Chapter 4 - Playing with Fire
The air in the private security bunker beneath the mansion was thick with tension. High-definition monitors lined the steel walls, broadcasting live feeds of every square foot of the Voss estate.
On the main central monitor, a high-resolution image showed a silver box. Inside lay a heavy gold signet ring resting on a slip of torn paper. The handwriting was jagged, written in red marker:
LEAVE DETROIT, RUE, OR THE NEXT BODY IS YOURS.
I leaned against the steel table, my breath catching in my throat. "My landlord... Mr. Gable. He was at my apartment last night when I didn't come home..."
"He was killed at 2:00 AM," Marcus reported quietly, standing behind Harlan. "The police think it was a robbery gone wrong, but the signature on the door matches Vance’s crew."
"They know who I am," I whispered, my hands shaking. "They watched me take Belle from the garage."
Harlan moved behind me, his chest almost touching my back. His broad hands rested on the edge of the steel table on either side of my hips, effectively boxing me in. The heat radiating from him was a sharp contrast to the cold terror in my veins.
"They aren't targeting you because you were there, Rue," Harlan’s voice grumbled close to my ear, deep and steady. "They're targeting you because Vance saw the security footage. He saw me put my coat around you. He thinks you are my weakness."
I spun around in his arms, forcing him to step back half an inch. "I'm not your weakness! I’m a waitress you hired twelve hours ago! Tell them the truth!"
"Vance doesn't care about the truth," Harlan said, his eyes darkening as he held my gaze. "In our world, perception is reality. You walked into that garage a bystander, but you walked out as the woman under Harlan Voss's protection. If I cast you out now, they will kill you within an hour to prove a point."
"So I'm a hostage?" I asked, anger flaring through the panic.
"You are my guest," Harlan asserted, his fingers gently coming up to brush a strand of dark hair away from my forehead. The touch was impossibly soft for a man who commanded an empire of violence. "And I protect what is mine."
"I am not yours, Harlan."
"You signed the contract, Rue," he whispered, stepping closer until our noses almost touched. "Which means your life belongs to my security detail. And your safety belongs to me."
"Boss," Marcus interrupted, clearing his throat awkwardly from the doorway. "The Detroit Charity Gala is tonight at the Renaissance Center. Vance is scheduled to attend as a guest of the mayor. If we don't show up, rumors will spread that the attack on Belle broke your operations."
Harlan never took his eyes off me. "We're going."
May you like
"And Belle?" Marcus asked.
"Belle stays here under level-five lockdown," Harlan ordered. Then his gaze dropped to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. "And Miss Callaway will be coming with me. On my arm."
