749 "I was a broke waitress with an eviction notice in my purse when a dying six-year-old handed me her phone in a deserted Detroit garage. Minutes later, the city’s most feared man arrived with three black SUVs—and instead of asking who had hurt his daughter, Harlan Voss looked straight at me and demanded to know who had saved her.

"You always were bad at math, Viktor," Harlan’s voice echoed from the balcony above the grand hall.

Vance raised his rifle, but before he could fire, the heavy skylight above the hall shattered into a million pieces. Four tactical helicopters bearing the Voss family crest hovered overhead, shining blinding spotlights down into the room. Snipers rained down precise suppressive fire, neutralizing Vance’s mercenaries in a matter of seconds.

"What?" Vance gasped, staggering back as his men fell around him. "Your security grid was offline!"

"My main grid was," Harlan said coldly, stepping down the grand staircase, his weapon trained directly on Vance's chest. "I ran the backup lines three years ago. I let you walk into this house, Viktor. I needed you on my land so I could finish this legally under castle doctrine."

Vance gritted his teeth, his eyes wildly searching the room until they landed on me standing at the top of the stairs. In a last desperate gamble, Vance lunged forward, grabbing my ankle as I tried to step back, pulling me down onto the marble landing.

"Rue!" Harlan yelled.

Vance pulled a hidden knife from his boot, pressing the blade against my throat as he pulled me up in front of his chest as a human shield.

"Shoot now, Harlan!" Vance screamed, his breath foul against my ear. "Shoot through her!"

I felt the cold steel of the blade biting into my skin. Panic surged through me, but then I looked at Harlan. He had stopped three feet away. His gun was lowered slightly, his grey eyes tracking my face.

Trust me, his eyes seemed to say.

I took a deep breath, remembered the months of surviving on the rough streets of Detroit, and brought my heavy heel down with maximum force onto Vance’s foot. At the same time, I threw my head back, slamming my skull directly into his nose.

Vance howled in pain, his grip loosening for half a second.

That was all Harlan needed.

Harlan moved with blinding speed, closing the distance, grabbing Vance’s wrist, and twisting the knife out of his grip with a sickening snap. Harlan drove a heavy right hook into Vance’s jaw, sending the man crashing through the glass coffee table in the center of the room.

Before Vance could recover, Harlan was on top of him, pressing his knee into Vance’s chest and planting the barrel of his pistol directly between Vance’s eyes.

"Give me one reason," Harlan growled, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't end you right here for touching them."

"Harlan, wait!" I cried out, rushing down the stairs and catching his arm. "Don't do it! Not like this! Don't let Belle wake up to a father who committed murder in her home!"

Harlan froze. His chest heaved as he stared down at Vance’s bloody, defeated face. The dangerous, dark beast inside him fought against my voice for five agonizing seconds.