THE DEVIL'S VOW

The Bullet

Time stopped.

Isabella watched in horror as Lucian's body jerked backward, his arms flying out, his face contorted in pain. He hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the pavement, and for one terrible moment, he didn't move.

"Lucian!" she screamed.

The scarred man laughed, lowering his gun. "One down. Now bring me the girl."

But Isabella wasn't listening. She was already moving, her body acting on instinct before her mind could catch up. She dropped to her knees beside Lucian, her hands frantically searching for the wound.

Blood. So much blood. It was pouring from his shoulder, dark and thick, staining his jacket crimson. But his chest was still moving—shallow, ragged breaths that meant he was alive.

"Stay with me," she whispered. "Please stay with me."

Lucian's eyes fluttered open, unfocused but aware. "Isa..."

"I'm here. I'm right here."

"Run." His voice was barely audible. "You have to run."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Stubborn woman." But there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, even now, even with blood seeping through her fingers. "Always have to... do things your way."

The scarred man was approaching, his footsteps slow and deliberate. "How touching. A dying man and his devoted wife. Too bad it won't save either of you."

Isabella looked up, her eyes blazing with fury. "You'll have to kill me first."

"That can be arranged."

He raised his gun.

And then the world exploded.

---

The first shot came from somewhere to the left—a sharp crack that sent the scarred man spinning, his weapon flying from his hand. The second shot took down the man beside him. The third, the fourth, the fifth—a symphony of violence that turned the parking lot into a war zone.

Isabella threw herself over Lucian, shielding him with her body, as bullets whizzed past her head. She could hear shouting, screaming, the roar of engines. Through the chaos, she saw figures emerging from the shadows—not the Vale Group's men, but others, dressed in black tactical gear, moving with deadly precision.

Thomas Reilly.

The old fisherman was standing at the edge of the lot, a rifle in his hands, his weathered face set in grim determination. Beside him, the innkeeper was firing a pistol with surprising accuracy.

"I told you to run," Thomas shouted at her. "Why doesn't anyone ever listen?"

Isabella didn't have time to answer. One of the Vale Group's men was charging toward her, a knife glinting in his hand. She rolled off Lucian, grabbing a handful of gravel and throwing it in the man's face. He screamed, clawing at his eyes, and she kicked him hard in the knee. He went down.

"Nice move," Lucian rasped from behind her.

"Stay down."

"Not a chance."

He was on his feet somehow—pale, swaying, blood still pouring from his shoulder—but standing. He grabbed Isabella's arm and pulled her toward the inn.

"Back door," he said. "Now."

They ran.

---

The back door led to a narrow alley that opened onto a side street. Lucian's SUV was parked three blocks away, hidden behind a boarded-up warehouse. They stumbled toward it, Lucian leaning heavily on Isabella, his breathing ragged.

"You're losing too much blood," she said.

"I've had worse."

"Liar."

"Maybe." He coughed, and she saw blood on his lips. "But I'm not dying tonight. Not when we're this close."

They reached the SUV. Isabella helped Lucian into the passenger seat, then ran around to the driver's side. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the keys.

"Do you know how to drive?" Lucian asked.

"I grew up in Brooklyn. Of course I know how to drive."

"Then drive."

She floored the accelerator.

---

They sped through the dark Maine roads, the headlights cutting through the fog. Isabella's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, watching for headlights.

Behind her, Lucian was fading. His head lolled against the window, his face pale as death, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Talk to me," she said. "Keep talking."

"About what?"

"Anything. Tell me about your parents. Tell me about MIT. Tell me about the first time you got arrested."

A weak laugh. "You want my criminal record?"

"I want you to stay awake."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I got arrested for climbing the Statue of Liberty. I told you that."

"You told Matteo that. Tell me the real story."

Another laugh, weaker this time. "I was fourteen. My father had just told me he was grooming me to take over the company. I was angry—I didn't want to be a businessman. I wanted to be an astronaut."

"An astronaut?"

"I was fourteen. I had dreams." He coughed. "So I climbed the Statue of Liberty to prove that I could do something daring. Something brave. Something that had nothing to do with spreadsheets."

"And you got arrested."

"And I got arrested. My father was furious. But my mother..." His voice softened. "My mother laughed. She said it was the bravest thing she'd ever seen."

Isabella's heart clenched. "She sounds wonderful."

"She was. She was everything." His voice cracked. "I miss her every day."

"I know." Isabella reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know."

---

They found a motel an hour later—a rundown place off the highway, the kind of place that took cash and didn't ask questions. Isabella helped Lucian inside, her arms wrapped around his waist, his blood staining her clothes.

