple. “Three years, Claire. You slept in the room next to mine. You sat at my table every morning. Why didn't you tell me who you were?”
Claire opened her eyes weakly, staring up at his sharp, defined jawline through a fog of pain.
“Because... you would have protected me,” she whispered, her breath brushing his neck.
“Is that a crime?”
“It would have gotten you killed,” she rasped. “Dominic Vane... he didn't just kill my father, Vincent. He’s been funneling weapons through your shipping lanes for two years. He used your name to cover his tracks. If I told you three years ago, you would have gone to war with him before you were ready.”
Vincent’s eyes darkened into something terrifying. “And you thought you could handle a syndicate boss by yourself?”
“I had a plan,” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. “The contract... seventeen days... I was going to hand the evidence to the federal prosecutor in Atlanta... far away from you.”
“Your plan was stupid,” Vincent said, though his hand gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “You took a bullet meant for my mother.”
“She was kind to me,” Claire whispered. “You were kind to me.”
Vincent went completely silent.
Kind.
For three years, he had treated her like glass, keeping his distance because he believed a violent, ruthless man like him had no right to touch something as pure and quiet as Claire Bennett. He had convinced himself that paying her off and letting her go after three years was the ultimate act of restraint.
He had been a fool.
“You’re not going to Atlanta, Claire,” Vincent said softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “The contract is officially null and void.”
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“Vincent...”
“You belong to me now,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed hers in a possessive, breathtaking kiss that tasted of rain and iron. “And anyone who tried to harm you is going to burn.”
