Chapter 4
634words
I pulled out my last few bills and bribed the half-asleep desk clerk to tell Damon there was only one room available.
Tonight, come hell or high water, I was going to sleep with him!
Damon didn't seem surprised. He took the key and headed for the second-floor room without a word, his eyes unreadable in the dim hallway light.
I followed close behind. The moment he pushed open the door, I slipped past him and clicked the lock shut.
He glanced back at me, his expression utterly impassive.
"You take the bed. I'll take the couch."
"That tiny couch? No way." I walked up to him and pulled out a small bottle of powerful sleeping pills I'd scored from a black market doctor. Right in front of him, I dumped them into a bottle of water.
I shook the bottle, watching the pills dissolve, then held it out to him.
"Drink."
I looked up at him through my lashes. "I'm worried you might... change your mind."
He stared at me, one eyebrow slightly raised.
He didn't ask why or refuse. Instead, he took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and to my astonishment, downed half of it in one gulp.
"Satisfied?" He tossed the bottle onto the table and fixed me with a half-smile. "Now get in the bathroom. Don't come out until I call you."
I froze. What the hell did that mean?
Before I could react—
BANG! The door exploded inward off its hinges!
Four or five men stormed in. I recognized their tactical gear—Delta Force mercenaries.
"Listen up, punk. If you're smart, hand over the Rossi bitch right now!"
Over the years, my father had made plenty of enemies who wanted us dead.
Terror froze my blood. I finally understood why he'd tried to hide me.
But it was too late!
Damon shoved me behind him and faced the intruders bare-handed.
He moved like lightning, dropping two men before I could blink.
But then I saw his movements begin to slow.
The drugs were kicking in!
My heart plummeted.
Oh God, I'd done this to him!
A mercenary seized the opening, lunging from the side with a combat knife aimed at Damon's back!
"Behind you!" I screamed. Without thinking, I grabbed the bedside lamp and smashed it against the mercenary's skull with everything I had!
The lamp shattered. The man crumpled with a dull groan.
The remaining attackers instantly turned their blades toward me.
Face-to-face with death, my bravado evaporated. I stood paralyzed with fear.
In that moment, Damon spun around and planted himself between me and danger.
His voice slurred slightly from the drugs, but still carried deadly intent: "You don't fucking touch what's mine!"
The next second, a blade sank into his shoulder.
Blood immediately bloomed across his shirt.
"NO!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face.
"Why the tears? I'm not dead yet." He acted like it was nothing, wiping my cheeks with his thumb and giving me a crooked smile.
"I should thank you gentlemen," he turned to face them, his smile like a demon crawling from the depths of hell, "for waking me the fuck up."
Multiple blades thrust toward us. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the agony of steel tearing into flesh.
But the pain never came.
I heard only the sounds of combat—brutal, efficient.
When I opened my eyes, the mercenaries lay scattered on the floor.
Damon had taken another blade to the gut.
"Damon!" I cried, pressing my hands against the wound, but the blood kept flowing.
Death's shadow fell over us.
He smiled weakly, his blood-smeared hand caressing my cheek. "Don't be afraid, princess. I'm right here..."
