Chapter 12
They fled the estate before the police or the press could arrive. Vance, bleeding heavily from a shrapnel wound to his shoulder but refusing medical attention, drove the armored SUV through the twisting canyon roads of the Pacific Coast Highway. Harper sat in the back seat, Bane's massive head resting heavy on her lap. Silas sat up front, aggressively barking orders into an encrypted satellite phone, mobilizing his lieutenants across the city.
The safehouse was a rustic, heavily fortified cabin hidden deep within the dense redwoods of Northern California, miles off the grid. It was surrounded by towering pines and a freezing, rushing river. There were no imported slate floors here, no panoramic ocean views. It was a bunker meant for survival.
Once inside, the adrenaline crash hit Harper like a physical blow. She collapsed onto the worn leather sofa, exhausted to her bones. Silas sent Vance to establish a perimeter with the few surviving guards they had brought with them.
Silas walked into the living room, carrying a first-aid kit. He sat next to Harper on the sofa, pulling her legs across his lap. He didn't speak as he began to clean a nasty scrape on her knee she hadn't even realized she had gotten during the chaos.
"I've dragged you into hell," Silas murmured, his voice heavy with guilt, his eyes focused on the bandage he was applying. "You came to save a dog, and I made you a target for the Russian mob. I should have sent you away the day you arrived."
Harper reached out, placing her hand under his chin, forcing him to look at her. "If you had sent me away, I would still be running from Marcus. I would still be hiding in cheap motels, jumping at every shadow. You gave me a home, Silas. You made me feel safe."
"I almost got you killed tonight," he countered bitterly.
"But you didn't," she said fiercely. "You fought for me. And Bane fought for me. For the first time in my life, I'm not fighting alone."
Silas stared at her, the guilt warring with the overwhelming love in his eyes. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deeply emotional kiss. It wasn't the desperate, adrenaline-fueled kiss of the library. It was a vow.
"I am going to fix this," Silas promised against her mouth. "I am going to rip Volkov’s empire out by the roots. And when it’s done, I’m getting out. I’ll burn my own syndicate to the ground if it means I get to keep you."
May you like
Harper’s breath hitched. A mafia boss stepping away from power was a myth. It meant war with his own people. "You can't just walk away, Silas. They won't let you."
"They won't have a choice," he replied, his voice forged in steel. "I'm the king. And I'm burning the throne."
