Page 98 of Power

When I dropped to my knees, she flinched violently, throwing her hands up, as if to ward off a blow, eyes wild with terror.

“It’s me,” I said as gently as my rage-infested body would allow, holding my palms up in surrender. Making it visually clear I’d never harm a hair on her head.

My throat tightened at the sight of her. Scarlett was hiding, tucked beneath her desk, trembling so hard that I could hear her teeth chattering. Mascara trailed down her cheeks in jagged blackrivers, her lipstick smeared across one cheek. Her usually immaculate blonde hair was tangled, strands stuck to the sweat beading on her forehead.

Long gone was the fierce woman who’d bravely confronted her father, putting herself between danger and her mother. Long gone was the razor-sharp professional who’d commanded that conference room, playing mental chess with a business tycoon and winning. In her place was a quivering, fractured human being.

And that … Christ, that unleashed more rage than I’d experienced in my entire life. I wanted to leave right now, find whoever did this to her, and beat him until his heart stopped beating. I wanted to break every bone in his body twice over. Rip off his arm and shove it down his throat. Violent crimson fantasies I’d never entertained before surged through me with alarming clarity.

I would kill for her, I realized. Without hesitation. Without remorse. All these years of feeling immense guilt for the time I’d taken a life by accident, and now, I’d do it willingly. Gladly.

The intensity of that epiphany shook me, but I pushed it aside. I needed to focus.

“Are you hurt?” I managed, my voice a controlled rumble.

Her wide eyes fluttered shut, and she exhaled deeply. A relieved breath, perhaps, that whoever had done this couldn’t get to her. Not with me here now.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, my fingers flexing involuntarily.

When Scarlett opened her eyes, her gaze was unfocused, staring through me rather than at me. She wasn’t here, not fully.

“Scarlett?”

No response. No change to her almost-catatonic state.

“Scarlett, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk.”For now. But soon, you’ll tell me who fucking did this to you, and they’ll wish they’d never been born.“But I need to know if you have physical injuries that require medical attention.”

Her gaze flickered slightly, recognition seeping in. She wipedher cheeks with quivering fingers, leaving gray smudges across her skin as she shook her head.

Relief flooded my system like adrenaline, leaving me momentarily lightheaded.

“Can you come out, please?” I asked, extending my hand slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal.

She shook her head, shrinking further into the shadows beneath the desk.

“Scarlett, we need to leave. Whoever did this to you might come back.”

Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as her panicked breathing returned—quick, shallow gasps that made her shoulders heave.

“It’s okay,” I soothed, keeping my hand outstretched. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”He can’t do that without a heartbeat.“Can you come out, please?”

She bit her lip, torment etching itself across the planes of her face as she calculated her options: remain hidden where it felt safe or risk exposure to potential danger.

“You used to hide under furniture as a child, didn’t you?” I said, the realization dawning on me.

A slight, almost-imperceptible nod.

“It makes you feel safe.”

Another nod, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.

“You’re safe, Scarlett.” The conviction in my voice surprised even me. “I won’t allow anything to happen to you. But I need you to come out so we can leave. Because if that man comes back …” My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I will kill him.”

Her eyes snapped into focus then, truly meeting mine for the first time. Wide and worried, but present. She seemed to digest this for several seconds, staring at my outstretched hand as if it might disappear. And then, hesitantly, she gripped my palm.

My God, the flood of emotions that washed through me when her skin met mine. Her fingers were ice cold, but that small contact burned through me like wildfire. The trust she placed in me at a moment when she was so terrified she couldn’t even bring herself to leave the shelter of her desk, it humbled me and ignited something fiercely protective deep in my chest.

I’d need to take her to the police. Get security all over this. But we could do neither of those things if she remained too traumatized to speak. Somehow, I needed to stop her panic attack.