The cold ring of the gun barrel presses into the skin just behind her ear. Elena stops breathing. Her heartbeat is a trapped bird slamming against her ribs. The world narrows to that single point of contact, the smell of oil and male sweat from the man holding it. Panic is a white noise in her skull.
She moves her right hand, an inch at a time. Her fingers slip into the pocket of her jeans. They close around the cool, smooth cylinder of the lip gloss. The guy’s breath is on her neck. She can feel the slight shift of his weight, the bored confidence of a man holding all the power.
Her thumb finds the ridged cap. She twists. A quiet, plastic click.
She drives her elbow back into his gut. It’s not hard, just enough to make him grunt and lean forward. The gun dips. She spins, the movement clumsy with terror, and jams the open end of the gloss against the side of his neck. She presses the hidden button.
A sharp, insect-like buzz. The man’s body seizes. His eyes go wide, blank. A guttural sound tears from his throat. The gun jerks away from her head, his fingers spasming. He stumbles back, legs buckling.
Elena doesn’t think. She shoves him, hard. His body, rigid and uncoordinated, topples like a felled tree. He hits the concrete floor with a heavy, meaty thud. The gun skitters away into the shadows.
The second guard is already moving, his weapon swinging toward her. Confusion screws up his face. It’s that half-second of delay. Elena’s hand dives behind her back, under her shirt. Her fingers wrap around the checkered grip of Liam’s revolver. She yanks it free.
She levels it at the second man. Her arms are straight, elbows locked. The barrel wavers. She’s never held a gun before. It’s heavier than she imagined. The man freezes, his own weapon half-raised.
“Really?” Stern’s voice cuts through the warehouse, laced with amused disgust. “You didn’t check her?” He sighs, a theatrical sound of disappointment. He begins to walk toward her, hands in his pockets, as casual as a man on a Sunday stroll. “Elena, Elena. Put that down. There’s no way you’re going to do anything with it.”
His confidence is a wall. It makes her arms ache. She adjusts her grip, fingers sweating on the metal. He’s ten feet away. Five.
She pulls the trigger.
The blast is monstrous. It kicks back into her palms, a shocking jolt that travels up her bones. The sound swallows everything. Plaster dust rains from the ceiling where the bullet punched a hole high above Stern’s head.
He stops. A flicker of surprise, then irritation, crosses his perfect features. The guard flinches. The echo of the gunshot rolls through the vast space, dying slowly.
Elena brings the smoking barrel back down, aiming it at Stern’s chest. Her hands are trembling now. She can’t make them stop. “Untie her.”
Stern looks at her. Really looks. The amused mask slips, just for an instant, and something colder, more calculating, looks back. He shrugs. “Fine.” He turns and walks to Lisa, pulling a small knife from his own pocket. He slices through the plastic zip-ties around her wrists and ankles with casual efficiency.
Lisa slumps forward, a dead weight. Her head lolls. Elena keeps the gun trained on Stern as she rushes over, holstering it in the back of her jeans. She grabs Lisa’s face. “Lisa. Wake up.” She pats her cheek. No response. She slaps her, harder. The sound is sharp. Lisa’s head rocks to the side, but her eyes stay shut, eyelids fluttering.
Elena’s gaze darts around. She spots a half-empty plastic water bottle near the leg of a workbench. She scrambles for it, unscrews the cap, and dumps the contents over Lisa’s head.
Lisa gasps. A raw, choking sound. She jerks, blinking rapidly, water streaming down her face and over her bare shoulders. Her eyes are unfocused, pupils blown wide. “Wha…?”
“Presley’s outside,” Elena says, her voice low and urgent. She yanks her own sweater off, leaving her in just a tank top, and pulls it over Lisa’s head, forcing her arms through. “Black car. South end of the dock. Go. Now.”
Lisa stares, comprehension dawning through the drug haze. Fear. Nodding. She stumbles to her feet, clutching the sweater closed over her nakedness. She looks at Stern, at the guns, back at Elena. “Eli—”
“Go!” Elena shoves her toward the door.
Lisa runs. Her bare feet slap on the concrete. She fumbles with the heavy warehouse door, heaves it open, and disappears into the night. The door swings shut with a final, echoing boom.
Silence descends, thick and hot. The guard Elena tased is groaning, trying to push himself up. The other hasn’t moved, still staring down the barrel of her gun. Stern hasn’t moved either. He watches her.
“You are full of surprises,” he says, his tone conversational. “Liam’s little bird has teeth. And a stolen gun. He’s going to be livid.”
“What do you want with us?” The words tear out of her. “You have your stupid backpack. Why Lisa?”
Stern smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lisa Chen. Prodigious little hacker. She pulled some files from a very secure server. Files I can’t allow to exist in the wild. The backpack was just the physical evidence. I needed to confirm its retrieval.” He takes a slow step closer. Elena raises the gun higher. He stops, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The two of you… that was a happy accident. A perfect bonus for my clientele. A beautiful, naive entrepreneur in deep with a crime lord. And her clever, tech-savvy best friend. The markets for such… assets… are quite specific. And quite lucrative.”
The meaning settles in her stomach like ice. Assets. Markets. Her skin crawls. The gun feels like a dead thing in her hand.
“You’re a monster.”
“I’m a businessman,” he corrects softly. “And you, Elena Rossi, are in over your head. You can shoot me. Maybe you’ll even hit me. But then what? My men outside will cut you down before you reach the door. Or you can put the gun down. Walk out. Go back to your thorny cage. Tell Liam I said hello.”
He’s right. She knows he’s right. The adrenaline is leaching away, leaving a hollow, shaking fatigue. The guard on the floor is now sitting up, rubbing his neck, hatred in his eyes.
Her arm drops. The gun points at the floor. She is so tired.
Stern’s smile turns genuine. “Wise girl.” He gestures to the door with a flourish. “The car will be gone. Your butler isn’t a fool. You’ll have to call your master for a ride. I imagine he has questions.”
Elena backs toward the door, the gun still held loosely. She keeps her eyes on Stern until her back hits the cold metal. She fumbles for the handle, yanks it open, and stumbles out into the salt-tinged night air.
The warehouse door clangs shut behind her, locking her out. Or locking him in. She isn’t sure. She looks down the long, dark pier. No black car. Presley is gone. Lisa is gone.
She is alone. The revolver hangs heavy at her side. She slides it back into her waistband, the metal cold against the skin of her lower back. She starts walking, the only sound her footsteps on the weathered wood and the distant lap of black water against the pilings. She has nowhere to go but back to him.