Page 13

CHAPTER 13

Sienna

Sienna’s heart thundered in her ears as she peered over the balcony, scanning from Wang to Pickle, who was wagging his tail and gazing up at a woman with dark, curly hair and warm, golden skin. The woman’s piercing brown eyes locked onto Viktor with fierce determination that made Sienna’s breath catch.

Rusty’s gun was aimed at Viktor, and his finger was on the trigger, ready to shoot.

Viktor took a step forward, and the other women backed away with fear widening their eyes. But the woman Pickle was fixated on stood her ground and set her jaw in a firm line.

Viktor’s grin grew wider, and his eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure as he took another step closer to Pickle and the woman. The air seemed to vibrate with tension as he reached into his pocket.

Rusty sucked air through his teeth.

Shit!

The woman snatched Pickle up from the ground and cradled him tightly against her bare chest.

Oh fuck!

The other women were paralyzed with fear, their eyes wide and unblinking, but the woman holding Pickle glared at Viktor with a fierce defiance that made Sienna’s heart pound.

Viktor’s smile grew wider as he pulled a gun from his pocket and held it casually at his side. He took another step closer to the woman and Pickle, his movements deliberate and menacing.

As Sienna tightened her grip on the railing, her mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

Rusty’s hand clamped on her shoulder, and his fingers dug into her skin. “Don’t,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice low and urgent. His gun remained steady, but his eyes were a maelstrom of emotions—fear, anger, desperation—that Sienna couldn’t begin to untangle.

Pickle growled low in his throat, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. She snapped her gaze to him, willing him to calm down, but Pickle’s eyes were fixed on Viktor, his teeth bared in a snarl.

Shit. Shit. Stop it, Pickle.

Viktor’s eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure as he took another step closer. “Ah, a feisty little thing, isn’t he?”

The woman’s arms constricted around Pickle, her spine stiffening with a defiance that radiated from every limb. Her eyes, cold and hard as stone, locked onto Viktor’s, daring him to take another step.

Then she shifted sideways, and Rusty hissed in frustration. “Fuck! She’s in the way.”

Viktor leaned in so his face was inches from the woman’s, and Pickle released a low, menacing growl. Whatever Viktor whispered to the woman made her knuckles turn white with tension as she tightened her grip on Pickle.

Time seemed to freeze. The air grew thick with anticipation and fear. The woman’s chin rose higher, her eyes blazing with fierce determination as she glared at Viktor.

Viktor’s head tilted to one side, his expression an unreadable mask.

Sienna’s breath burned in her throat.

The women, the guards, even the air itself seemed to still as the barrel of Viktor’s gun hovered inches from the woman’s bare belly, yet he’d positioned himself so none of the cameras could see the gun

And then, in a move that was both controlled and sinister, Viktor lowered the gun and swept his gaze to the bank of monitors. “Well, gentlemen, as you can see, we have a little show on our hands. Who will be the first to bid on this lovely creature?”

His voice was like a snake slithering through the grass, smooth and deadly. He reached out to touch the woman’s cheek, but before he made contact, Pickle lunged at Viktor, gnashing his teeth in a fierce snarl.

Viktor snapped his hand back, and the veil of civility slipped from him to reveal the monster beneath.

In a flash, he composed himself, his face smoothing out into a bland, calculating mask. He turned to one of the guards and gave a nod that was barely noticeable. The armed guard marched forward, his footsteps echoing across the stage like horse hooves.

Sienna’s grip on the railing tightened.

“Oh God, no, no, no,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

When the guard was three feet away, the woman spun and ran, holding Pickle against her like a shield. Her high heels echoed across the stage as she fled down the steps and ran into the shadows.

Sienna gasped.

“Oh fuck!” Rusty said.

The woman’s unexpected move sent a shockwave through the room. Pandemonium erupted as the other women’s shrieks echoed off the walls.

“Get her!” Wang’s enraged bellow cut through the noise.

Four armed men materialized from the shadows. Their swift, predatory movements left no doubt of their intentions.

Sienna’s stomach twisted into a knot of ice, her heart slamming against her ribs. The woman had risked her life to save Pickle. That selfless courage made Sienna’s throat tight with equal parts gratitude and terror.

