His Captive Attorney

Chapter 3: Valeria

The air in the sub-basement freight elevator smelled of grease, rust, and the sharp, metallic tang of my own fear.

​Every heavy jerk of the cable sent a jolt straight up my spine. Ten minutes ago, I was Valeria De La Vega: top defense litigator, senior associate on the fast track to partner, a woman whose life was mapped out in leather-bound volumes and billable hours. Now, I was standing in a cold steel box with a murderer, my designer pumps left somewhere in the pool of dark blood on Interrogation Room 4’s floor.

​I stared down at my hands. They were trembling violently. Small, dark smudges of carbon and dried blood stained my knuckles, a stark contrast to my immaculate manicure.

​Max stood beside me, his long, broad frame filling the cramped elevator. He hadn't said a word since we cleared the stairwell. He was methodically checking the chamber of the stolen submachine gun, his dark eyes focused and terrifyingly calm. The red light from the elevator’s emergency control panel carved sharp, shadowy angles across his face, accentuating the razor line of his jaw and the dark stubble along his cheek.

​"You're going to get him killed," I said, my voice cracking before I forced it into an icy, unyielding blade. "My brother is twenty-two years old, Max. He’s a college student sitting in an apartment with a laptop. If Klaus’s men break down that door—"

​"If Klaus’s men break down that door, Mateo’s survival depends entirely on how fast we move, not how much you panic," Max interrupted without looking up from his weapon. He locked the magazine back into place with a sharp, resonant clack. "Your brother isn't just a college student, Valeria. He’s the one who bypassed three firewalls on the syndicate's Cayman server thirty minutes ago."

​My heart dropped into my stomach like a stone. "What?"

​"He’s brilliant," Max said, finally turning those dark, shattered-ice eyes onto me.

"Dangerous, reckless, and brilliant. He’s been digging into your father's old case files for months. Why do you think I picked today to get arrested? I needed Klaus to deploy his clean-up protocol so Mateo could trace the active IP addresses originating from Eisenhardt & Associates."

​"You used him," I breathed, stepping close enough to shove my finger against his hard chest. The muscle beneath his dark, rain-soaked shirt felt like solid marble. "You used my brother as bait!"

​"I gave him the tool he’s been praying for since he was twelve years old," Max corrected, taking a slow, deliberate step forward until my back hit the cold steel wall of the elevator. He didn't touch me, but his shadow engulfed me entirely, trapping me in his heat. "I gave him the truth. And right now, that truth is the only thing keeping him alive, because Sienna is currently patch-routing his phone to an encrypted satellite loop."

​"Sienna," I repeated, my breath hitching as his proximity threatened to scramble my thoughts. "Your operative."

​"My second-in-command," Max purred, his gaze dropping to my mouth before rising back to my eyes. "And the woman who is currently running every red light in a customized armored SUV to reach your uptown apartment before Klaus's hit team does."

​DING.

​The heavy freight doors groaned and slid open, revealing the damp, cavernous expanse of an underground service tunnel beneath the precinct. A black, reinforced SUV sat idling in the shadows, its headlights off, its dark-tinted windows reflecting the dim amber safety lights of the tunnel.

​As we stepped out onto the damp concrete, sharp gravel dug into the soles of my bare feet, making me wince and stumble. Before I could fall, Max’s arm shot out, catching me by the waist and pulling me effortlessly against his side. He reached into the open rear hatch of the SUV, pulled out a pair of black tactical slip-on shoes, and tossed them at my feet.

​"Put those on," he commanded softly. "You can't fight a war barefoot, Counselor."

​I shoved my feet into the oversized tactical shoes, tightening the cinch straps so I could move without tripping. The driver’s side door swung open, and an athletic woman with sharp features, dark braided hair, and tactical gear stepped out, holding a silenced pistol lowered at her side.

​"We have a problem, Boss," Sienna called out, her tone clipped and efficient. "NYPD locked down the block faster than expected. Inspector Ortega is on scene."

​Max’s jaw tightened. "Ortega?"

​"In the flesh. He’s coordinating the outer perimeter right now," Sienna said, her eyes flicking over me with cool, assessing judgment. "And your lawyer friend's apartment? I tapped the local precinct's dispatch traffic. Klaus's team just breached the building's main lobby."

​A cold, suffocating wave of terror gripped my chest. "Mateo," I gasped, moving toward the vehicle before Max’s heavy hand clamped around my upper arm, halting me in my tracks.

​"Get in the back," Max commanded, his voice leaving zero room for argument.

​"I am not sitting in the back like a hostage while my brother—"

​"Valeria," Max growled, leaning down so his lips almost brushed the shell of my ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"You want to save him? Get in the car, put on a seatbelt, and let me do what I do best."

​I glared at him, pure hatred and an inexplicable, terrifying pulse of reliance warring inside my chest. I snatched my arm out of his grip, ducked into the leather interior of the SUV, and slammed the heavy door behind me.

​Max slid into the front passenger seat, while Sienna slammed the driver's door, jammed the gear shift into drive, and stomped on the accelerator. The armored vehicle roared to life, its heavy tires screeching against the wet concrete as we launched forward into the pitch-black exit tunnel.

​Sienna wove the heavy armored SUV through Lower Manhattan traffic like a phantom, blowing past red lights and surging onto the FDR Drive to cover the distance toward 84th Street in record time.

Rain lashed against the armored windshield in relentless sheets.

​I pulled out my personal phone. The screen illuminated my face in a pale blue glow.

​Incoming Live Encrypted Call: Mateo.

​With shaking fingers, I slid the icon to answer, pressing the phone frantically to my ear over the roar of the SUV’s engine.

​"Mateo!" I cried out. "Mateo, stay where you are!"

​"Val... Val, oh God, pick up!" Mateo’s panicked, hushed voice leaked through the speaker, accompanied by the muffled background sound of heavy boots slamming against hard wood floors.

"Someone's outside the unit door. They cut the power to the floor. I downloaded the files like the ghost user instructed, but... Val, they have heavy weapons. I’m locked in the bathroom. Please—"

​A loud, violent crash echoed through the speaker—the sound of a heavy oak door being breached off its hinges—followed by a sharp burst of static before the call dropped dead.

​"Max!" I screamed, slamming my hands against the back of his headrest. "They're inside! They breached the apartment!"

​Max didn't turn around, but his knuckles turned white where he gripped the dashboard as Sienna threw the SUV into a violent drift, tires screaming as we exited toward Upper Manhattan.

​"Sienna, bypass the main avenue," Max ordered, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly low, lethal register. "Take the alley behind 84th Street. We're going in hot."

​"Max, there are four armed hostiles in that unit," Sienna warned, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "If we blow the entry, Mateo gets caught in the crossfire."

​"He won't," Max said softly. He pulled a heavy matte-black handgun from the glove compartment, racked the slide with a brutal, metallic clack, and looked at his reflection in the side mirror. "Because I'm taking the lead."

​I leaned back against the leather seat, my chest heaving, my mind spinning into a terrifying abyss. I was an officer of the court. I believed in warrants, trials, and due process.

​And now, I was hurtling through a torrential storm toward a bloodbath, putting my brother's life in the hands of a man who looked at chaos like an old friend—and looked at me like a prize he had no intention of ever letting go.

​As the SUV roared through the final alley, the rain pounding relentlessly against the glass, Max turned his head slightly, meeting my wide, terrified eyes in the rearview mirror.

​"Hold on, Valeria," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with dark, possessive certainty. "Your real trial starts now."