Page 16 of The Forgery Mate (Taken by His Alpha #6)
T he guards’ hands dig into my arms as they drag me through Halcyon Hall’s labyrinthine corridors, their fingers leaving bruises on skin accustomed to silk shirts and gentle touches.
Lorenzo Vescari continues to protest, his accent thickening with each indignant syllable, but beneath the performance, my heart races as fast as a trapped rabbit sensing the hunter’s approach.
“This is outrageous treatment!” I shout, injecting a sense of entitlement into every word. “Do you have any idea how many auction houses would kill for my patronage?”
The guard on my right tightens his grip, twisting my arm until pain shoots up to my shoulder. “Shut up. Your privilege won’t help where you’re going.”
They steer me away from the main gallery, away from witnesses and the safety of the crowd. Each step takes me deeper into Halcyon Hall’s private quarters, where the rules of polite society vanish.
The taller guard’s radio crackles with a report. “Subject missing from containment. Repeat, merchandise missing from secure room.”
“Copy that.” The guard’s eyes cut to me with renewed suspicion. “We’ve got a suspect. Taking him to Harcourt now.”
My stomach churns with the knowledge that Lorenzo Vescari, my most precious persona, has reached its expiration date.
At least Jade got out. Whatever happens to me now, I’ve accomplished what I came here to do. One small act of decency in a life built on deception should make me feel better than it does.
“When my associates hear about this,” I continue, refusing to surrender Lorenzo’s indignation, “your employer will be blacklisted from every reputable auction in Europe.”
The second guard laughs. “Pretty sure blacklisting is the least of his concerns once he finds out what you’ve done.”
Ice slides down my spine. Do they have reason to suspect me? Or are they rounding up anyone suspicious? Either way, Lorenzo Vescari is about to face accusations his reputation cannot deflect.
We turn down another corridor, this one lined with gilt-framed portraits of stern-faced men and women.
The deep burgundy carpet, scattered with gold fleur-de-lis, muffles our footsteps to whispers.
Such opulence designed to hide such ugliness.
A perfect metaphor for the art world I’ve inhabited for so long.
“You gentlemen are making a terrible mistake.” My voice softens, as if fatigue has dampened Lorenzo’s fire. “I was merely lost. This place is a maze.”
“Sure you were.” The shorter guard shoves me forward, and I stumble. “Just happened to be wandering around restricted areas during a security breach. Total coincidence.”
We pass a small alcove where a marble bust sits on a pedestal, its empty stare indifferent to what’s about to happen.
Beyond it, the hallway narrows, the ceiling lowers, and the lighting dims. We’re approaching the utilitarian parts of the building where staff and security operate, far from the glittering facade presented to wealthy patrons.
Ezra will be so furious that I’ve disappeared again, but he’ll move on.
He has to.
A door appears at the end of the corridor, unremarkable except for the electronic keypad beside it. No gilded frames here, no priceless art. Just a threshold between pretense and whatever brutal reality awaits me on the other side.
“You’ll wait in here.” The taller guard punches a code into the keypad. “Harcourt will figure out what to do with you.”
The lock disengages with a click that sounds final. Lorenzo Vescari won’t survive what comes next. The question is whether Ren Mercier will.
As they shove me toward the open door, my mind races through possibilities, each bleaker than the last. Beat me until I reveal Jade’s location?
Lock me in Jade’s cage and auction me off instead once they realize I’m an Omega?
Or will they eliminate the problem with the efficiency that organizations like this reserve for loose ends?
My grandfather used to say that the most valuable skill in our profession wasn’t the ability to paint perfect forgeries, but knowing when to abandon a losing position.
As the door swings wider, revealing a spartan room with a metal chair bolted to the floor at its center, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated beyond recovery.
A hand pushes between my shoulder blades, propelling me forward.
As I stumble across the threshold, caught between freedom and captivity, the air shifts behind us. I grip the door frame and turn, already knowing what I’ll find. I sense him in the air, in the tingles of awareness rushing through me.
Ezra has found me.
A shadow detaches itself from the darkness at the end of the hallway, resolving into Ezra’s form as he moves with predatory grace toward us.
Gone is the submissive young man from earlier, replaced by a lethal hunter. He covers the distance in three long strides. As the first guard begins to turn, Ezra’s fist connects with his temple in a sickening crack that sends the man crumpling to the floor.
