Page 29 of Stealing Cinder

That's my girl.

Cinder shakes her arm free and steps over his curled body without a second look. Her chin is up, her shoulders squared, and the fire in her pale eyes dares anyone else in this room to put their hands on her.

The foyer erupts into violence and we move in unison to protect Cinder.

The first enforcer through the east corridor fires wide. The round punches through the mirror behind the staircase and glass rains down in a sheet of silver shards. Bastian returns fire and the enforcer slams back against the wall, his weapon spinning across the floor. Oliver drops the second man through the doorway with two controlled shots, center mass. The body drops at the threshold and the enforcer behind him trips over the legs, pitching forward with his gun hand out.

Valerian's boot catches that one in the jaw. The crack of bone carries over the gunfire. The enforcer's head rotates on impact and he collapses in a limp pile at the base of the stairs.

Cigar smoke hangs in a blue-gray cloud around Valerian's head as he steps over the unconscious body without breaking stride.

The stench of gunpowder floods the foyer, sharp and acrid, layered over the copper sweetness of fresh blood. Brass casings ping against the hardwood and roll into the cracks between the planks. My ears ring from the concussive blasts bouncing off the high ceiling.

I grab Cinder around the middle and pin her to my side, my left arm banding across her ribs, my right hand swinging the Glock toward the hallway. I put my body between her and the corridor where Edgar's reinforcements are still coming. Her back presses against my chest and I can count every rapid breath she draws by the expansion of her ribs against my forearm.

Every protective instinct I've buried under decades of cold calculation roars to the surface.

An enforcer rounds the corner of the west hallway and I drop him with a single round before he can raise his weapon. Bastian moves through the east side of the foyer clearing, the space. His shots are precise, his footwork controlled. Oliver covers the main entry, his back against the wall beside the shattered front door, picking off anyone stupid enough to step through.

Valerian hasn't moved from the staircase. He doesn't need to. Every enforcer who tries to come down the steps meets the scarred wall of his body and the muzzle of his gun. He fires once, twice, and two men tumble down the remaining stairs in a tangle of limbs and dropped weapons.

Edgar is gone. Somewhere in the chaos, he crawled or stumbled into the hallway. Leaving his men to die in a fight he started. I file that for later. He will surface again. Men like Edgar always do.

Glass crunches under my boots as I move us toward what's left of the front door. The gilded fixtures along the hallway throw fractured light over the carnage, splitting the shadows into jagged patterns across fallen bodies.

The last of Edgar's enforcers still standing ducks behind the overturned chest of drawers in the entryway. He pops up and squeezes off two rounds that zip past my ear close enough to disturb the air against my skin. I fire back and the round catches the edge of the furniture, spraying splinters. Bastian comes in from the left, flanking, and puts the man down with a clean shot.

Silence falls fast and heavy. My ears adjust and the high-pitched ringing fades enough for the smaller sounds to filter back in.

Smoke hangs in the air.

"Time to go, men."

Oliver pulls away from the wall and checks his magazine. Bastian cracks his neck and rolls his sleeves down, tucking his weapon into the back of his waistband. Valerian takes one final drag of his cigar, exhales a long stream of smoke through his nose, and crushes the remains under his heel on the bottom step.

They move toward the front entry without waiting for further instruction. They've done this before. All of them. We clear the scene and disappear before someone makes a phone call that brings a different kind of problem to the door.

I turn us toward the shattered entry and Cinder plants her boots against the floor. Her body goes rigid under my arm and her heels dig into the floor with a stubbornness I should have anticipated.

"Wait. Edgar is still alive." Her fingers wrap around my wrist and she pulls against my grip. "What the fuck are you doing? We have to go hunt him down."

Bullets punch through the plaster above the entry. A final enforcer firing blind from somewhere deep in the hallway. The rounds scatter dust and chunks of wall across our shoulders.

I tighten my hold on her waist and lower my mouth to her ear.

"No, we don’t. I have to get you to safety. So, suck it up, princess, I'm stealing you."

CHAPTER 9

CINDER

Iwish to all that is holy in this world my eyes could actually shoot daggers.

“Suck it up?” I repeat, fury boiling over and sending my blood pressure to dangerous levels. I want to drive my fist into this infuriating man’s face, but I have a feeling he would only tell me my form is all wrong.

"Would you prefer I leave you here with the man who wants your blood?"

“No. But I'd prefer to be asked.”