The room was small and dirty, but it had a bed and a bathroom and a door that locked. She laid Lucian on the bed and went to work.

The bullet had gone through his shoulder—a clean exit wound, thank God. But he'd lost a lot of blood, and infection was a real risk. She cleaned the wound with the first aid kit she'd found in the SUV, stitching it closed with a needle and thread she'd sterilized with lighter fluid.

Lucian gritted his teeth through the whole thing, his hand gripping the bedsheet so hard his knuckles went white. But he didn't scream. He didn't even cry out.

"You're good at this," he said when she was done.

"I've had practice." She tied off the last stitch. "Matteo's had a lot of accidents. And I've patched up more than a few protesters."

"A woman of many talents."

"Rest. You need to rest."

He caught her hand before she could pull away. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving my life."

Isabella looked at him—pale, wounded, exhausted—and felt something shift in her chest. Something she didn't want to name.

"You saved mine first," she said. "You stepped in front of that gun."

"I'd do it again."

"Why?"

He met her eyes, and in them she saw something raw, something vulnerable, something that made her breath catch.

"Because you're worth saving," he said. "You're worth everything."

Isabella didn't know what to say. So she said nothing. She just sat beside him, her hand in his, and watched over him until he fell asleep.

---

Thomas Reilly found them the next morning.

Isabella was sitting by the window, watching the sun rise over the highway, when she heard the knock. She tensed, her hand reaching for the gun Lucian had given her, but then she heard a familiar voice.

"It's me. Open up."

She opened the door.

Thomas Reilly stood on the doorstep, looking older than he had last night, more tired. But his eyes were sharp, and there was no fear in them.

"You led them straight to us," he said.

"I didn't know—"

"I know you didn't." He stepped inside, his gaze falling on Lucian, who was still asleep on the bed. "How is he?"

"Alive. Barely."

"He's lucky. That bullet missed his heart by two inches."

Isabella's stomach lurched. "How do you know that?"

"I'm a fisherman. I've seen my share of gunshot wounds." Thomas sat in the chair by the door, his eyes never leaving Lucian. "He's also the man who's been trying to take down the Vale Group for fifteen years. That makes him a target."

"And you?" Isabella asked. "Why did you help us?"

Thomas was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph.

"This is David Chen," he said. "Three years ago, he came to Port Haven looking for answers. He found them. And then he disappeared."

Isabella's heart stopped. "You knew David?"

"I knew him. I helped him. And when the Vale Group came looking for him, I helped him hide."

"Hide?" Isabella's voice cracked. "He's alive?"

Thomas nodded slowly. "He's alive. He's been hiding for three years, moving from place to place, trying to stay one step ahead of the people who want him dead."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He doesn't tell me—it's safer that way." Thomas leaned forward. "But I know how to contact him. And I know he's been waiting for you."

"For me?"

"He said you'd come looking for him. He said you were the only one who wouldn't give up." Thomas smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "He was right."

Isabella's eyes filled with tears. Three years. Three years of searching, of hoping, of refusing to believe the worst. And now, finally, she had her answer.

David was alive.

"Can you contact him?" she asked. "Can you tell him I'm here?"

Thomas nodded. "I can try. But it'll take time. And you need to be careful—the Vale Group knows you're in Maine. They'll be hunting for you."

"We can handle it."

"Can you?" Thomas looked at Lucian, still unconscious on the bed. "He's in no shape to fight. And you—" He studied her. "You're brave. But bravery isn't enough against men like them."

"I have help."

"Do you?"

Isabella thought of Maya, waiting back in New York. She thought of her contacts in the activist community, the people who'd been hurt by the Vale Group, the allies she'd been building for years.

"I have more help than you know," she said.

Thomas studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Alright. I'll make contact with David. But you need to get out of Maine—now. There's a safe house in Vermont, outside a town called Hollow Creek. Go there. Wait for my signal."

"What signal?"

"You'll know it when you see it." Thomas stood, pulling on his coat. "And take care of him." He nodded at Lucian. "He's worth saving."

"I know," Isabella said.

Thomas paused at the door. "One more thing. The men who attacked you last night—they weren't just Vale Group. They were led by a man named Julian Vance."

Isabella's blood ran cold. "Vance? But he was arrested."

"He was released. Two days ago. Someone pulled strings." Thomas's jaw tightened. "He's out there, and he's coming for you. Both of you."

And then he was gone, leaving Isabella alone with a wounded man, a fading hope, and the terrifying knowledge that the worst was yet to come.