The second guard pulls his weapon, but Ezra moves faster, producing a taser from inside his jacket. Two metal prongs shoot out, embedding themselves in the guard’s chest. His body convulses, a strangled sound escaping his throat before he, too, collapses.
Ezra stands over the fallen men, chest heaving, golden-hazel eyes lit with a fury that ignites a deep desire in my gut. He came for me, and his entire body radiates a lethal promise meant for anyone who dares lay a hand on what’s his.
“Move.” He grabs my wrist with fingers that burn my skin.
I don’t resist as he pulls me back down the corridor, past the marble bust and the disapproving portraits. He navigates Halcyon’s maze with the assurance of someone who studied the floor plans, memorized the turns, and uncovered every hidden passageway.
We reach what appears to be a solid wall, but Ezra’s fingers find an invisible seam, pushing in a familiar sequence.
Shock rushes through me as the panel slides open with a pneumatic hiss. “How did you?—”
He cuts me off with a sharp tug, pulling me into a narrow passage that smells of dust.
“Rockfords built this place a century ago,” he says as he guides me down a steep set of stairs. “Sold it in the thirties. Family archives still had the original plans.”
A shocked laugh escapes me. “What?”
He ignores the question, tugging me onward.
I stare at his broad back, my stomach coiling. “Did you even need me for this rescue mission?”
Again, my question goes unanswered.
The passage is tight, forcing us to descend single file, his hand never releasing mine.
Our footsteps echo on the metal stairs, each step ringing like a bell announcing our presence to anyone who might be listening.
The only light comes from small, rectangular windows cut at irregular intervals in the wall, offering glimpses of the main house as we spiral downward.
“Did Jade make it to the escape car?” I try again, my voice too loud in the confined space.
“Yes.”
We reach the bottom of the stairs, where another hidden door awaits.
Ezra pauses to press his ear to the wood and listen.
Tension radiates from his body, a coiled spring ready to attack.
Whatever softness he showed in his bedroom this morning has been burned away, leaving someone harder and more elemental in its place.
“Clear.” He pushes the door open to reveal the night beyond.
We emerge into Halcyon Hall’s formal gardens, the space a meticulous recreation of European grandeur with symmetrical hedges and marble pathways. Moonlight spills across trimmed boxwoods and stone cherubs whose chubby faces grin at our escape.
The night air cuts through the fabric of my dress shirt, and I shiver as I inhale the scent of expensive flowers and freshly cut grass, clearing dust from my lungs.
Ezra doesn’t slow his pace, pulling me between shadow-draped topiaries and past a fountain whose water reflects silver in the moonlight. His fingers remain locked around my wrist, tight enough that I’ll wear a bracelet of bruises tomorrow.
When we reach a secluded corner of the garden, hidden from the house by a row of Italian cypress trees, he stops. The sudden halt of movement creates its own kind of vertigo, and I sway, my equilibrium adjusting to stillness.
Ezra releases my wrist only to grab my shoulders, spinning me to face him, and fury radiates from him in waves hot enough to scorch. “What the hell were you thinking, going in alone? Without backup?”
“You vanished without telling me anything,” I counter, rubbing my wrist where his fingers left their mark. “So I got Jade out. That was the plan.”
“The plan was for us to go in together.” His fingers dig into my shoulders. “Not for you to play hero and almost get yourself killed.”
“I wasn’t playing anything.” The words come out sharper than intended. “An opportunity presented itself, so I took it.”
Ezra’s nostrils flare, and his breathing comes out ragged. “Do you have any idea how close you came to being auctioned off, too? Those men weren’t taking you to security. That room was a processing center.”
The confirmation of my suspicion weakens my legs, but Ezra’s grip keeps me upright.
“I had it under control,” I lie.
“Like hell you did.” He steps closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. “You were walking straight into their trap. If I hadn’t followed you?—”
“I didn’t ask you to follow me.” Pride makes me reckless. “I’ve survived on my own for fifteen years.”
“Survived.” He spits the word. “Is that what you call it? Running from gallery to auction house, changing your name, your face, everything about yourself until nothing remains but the lies?”
Each word lands with devastating accuracy, and I try to step back, to put distance between us, but his grip remains unyielding. “You don’t know anything about my life.”