Chapter 9
The kiss changed everything. It wasn't just a moment of weakness; it was an ignition. Over the next week, the invisible walls Silas had built around himself crumbled entirely. He was still the ruthless, terrifying head of a syndicate to the outside world, but inside the estate, with Harper, he was intensely protective, fiercely affectionate, and deeply possessive.
Bane, too, had shifted his allegiance. While he still worshipped Silas, the hound had adopted Harper as his primary charge. When she cooked, he sat on her feet. When she read in the library, he positioned his massive body between her and the door.
"He thinks you're fragile," Silas noted one evening, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Bane track Harper's every move with hawk-like intensity. Silas was nursing a glass of bourbon, looking more relaxed than Harper had ever seen him.
"I'm not fragile," Harper argued playfully, tossing a piece of shredded chicken into the air. Bane caught it with a loud snap of his jaws. "I survived Marcus. I survived being broke in Seattle. I survived you."
Silas’s smile faded slightly, his eyes darkening. He set his glass down and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his solid chest. "You shouldn't have had to survive me, Harper. You should have been cherished."
Harper leaned back into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I am now."
The idyllic peace was shattered at 3:00 AM.
The estate’s alarms didn't blare; they screamed. It was a high-pitched, relentless wail indicating a massive, coordinated breach of the outer perimeter. The emergency red lights flared on, bathing the hallways in a sinister, bloody glow.
Silas was out of bed in a fraction of a second. The relaxed lover vanished, instantly replaced by the warlord. He pulled a heavy tactical vest over his t-shirt and racked the slide of an assault rifle he kept locked beneath the bed.
"Get up," he barked, his voice carrying the authority of a general. "Shoes on. Stay away from the windows."
Harper scrambled out of bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Is it Marcus?"
"Marcus couldn't bypass my outer grid," Silas said grimly, tossing her a heavy winter coat. "This is professional. It’s the Volkov syndicate. The ones who took Elena. They’ve come to finish the job."
Before Harper could process the terror, the deafening sound of an explosion rocked the estate. The floorboards violently shook, throwing Harper to her knees. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Bane was instantly at Harper’s side, his hackles raised, a terrifying, guttural snarl vibrating in his massive chest.
"Vance!" Silas roared into his tactical radio. "Status!"
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"They breached the east wing, boss!" Vance’s voice crackled over the radio, punctuated by the rapid pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire. "Heavy numbers. Thirty plus. They’re pushing toward the master suite. Get the girl out!"
Silas grabbed Harper’s hand, his grip like iron. "We're leaving. Now."
