Page 12 of Damien’s Mate

Damien crawled to his feet, feeling disoriented. The hallway was filled with smoke, but none of it seemed to reach him. The bracelet was still glowing like some kind of sci-fi force shield generator.

He still couldn’t believe it, even though it had saved his life.

Damien bent the bracelet around his wrist, and the ends snapped together, holding it in place. Whoever had made this, it was trick technology. Cutting edge.

Probably worth millions, to the right people. If you could even find the right people. Lila’s ‘family heirloom’ was getting more intriguing by the minute.

Lila! He peered through the smoke, but he couldn’t see her. Had she made it out? An unfamiliar emotion stabbed at his chest. Worry.

It was a long time since he’d worried about anyone.

Damien limped down the hallway, still carrying the bag of cash, suddenly desperate to get outside and into the air. It felt claustrophobic down here, and this force shield thing wouldn’t necessarily protect him if the fucking house fell on him.

The hallways were empty, all the way to the service exit near the parking area. He pushed through the door without using his keycard—the security system had gone offline—and rounded the corner of the house into complete mayhem.

He was at the side of the building, by the parking area. He couldn’t see any damage from where he was except broken windows—all the major damage must be in the center of the structure.

Dozens of people were spilling out of the house onto the grass, some leaning on each other or carrying unconscious victims. Many of them were bruised or bleeding, clothing torn, while a few lucky ones looked as pristine as when they’d walked into the ballroom. There was smoke everywhere.

The sirens were louder now. Cops, ambulances and firefighters were converging on the house. He saw a commotion at the far side of the parking area, and men in dark suits running in his direction.

The Russians, he realized. Bolting for their cars, probably trying to get out before the cops got there. Shots followed them, and people screamed and scattered as Salzano’s men raced after them.

He felt in his pocket for his earpiece so he could listen in on the security team, but he must have lost it when he ran. It didn’t matter. They were after the Russians, not him. He scanned the crowd for Lila.

There she was, over by the shrubbery, doing the same thing as him. She caught sight of Damien and her face lit up, and a surge of happiness and relief filled him.

They were both safe. Now he just had to get them out of here.

Lila took a step toward Damien just as Rostov ran around the corner of the house and grabbed her arm, demanding something from her. Probably the damn ledger. She jerked away, gesturing at the chaos around them, and then shoved him in the chest, yelling at him.

Damien didn’t even have to hear what she was saying. He knew. She was accusing him of planting the bomb.

Damien started threading his way between the cars, pulling his gun.

Lila’s head swiveled around to look at him, as if he’d shouted out loud. Rostov followed her gaze and without hesitation pulled his own weapon and aimed in one fluid motion.

Damien should have been killed, but at the last second Lila punched Rostov, throwing his aim off.

The bullet whizzed past him, missing him by inches. The Russians were piling into cars, heading for the back exit before it was blocked by ambulances. The sirens grew closer.

One of the cars zoomed toward Rostov, and he grabbed Lila again. Damn it, he was going to force her to go with him. God knew what he’d do when he had her alone.

But Damien had underestimated him. Before Damien could get a clear shot at him, Rostov shoved Lila right into the path of the speeding car. The sickening thud reverberated in his ears, making him feel sick.

The impact flung Lila onto the grassy verge. The car skidded to a stop, a door opened, and Rostov jumped in, the car peeling out before he even had the door closed.

Cursing, Damien limped over to Lila, dodging the other Russian cars racing for the exit. It was just pure dumb luck nobody ran over him.

Cop cars and ambulances roared in behind them; Damien could hear fire trucks at the front of the house. He crouched awkwardly by Lila, his bad knee screaming.

She was unconscious but breathing. No bubbling sounds—she might have broken ribs but nothing had punctured a lung.

There was a cut on her head, but also blood trickling from her nose and mouth, which was a bad sign.

She might have all kinds of fucked-up internal injuries, too. He didn’t even know if he should touch her, but he wanted her to know someone was there, so he took her hand. It felt cold, and he watched her chest, making sure it was still rising and falling.

“Hang on,” he murmured to her. “If you die, I’ll fence your fancy bracelet and get all the money. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”