Page 33 of Inheritance

Another reload.

Another burst.

Urgent. Desperate.

He peeked over the box, then ducked back, covering my body with his as an endless wave of bullets cracked around us, then slowed.

“Go!”

I hesitated.

“Go!” he shouted again, more forcefully.

He was already turning away, running out into the open, aiming with precision now. Firing with control. With purpose.

My chest tightened, and I forced myself to move, sprinting toward the door as gunfire roared behind me.

I shoved through the door into the stairwell and saw daylight bleeding into the dark corridor around the black door at the top.

Behind me, there was no more gunfire. No shouting.

Just silence.

My breath came in sharp, quick gasps as I climbed, each step an eternity.

At the top, I pushed against the heavy door. It groaned, then gave.

Sunlight blinded me. I staggered forward, dizzy, breath burning my throat.

Rough, strong hands grabbed me. Too calm. Too sure. Pulling me close.

I screamed instinctively.

“Shhh, sh shh. You’re okay. I’ve got you now.”

His voice was low. Calm. Steady.

I collapsed into his arms.

Then my eyes adjusted to the light, and I saw his face.

Ivan’s face.

I thrashed, trying to get away, but his grip didn’t budge. He locked both my arms with just one of his in a crushing hold. I screamed, struggling, but it didn’t matter.

His free hand moved slowly. Terrifyingly slow. He brushed my hair aside. Fingers grazed my throat.

I jerked my head, but he caught my chin. Tilted my face up.

“Shhh, there’s no need for that,” he murmured, lazy amusement dripping from every syllable.

His fingers skimmed the neckline of my shirt. Featherlight. Possessive.

Then lower. Hands trailing down my chest, hovering—just shy of contact. Not quite touching. Just close enough to taunt.

He laughed softly, rich with something darker.

He leaned in to speak into my ear.