Rusty gripped her hand and yanked her back from the railing. “Let’s go,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. “This is the distraction we needed.”

Soda stood by his side, her ears perked up and alert as if excited to get into some action.

“Keep your head down.” Rusty pulled Sienna along the railing.

Soda moved in tandem with them, her eyes alternating between Rusty’s face and the balcony ahead.

Down below, the women scattered in all directions, and their screams echoed off the wooden stage and marble walls around them. The cacophony was deafening—panicked cries mixed with shouted commands as people fled. Through it all, Pickle’s desperate barks echoed from somewhere, each one more distant than the last like the woman was running down a hallway with him.

As Rusty pulled her down the stairs, Sienna gripped the railing, determined to stay on her feet. Soda padded silently beside them, her tail held low as if sensing the danger. Through the chaos, she caught glimpses of the stage where two men leveled their weapons at four women. The women huddled together, arms crossed over exposed skin, eyes darting wildly like trapped animals searching for escape.

Sienna’s heart hammered against her ribs as they reached the bottom. One woman’s gaze swept past her, but her face remained blank as if looking through empty space. Her vague reaction sent chills down Sienna’s spine.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rusty yanked Sienna sideways behind a massive copper pot that held a giant palm tree. The pot’s shiny surface and the palm’s sprawling fronds provided a good hiding spot, and Soda squeezed in beside them, her eyes fixed on the hallway.

Across the hall, a matching copper vase, shoulder-high and gleaming in the dim light, reflected the distorted images of two men approaching with their rifles clutched tightly to their chests.

Rusty’s hand clamped around Sienna’s wrist, his silent grip urging her to stay put.

Her heart skidded to a halt as fear surged through her veins. The gunmen were moving quickly, their faces hard with purpose. If she or Rusty were spotted, if there was even the faintest scuffle, it would all be over. A noisy fight would draw everyone in the building straight to them. They’d never make it to the server room, and Pickle, and the brave woman who had risked everything to help them would die.

Sienna’s chest tightened, panic threatening to paralyze her. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t . Time was running out and doing nothing wasn’t an option.

Her gaze darted to Rusty, then back to the men. They were too close. A distraction .

I need to create a distraction!

The thought crystallized in an instant. Her pulse hammered as she slipped free of Rusty’s grip. He shot her a sharp look, but there was no time to explain.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I have a plan,” and before he could stop her, she stepped out from behind the vase with her heart pounding so hard she felt it in her throat. Her hips swayed in what she hoped was a casual stride, and she forced a bright, carefree smile onto her face.

“Hey, guys,” she said with a light and bubbly voice as she approached the two men. Every nerve screamed at her to run, but she pushed forward, clinging to the role she was creating. “Can you help me?”

The men froze, their grips tightening on their weapons. Their narrowed eyes swept over her and suspicion etched into every line of their faces.

“Who are you?” one of them growled, his tone sharp and laced with distrust.

Sienna giggled, flicking a dismissive hand as if the rifles aimed at her chest were an afterthought. “Oh, come on! Put those silly things away,” she said, tilting her head with a playful smile. Her voice was light and airy—everything she wasn’t feeling. Beneath the charade, her stomach churned, and her knees threatened to buckle, but she kept moving forward, every step a test of will.

“I’m Viktor’s niece, Stella. Nice to meet you guys. But my silly dog, Rex, ran away from me.” Her voice pitched high, trembling on the edge of panic as she fought to control it. “I think he ran through here. Have you seen him?”

She closed the distance between them, gesturing with her hands, forcing a carefree energy into her movements.

The men exchanged glances, and their expressions shifted between suspicion and confusion.

“Rex is so naughty.” She rolled her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. Her voice dipped into a breathy, almost flirtatious whisper. “He’s about this high.” She held her hands a foot apart, then with a delicate flutter of her fingers, pointed past them. “I think he went that way.”

Each step forward felt like a reckless betrayal of her own survival instincts . . . instincts she’d sharpened in self-defense classes. But there was no time to hesitate. Rusty needed her to create this opening. Pickle and the woman depended on her.

Her heart thundered against her ribs, a frantic, relentless drumbeat as she pushed through the fear threatening to paralyze her. Forcing herself into the performance of her life, she coaxed the guards just a few paces away from Rusty’s hiding spot.

