His Captive Attorney

Chapter 2: Max

Darkness is a language I’ve spoken fluently my entire life, but the darkness inside Interrogation Room 4 smelled of ozone, gunsmoke, and the clean, intoxicating scent of Jasmine perfume radiating off Valeria De La Vega.

​She was trembling, though she was fighting with every ounce of her stubborn, aristocratic willpower to hide it. I could feel the rapid, frantic beat of her pulse fluttering beneath my thumb where my grip remained locked around her wrist.

​Three suppressed gunshots. Pacing: double-tap, pause, single-tap.

​Not the police. Professional wetwork. Klaus Eisenhardt had moved faster than I anticipated, sending a clean-up crew to eliminate me the moment he realized Valeria had left his office. Or perhaps—more chillingly—he had sent them to eliminate us both, cutting off the two loose threads tied to his past in one clean, violent stroke.

​"Let go of me," Valeria hissed into the dark, her voice trembling slightly before she forced it back into that sharp, razor-thin lawyer’s cadence. "Release my wrist, Max."

​"I let you go, Counselor, and you panic," I whispered, pulling her half an inch closer until the tips of her soft leather heels bumped against my leather shoes under the table. "You panic, you scream for the guard who’s currently lying in a pool of his own blood in the corridor, and you get a bullet through that brilliant, beautiful brain of yours."

​Outside the steel door, a heavy body hit the floorboards with a dull, wet thud. Then came the soft, sharp hiss of a thermal lance striking against metal—they were burning through the heavy deadbolts from the outside.

​"They're coming for you," Valeria breathed, her chest heaving against mine in the pitch black. "This is your mess."

​"Correction: they're coming for us," I replied calmly, my voice barely a thread of sound.

"Klaus doesn't leave witnesses, Valeria. He never has. You think he sent you here to represent me? He sent you here to keep me in this chair until his hit squad arrived. You were the live bait."

​I felt her stiffen instantly. The realization struck her like a physical blow, breaking through her icy denial. I could practically hear the sharp, hyper-analytical gears turning in her head, replaying her conversation with Klaus in that glitzy Wall Street tower, connecting the dots of her boss’s betrayal.

​"The key," I said, shifting my wrists. The heavy steel handcuffs rattled softly between us. "Reach into my back left pocket. There’s a slim titanium shim tucked inside the seam of my trousers. Get it."

​"I am not aiding an escape—"

​"You want to live long enough to ask Klaus why he executed your father, or do you want to die on a concrete floor smelling of industrial bleach?" I cut in, my voice dropping into a harsh, possessive growl that vibrated against her lips. "Make a choice, Valeria. Right now."

​She swore under her breath—a sharp, elegant Spanish curse that sounded delicious coming from her lips.

​Her free hand moved down my chest, her slender fingers tracing over the dark cotton of my shirt, over the hard line of my ribs, down to my hip. Every point of contact burned through the fabric like hot coal. She hesitated at my waistline, her breath hitching before she slid her fingers into the narrow back pocket of my trousers.

​Her knuckles brushed against the bare skin of my lower back. I gritted my teeth, locking down the dangerous, volatile spike of arousal that surged through my veins at her touch. The woman was an absolute storm of contradictions—ice on the outside, wild fire underneath.

​"I have it," she whispered, pulling out the paper-thin strip of flexible steel.

​"Good. Now hold my left wrist steady."

​Despite the pitch darkness, her hands were remarkably precise. Ten years of practicing high-stakes corporate litigation had given her fingers a surgeon’s control. She guided the shim into the keyhole of the restraint.

With two practiced flicks of my thumb against her guiding grip—click, click—the double-lock mechanism gave way.

​The heavy iron cuffs dropped onto the steel table with a soft clatter.

​I didn't waste a microsecond. The moment my hands were free, I cupped the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her silky dark hair, and pulled her down with me beneath the heavy metal interrogation table just as the door's top lock burst in a shower of brilliant white sparks.

