Page 50 of Prince of Wrath

“Stay calm, Ella.”

Tristan.

The second he says my name, something catches inside my chest and pulls so sharply that I almost stumble. I turn instinctively, searching for him, but the crowd swallows every familiar face as Cole guides me away from the ballroom and toward the opposite corridor, the one we are not supposed to take, the one that is not in the plan. Panic begins spreading through me again because I am supposed to be leading him, to have some small illusion of control. How naïve I was to believe a man like Cole would ever let anyone else hold the board.

“I’m right here,” Tristan murmurs, his voice so confident and calm that it feels impossible. “I’ve got my eyes on you. I know this isn’t the plan anymore, sweetheart… We’re-we’re adapting. All you need to do is keep breathing. I got you, baby. I see you. You’re safe, you’re okay.” I cling to his voice like a lifeline. I cling to evenings spent reading beside each other in silence, to ridiculous chess lessons that end up in hugs and uncharted territories, to brand new books carefully placed on his library shelves because he wanted me to have something that belonged entirely to me before I even decided whether I wanted to stay. I cling to all of it because my mind is slipping. And right now, only Tristan can save it for me.

“I love you, sweetheart.” His voice cracks so softly it almost disappears. “You’re doing so well. Picture us at home later. Picture the mug you like, you know, the yellow one with a butterfly on it, picture the books I bought for you, that terrible science-fiction series you said you would only read because I recommended it? Picture us there, because that’s where we’re going after this. I know it sucks, and I know it’s fucking terrifying, but I’ve got you. You’re not alone anymore, Ella. You’re never alone anymore. Don’t- don’t let him take your mind away.” My throat tightens until swallowing hurts, and I manage the smallest shake of my head, knowing he can see me somewhere beyond the sea of masked strangers.

I love you, I wish I could say back. Desperate times call for desperate measures. If things had been different… I wish I had told him face to face. Instead, using my free hand, I fold my middle and ring fingers into my palm, leaving my thumb, index finger, and pinky extended.

I love you.

I can only hope he sees it on the camera.

“Me too, sweetheart.” His voice cracks. “Me too.” I blink hard, my heart catching. I can do this. Focus, Ella. Focus.

Even if I had walked these corridors before, I would not recognize them tonight. The ballroom has swallowed the estate whole, dressing it in fabrics cascading from the ceilings, towering ice sculptures catching the candlelight, performers suspended from invisible wires above the guests like creatures from another world, and somewhere beyond all of it lies the veranda where Tristan, Deputy Garron, and the rest of the team planned to corner Cole before he could reach an exit. Only we are not going there. Not even close. The farther we walk, the thinner the music becomes, until the orchestra sounds like a memory my mind is desperately trying to hold on to. The laughter fades too, replaced little by little by corridors dressed for the occasion with velvet runners and flower arrangements, where only catering staff hurry past carrying silver trays and crates of empty champagne flutes. I tug at his hand, my thumb already brushing against the pendant hidden beneath the neckline of my dress.

Three taps.

That is all it would take for the emergency signal to reach Tristan.

“What!” Loud and annoyed, the word split my skin, every ounce of fake charm evaporating from his face. There he is. The real Cole. I lift my chin to the opposite hallway, where the veranda is. He frowns.

“You wanna go that way?” His eyes search mine. “Why?” I tug again, this time threading my fingers between his despite every instinct inside me screaming to rip my own hand off before letting him touch me another second. Affection. He likes affection. Maybe, just maybe, if I play into whatever fantasy he has built inside his head, I can steer him where the police want him. For the first time since he approached me, he hesitates. His gaze lifts over my shoulder, then farther down the corridor, searching. A waiter standing too still near a service elevator. A woman in an emerald evening gown adjusting the strap of her purse without ever taking her eyes off us. Two men in black tuxedos who look like guests until one of them touches two fingers to his cufflink almost imperceptibly. Recognition passes silently between them. His people. Realization hollows my stomach. He’s not alone.

“You really think I’d come here without my own insurance?” His words are almost playful. He looks behind us again, and one of the men gives the slightest nod. Cole answers with one of his own. “Nah.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m not changing my plans. There’s a car waiting for us behind the service entrance, two more following once we leave the estate, and another vehicle waiting if anyone gets clever enough to block the first one.” His smile widens, almost proud. “You tried, though. That’s cute.” The urge to cry rises so suddenly it burns behind my eyes. He leans closer, brushing his lips against my cheek. I flinch when his tongue catches my tear before it can fall. Every muscle inside me turns to stone.

“I’ll kiss it away once we’re home.”

Tristan. His voice is low, rough enough that I can hear everything he is not saying. For one impossible moment, I exist between two worlds, Cole’s mouth still against my skin and Tristan’s voice inside my ear, one man reminding me what captivity feels like and the other reminding me there is still a home waiting for me if I can survive long enough to reach it.

I stare at our joined hands. If someone offered me a knife, I think I would cut off my own before spending another minute attached to him. Cole pushes open the final service door. Cold night air rushes over my face. Stars. Fresh air. Freedom, so close I can almost taste it. A large black SUV is parked beside the rear entrance, headlights off, engine still humming. Another dark vehicle waits farther down the service road with its lights extinguished, while a third rolls slowly past the gates before disappearing again, circling like a shark.

There’s no world in which I’m his captive again.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Three times on my necklace.

Help.

“We’re on our way,” Tristan murmurs in my ear. Two men step out almost simultaneously. One opens the rear door while the other scans the area with a rifle pointing at the darkness. Cole tightens his grip.

“After you.” Every instinct screams at me to run away, but I trust Tristan, his plan, and his will to save me. So I climb inside. Distant voices crackle through the earpiece, too many at once for me to separate. Commands. Names. Someone saying my name. The driver’s hands settle on the steering wheel. Cole remains outside, then slams the door shut. What is he doing? An awful stillness settles over everything, the kind that comes seconds before a thunderstorm breaks, like birds abandoning the trees before anyone else notices the sky changing.

Someone shouts outside. Metal slams against metal. A gunshot explodes. Then another. God, please protect Tristan, take me instead. Crouching down, I clap my hands over my ears as others follow, until the world disappears beneath a rain of bullets striking the body of the SUV, each impact vibrating through the doors and windows until the entire vehicle shakes around us. I cannot see anything beyond the darkly tinted glass, only flashes of light reflected across the windshield and shadows running past outside. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Please, somebody, help me, please.

Blood shatters the windshield as the driver’s head snaps violently sideways. Red sprays the dashboard, his body collapsing over the steering wheel with a sickening weight. I recoil, pressing both hands over my mouth.

Tristan. Nate. His mother. Are they out there? Are they lying on the pavement? Are they…

The rear door flies open. My heart simply stops. My last thought belongs to Tristan.