When she turned back to face them, her cheeks burned from the effort of holding her smile. It felt crooked and strained, but she prayed it was convincing enough. Meanwhile, the sickening churn of adrenaline and terror in her stomach told her how close she was to the edge.

As the guards’ attention remained fixed on her, Rusty emerged from the shadows behind them, his movements eerily silent as he crept up to the men. Soda was beside him with her eyes locked onto the armed men like a predator.

Over one of the men’s shoulders, Sienna’s gaze met Rusty’s eyes in a fleeting, electric moment. The air thickened with anticipation.

“So, did you see Rex?” she asked. Her voice trembled as she struggled to maintain the facade. “He’s a little white and tan terrier?” She batted her eyelashes, certain her facade was slipping.

Rusty’s gaze burned with a steely resolve, and his eyes flared with a cold, calculating intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. The smile on her face faltered, a flicker with genuine fear betraying her carefully constructed calm.

Time seemed to slow as the world narrowed to this single, pivotal moment.

A woman’s terrified scream pierced the air, echoing down the hallway.

“What on earth?” Sienna bulged her eyes, trying to block out the screams.

Rusty seized the guard from behind, spinning him around. His elbow snapped up into the man’s throat. And as the guard dropped, clutching his neck in silent agony, Soda pounced and pinned him to the ground.

The second guard snapped toward Rusty, jerking his gun upward.

Rusty shoved the weapon aside, darted behind him, and shoved his arm around the guard’s neck. A strangled gasp escaped the guard’s lips. His eyes bulged with shock and terror as his face flushed crimson, then a horrifying purple.

Sienna’s mind recoiled. She’d seen the deadly chokehold demonstrated in the safe confines of her self-defense training classes. But never like this. This was real. Brutal. Terrifying.

Somewhere across the room, Viktor barked orders that were indistinguishable, but his tone was unmistakable—cold, calculating, and ruthless.

The guard clawed at Rusty’s arm, but his struggle grew weaker, and his body sagged as Rusty’s iron grip constricted his airway, turning his mind and body to mush. The guard’s body went limp, and Rusty released him, letting him crumple to the ground.

Rusty turned back to the first man, still pinned beneath Soda’s snarling form. He snapped his fingers, and Soda leaped off the man’s chest. Without hesitation, Rusty delivered a swift, merciless punch to the guard’s temple, knocking him out cold.

The entire takedown had been a blur of violence that lasted mere seconds. Sienna flinched at the raw, brutal efficiency and a wave of nausea churned through her.

“Please.” A faint cry reached her ears. “Don’t. No! Help!”

Her stomach twisted. Oh, shit. Is that the woman who saved Pickle?

She spun toward center stage and scanned the area around it, but saw no one.

“Please. No.” The voice, trembling with desperation, carried a soft accent—Korean, maybe Chinese. The anguish in it was gut-wrenching.

Rusty grabbed the man he’d choked by the armpits and dragged him down the hallway toward an open doorway. Soda clamped her teeth onto the sleeve of the second guard, hauling him along behind Rusty.

Sienna stood frozen in the hallway, her mind reeling from the violence she’d just witnessed.

From inside the room Rusty had entered, scuffling noises erupted, followed by muffled cries. Furniture crashed over, and a sharp shriek pierced the air.

“No! Don’t! Please don’t hurt me!” A man’s voice, raw with terror, echoed out the doorway.

The pleas stopped abruptly, cutting off with a chilling, suffocating silence.

Sienna’s heart thundered against her ribs. Her gaze locked on the open doorway as her breath hitched in her throat.

Is he dead?

Her steely resolve began to crack, splintering under the weight of her spiraling thoughts. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle, but fear anchored her upright, forcing her to keep standing.

What if this was just the beginning? What if she was in over her head and couldn’t cut off the feed? Rusty’s brutal efficiency had saved her life so far, but what if the killers kept coming?

Her mind raced, clawing at one rotten thought after the other. She wasn’t like Rusty—cold, calculated, capable of shutting off fear to do what had to be done.

She was barely holding it together, and if she took too long to shut down the system, Pickle would die.

They all would.