Page 22 of Freedom’s Inferno

I leaned over her shoulder, close enough to smell the fruity scent of her perfume beneath the buzz of my own adrenaline. My pulse kicked up, not from fear, but from the friction of proximity. This woman was dangerously distracting.

She’s a murderer, Chuck.

I held my breath.

She clicked through folders until names jumped out like landmines. Blackwell Sterling was listed dozens of times. Not out of the ordinary, given that Gary Byres was our corporate lawyer, but one account near the bottom just read Blackwell. That was odd.

“There,” I said, “Open that one.”

Lana clicked the file and documents filled the screen.

My eyes scanned through paragraphs quickly: paperwork for a shell company. I tried to swallow the lump that rose in my throat. The evidence against Richard was damning. Why else would he have asked Gary Byres to establish a shell company if not to move money behind my back? My chest burned. The whole ugly truth laid bare.

“Longcast Trust,” Lana whispered, pulling out her phone from her clutch and snapping picture after picture.

The soft tapping came first, then a faint scratching at the door and a soft whine. I froze.

“Shit,” I breathed. “Douglas.”

We scrambled, Lana shoving her phone back into her purse as I tugged the chair away from the desk.

I was halfway to the door when the handle turned.

Instinct kicked in. I grabbed Lana and thrust her back against the desk, my mouth crashing against hers. The kiss muffled her startled gasp, fierce and unrelenting. My hands bracketed her face, fingers sliding into her hair, selling it, making it look like we’d stolen the office for our own vices.

She resisted at first, then she leaned into me with a fervency I hadn’t been expecting. Her back arched ever-so-slightly, her lips parting as they broke against mine. I groaned, low and deep, from the back of my throat.

The office door pushed open with a creak.

My gaze snapped to the doorway. I broke the kiss, panting, fingertips still digging into Lana’s hips like I’d been caught in something far more intimate than crime.

Mary Byres stood there in her evening gown, eyes going wide at the sight of us. She made a shocked noise, half-gasp, half-scandalized laugh. “Oh—I—excuse me.”

“Sorry,” I rasped, not bothering to look at her as Lana and I straightened. “We’ll… just get out of your way.”

I tugged Lana around Mrs. Byres, making to flee down the hall. Adrenaline buzzed hot in my veins, and the ghost of her lips lingered on mine. I could still taste her.

She smoothed her hair, shooting me a glare that was half-fury, half-disbelief. “Well, now they really have something to gossip about.”

I smirked. “You seemed to enjoy it.”

Her eyes narrowed, looking as though she were about to cut me down, but then her face fell flat. The color drained from her skin, her blue eyes widening.

I turned around and saw why.

Costa’s bearded enforcer stood across the room, his eyes locked on mine. Beside him, the meaty one, built like a freight train, had his hand already drifting into his jacket.

I didn’t taste Lana anymore; my mouth was full of ash. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

Her eyes were still wide when she grabbed my arm, her fingers biting through the fabric of my jacket. “Charlie…”

I didn’t need her to finish.

The Tank stared me down—eyes dark and unblinking, the weight of it heavier than the pistol he carried under that tailored jacket. The bearded one mouthed something by his partner’s ear, placing a hand on his arm, and the big man’s jaw tightened.

The hum of the gala carried on around us, laughter and clinking glasses, the dogs still yipping in the ballroom. No one else noticed the silent war that ignited in the space between us.

My hand found the small of Lana’s back, firm, steering. “Smile,” I murmured through clenched teeth. “And walk.”