​The heavy steel door was kicked inward with brutal force, slamming against the concrete wall.

​Two men swept into the room, bathed in the faint green glow of night-vision optics mounted on their helmets. They moved with practiced military precision, their suppressed submachine guns raised, sweeping the room.

​"Target isn't in the chair!" one of them barked in a raspy Eastern European accent. "Sweep the—"

​Before he could finish the sentence, I lunged from beneath the table. I grabbed the barrel of his submachine gun, driving it upward as a two-shot burst tore harmlessly into the concrete ceiling. In one fluid motion, I drove my palm upward into his chin, stripping the weapon from his grip, and used his momentum to throw him directly into the path of the second operator.

​As the second gunman stumbled back, I brought the captured submachine gun up and squeezed the trigger. Three quick, suppressed rounds struck the second operator squarely in the chest plate, dropping him to his knees before a final shot finished the job. The first man scrambled to draw his sidearm, but I stepped inside his guard, driving the butt of the rifle hard into his temple. He collapsed in a heap, motionless.

​Silence slammed back into the room, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the sharp smell of cordite and copper.

​I leaned down, stripped a low-profile comms radio and a tactical red-light pen from the fallen operator’s vest, and clicked the beam on, pointing it strictly at the floor to avoid revealing our location.

​Valeria was pressed flat against the wall beneath the metal table, her tailored suit jacket rumpled, her designer heels abandoned on the floor, her dark eyes wide with adrenaline. She wasn't looking at the dead men. She was looking at me—at the cold, lethal precision I had executed in seconds.

​"You're a monster," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

​"I'm a survivor, Counselor," I said, extending a hand down to her. "And if you want to stay one too, you'll take my hand."

​She stared at my palm for an agonizing second. I could see the war waging behind her dark eyes—the law-abiding attorney battling the grieving daughter who wanted answers.

​Slowly, she reached out, placing her small, cold hand in mine.

​The moment her fingers locked around my palm, I pulled her to her feet with tight control, bringing her flush against my chest once more. I didn't let go. I slotted the earpiece into my ear and adjusted the frequency dial.

​A burst of static crackled in my ear before Sienna’s sharp voice cut through. "Boss? Report. Primary security feed is killed, but local police units are responding to the silent alarm."

​"Interrogation room is clear," I spoke softly into the lapel mic. "We're moving. What's the secondary situation?"

​"Klaus realized the hit squad was delayed. He just dispatched a secondary team directly to Valeria's apartment uptown. Max... her brother Mateo is still inside."

​Beside me, Valeria froze. Though she couldn't hear Sienna's exact voice, my immediate silence and the tightening of my jaw gave it away. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her skin as pale as porcelain.

​"What is it?" she choked out, her grip on my hand tightening until her knuckles turned white. "Max, what did she say? My brother—"

​"Klaus sent a team to your apartment," I said directly, holding her gaze so she couldn't spiral into blind panic. "He's trying to secure Mateo before we can reach him."

​"No... no, oh God, Mateo," she gasped, her breathing turning shallow as sheer terror broke through her legal armor. She pulled against my grip, trying to rush toward the door. "I have to call him, I have to—"

​I grabbed her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look directly into my eyes, trapping her frantic gaze with mine.

​"Listen to me very carefully, Valeria," I commanded, my voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding growl. "Your brother is alive, and I am going to get him out of that building before Klaus's men even cross the lobby. But from this exact second, your old life is over. You don't call the police, you don't go back to your firm, and you don't step an inch away from my side. Do you understand me?"

​She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly against mine, her dark eyes burning with a chaotic mixture of terror, outrage, and a dark, undeniable spark of reliance.

​"I understand," she whispered.

​"Good. Now hold on tight."

​I unclipped the submachine gun, pulled Valeria firmly behind my shoulder, and led her out into the dark, blood-stained corridor toward the sub-basement freight elevator—and into the war we were about to wage together.