A shot cracks through the stairwell, the bullet slicing past my face and ricocheting off the metal handrail. I skid to a halt, eyes locking on the fresh scratch gouged into the steel. I turn just as Kiara rounds the corner.
My brow arches, taking in the sight of her in those tight leather pants, done up by a corseted front, and goddamn, it’s the most mouthwatering thing I’ve ever seen. “Did you just shoot at me, Firecracker?”
She pauses mid-step, a slow smirk carving across her lips, gun steady in her hands and aimed square at my chest. She moves toward me without lowering it, and my pulse stays maddeningly calm. No matter the circumstances, she would never take that shot. Not if it meant my life. Because when it comes down to it, Kiara St. James is in love with me, too.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“An eye for an eye, Mr. Kane,” she purrs, creeping in even closer, the thrill of the hunt getting her just as worked up as I am. “You’re not scared, are you?”
The mere thought of me being scared sends a smirk flying across my face, and as I hold her stare, I reach up and close my hand aroundthe barrel of her gun. “The only thing I’m scared of is—”
BANG!
BANG! BANG!
“Fuck!”
The guards hover at the top, and as Kiara tries like hell to shove past me, I angle my weapon upward and pull the trigger, watching the bullet punch clean between one guard’s eyes. His body tips forward, momentum carrying him over the railing. He drops five floors, plummeting past us before slamming into the concrete below like an egg against a counter.
It isn’t pretty, and I look away. I’m not here to dwell on collateral. I’m here to do a job—the very job that Kiara St. James is determined to steal from me.
We take the next flight two at a time, rounding onto the fourth floor, dodging and weaving through a spray of wild bullets as the remaining guards scramble to regain control.
They won’t.
Finally rounding onto the top floor, we face the guards head-on, barreling toward them without hesitation, anticipating every shot before it’s fired. There are four of them, and we close the distance in a heartbeat, too near now to bother shooting. I flip my gun into the air, catch it by the barrel, and slam the butt into the closest guard’s temple, cleanly knocking him out cold, before driving straight into the second.
The remaining two swing their weapons toward me, writing Kiara off as an afterthought, something not to be feared, and I almost laughat the stupidity of it.
Fucking ignorant men. If only they knew the threat they just turned their backs on.
Kiara’s hand is on her blade in the blink of an eye, striking in a clean, shallow arc as she moves, steel flashing as she slices through one guard’s throat without ever breaking stride. He doesn’t even see it coming.
And then, just like that, Kiara leaves me with the rest of the bullshit and strides straight for the penthouse on the fifth floor, pausing at the door at the top of the stairs to turn back and offer me a sugary-sweet wave that quickly morphs into flipping me the bird.
“You might as well give up now, Raiden,” she says in a sing-song tone before she steps over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind her, and I groan as the softest click echoes through the stairwell as she locks the heavy door behind her.
Fuck me. This woman is going to be the death of me. But I’ll welcome it every goddamn day.
More gunfire comes from within the penthouse, and I quickly finish disposing of these morons. While it only takes seconds, they’re seconds that could make or break this job.
The guards’ bodies fall around me, and I step past them, making my way to the locked door. It’s reinforced steel. Not decorative. Not cheap. Built to stall someone exactly like me.
Fuck. Maybe I’ve underestimated Alistair. After all, I didn’t anticipate quite so many guards, not that they’ve beenan issue. Just an annoyance.
Just like this fucking door.
Looking over it, there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to kick it down like I’d easily done to Kiara’s apartment door. An industrial deadbolt is only as strong as the doorframe it’s anchored to. And this particular doorframe is going to be an issue.
Grinning to myself, I tip my head back and take in the decorative window perched above the reinforced steel door.
How fucking moronic.
The man installs a door built to survive a missile strike, but leaves a thin pane of glass right above it, completely exposed like an afterthought. I suppose he had the right idea, just lacks the conviction required to be a true criminal mastermind.
I don’t hesitate. The butt of my gun connects with the window in a single upward swing, glass shattering inward. Shards rain down as I step closer, clearing the jagged edges with my forearm before jumping up and catching the high frame.
Glass bites into my palms, slicing through skin as I haul myself higher, but it doesn’t slow me down. Boots scrape against steel as I wedge my shoulder through the narrow opening, forcing my way inside while broken glass tears at my jacket and hands.
