Dateline

Chapter 8 - A Brush with Death

The gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Volkov-owned Plaza Hotel. It was a dizzying display of wealth—crystal chandeliers, overflowing champagne towers, and politicians rubbing shoulders with known felons.

Damian kept Harper firmly by his side. His hand rested on the small of her back, a constant, burning brand of possession. Every time Alexei Volkov or one of his lieutenants approached, Damian’s posture turned to granite, positioning his body slightly in front of hers.

“You’re suffocating me,” Harper whispered as they stood near a towering ice sculpture.

“I’m keeping you alive,” Damian replied without looking at her. “The tension in this room is thick enough to cut. Alexei is planning something.”

Harper scanned the room, her years of working in dive bars kicking in. She was used to observing dangerous men. She noticed a waiter carrying a tray of champagne. The man was sweating profusely, his eyes darting frantically toward Damian, avoiding eye contact with anyone else.

As the waiter approached, he reached beneath the silver tray.

Harper didn't think. Instinct took over. She threw her weight against Damian, shoving him hard to the left just as the waiter pulled a suppressed pistol and fired.

The bullet shattered the ice sculpture exactly where Damian’s chest had been a second prior.

Chaos erupted. Screams filled the ballroom. Damian hit the floor, pulling Harper down with him, shielding her body entirely with his massive frame. His bodyguards reacted instantly, tackling the assassin to the marble floor before he could fire a second shot.

“Are you hit?” Damian roared over the panic, his hands frantically checking Harper’s arms and chest.

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” she gasped, her ears ringing.

Damian looked up at the shattered ice, then down at the woman trembling beneath him. She had just saved his life. The broke bartender who despised him had thrown herself into the line of fire to save a kingpin.

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Damian’s eyes met Alexei Volkov’s across the fleeing crowd. The Russian boss looked furious that the hit had failed.

“Get her to the car!” Damian yelled to his security chief, hauling Harper to her feet. “We are going to war.”

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