Dirty Saint

Chapter Two

The copper stench of burnt gunpowder cut through the heavy smoke filling the corridors of Velvet Rouge.

Adrian Volkov, the undisputed king of the Parisian underworld, stood over the crumpled body of the assassin he had just dropped with two clinical shots to the chest. Smoke curled from the barrel of his weapon as his icy gaze shifted to the woman trembling against the wall.

Vanessa’s blood had turned entirely to ice.

She wasn't looking at Adrian. She was staring at the doorway where another armed mercenary stood, his weapon trained directly on her chest. The hitman’s teeth flashed in a sickening grin beneath the strobe of the club's emergency lights.

"There she is," the mercenary snarled into his comms. "Forget the billionaire. We take the girl."

"Behind me," Adrian commanded. His voice wasn't panicked; it was lethal.

Before the hitman could pull his trigger, Adrian fired twice. The deafening cracks echoed off the narrow concrete walls, and the attacker collapsed instantly into a spreading pool of crimson.

Vanessa stumbled backward, her breath hitching in her throat. She had never seen life leave a body before not this close, not with the smell of death instantly clogging her lungs.

"Move," Adrian ordered coldly, grabbing her wrist in a vice grip that offered no room for negotiation.

Chaos had completely swallowed Velvet Rouge. The ear-piercing shriek of fire alarms wailed over the intercom. High-paying clients trampled one another to reach the VIP exits while security exchanged heavy automatic fire with the invaders downstairs.

Vanessa’s heels slipped on broken glass as Adrian dragged her ruthlessly down a rear service hallway.

"What is happening?!" she yelled over the din. "Why are they targeting me? I'm just a dancer!"

Adrian didn’t answer. His silence sent a fresh spike of terror straight up her spine.

Suddenly, the heavy metal door at the end of the hall burst inward. Two more masked operatives stormed through, weapons drawn. "Volkov!"

Adrian reacted with terrifying, fluid speed. He shoved Vanessa violently into a recessed alcove, using his own broad frame as a shield. He unleashed three rapid fires. The first operative dropped immediately. The second managed to return fire, bullets ripping through the drywall, showering them in plaster dust.

Vanessa screamed, covering her head as Adrian ducked, grabbed her roughly around the waist, and kicked open a side door, throwing them both into a pitch-black storage room. He slammed the door shut and threw the heavy iron bolt.

Vanessa’s entire body shook violently in the darkness. "They came for me," she whispered, the reality finally crashing down. "This wasn't an attack on your club. It was a hit on me."

Adrian stepped closer, his towering silhouette blocking out what little light filtered under the door. "Think very carefully, Vanessa. Who did you run from before you came to my club?"

"Nobody! I don't know anyone dangerous!"

Before Adrian could press further, the radio at his lapel buzzed. His right-hand man's voice cut through the static, strained and breathless. "Boss... they bypassed our perimeter. They didn't come to assassinate you. They just took Moreau."

Adrian’s jaw tightened, a terrifying, quiet fury settling over his features. "What are the terms?"

"They want a trade, boss. They’re demanding the dancer. They said if we don't deliver Vanessa to the docks in twenty minutes, they start sending Moreau back to us piece by piece."

The line went dead.

Vanessa laughed nervously, backing away until her spine hit the storage crates. "No. No, this is a mistake. I don't know any of these people."

Adrian moved into her space, his grip clamping onto her chin, forcing her face up to meet his cold, unreadable stare. "Men carrying military-grade weaponry don't storm a secure syndicate club by mistake. Someone paid a fortune to locate you tonight." He let go of her chin, his expression hardening. "But they made one fatal error."

"What?" she whispered.

"They forgot who bought you first." Adrian pulled a ledger slip from his pocket the private binding contract she had signed just three hours ago in his VIP lounge, trading her exclusive, private services to him for a sum that could clear her family’s debts. "Your contract belongs to me, Vanessa. Every hour of your time, every breath you take in this city, is my property until I say otherwise. And I do not let other men steal what I have paid for."

A loud crash sounded directly outside the storage door.

"They're in here! Clear the rooms!" a gruff voice shouted from the hallway.

Adrian didn't hesitate. He grabbed Vanessa, lifting her effortlessly and pinning her behind a massive stack of wooden crates in the furthest corner of the room. He pressed his body tightly against hers, his hand locking over her mouth to muffle her frantic breathing.

The storage door was kicked off its hinges with a violent bang. Three flashlight beams sliced through the darkness, scanning the room. One operative stepped deeper into the space, his heavy boots crunching on the debris, stopping mere inches from their hiding spot.

Vanessa closed her eyes, her heart hammering so loudly against Adrian's chest she was certain the gunman would hear it. Adrian remained perfectly still, his gun raised, ready to paint the room red if the flashlight drifted an inch further.

Suddenly, a tactical whistle echoed from the corridor. "Target spotted heading toward the parking garage! Move out!"

The men cursed and bolted from the room, their heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

The moment the air cleared, Adrian stepped back, releasing her. The tension in the small room shifted instantly from survival to something deeply suffocating. The scent of rain, expensive cologne, and raw adrenaline hung heavy between them.

"You panic easily for someone who commands the attention of monsters every night," Adrian murmured, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips.

"Dating a monster doesn't mean I want to get killed by one," Vanessa snapped, trying to mask her terror with defiance.

"You're not going to die," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive baritone. "Because you're not leaving my sight."

The heavy oak door opened fully as his elite security detail finally secured the hallway. "Boss, the perimeter is clear. The remaining extraction team is waiting out back."

Adrian led her out of the ruined club. Velvet Rouge was completely destroyed broken crystal chandeliers, shattered mirrors, and smoke-blackened walls. Outside, the Paris rain poured relentlessly, washing blood into the gutters.

A fleet of armored black SUVs waited with engines idling. Adrian opened the heavy rear door, waiting.

"Where are you taking me?" Vanessa asked, hesitating on the wet pavement.

"To my estate," Adrian replied coldly. "The terms of our deal have changed. You’re no longer just a dancer under my payroll, Vanessa. Until I find out who is hunting you, you are my captive."

Realization hit her like a physical blow. She wasn't being protected; she was being secured. She stepped into the vehicle, the heavy door shutting behind her with an airtight, definitive click.

As the SUV tore through the rain-slicked streets of Paris, Adrian’s phone chimed with a secure text alert. He looked at the screen, his expression turning to pure granite. Without a word, he turned the screen toward her.

It was a live surveillance photo of her apartment downtown, the front door kicked off its hinges. Painted across her living room wall in dark, dripping red paint were four words:

**WE KNOW YOUR SECRET**

Vanessa stopped breathing. The trap had closed, and the only man holding the key was the dangerous billionaire sitting right beside her.