Hired To Protect Him, Falling For Him

Chapter 8: The Light Was Already On

Author's Note: Family guide - Marcus is Elias's half-brother (same father, different mothers). Leena is Elias's full sister (same father, same mother) and Marcus's half-sister. That's why this revenge hurts so much.

The elevator doors opened.

The penthouse was bright. Too bright. Every single light was on. Every lamp, every recessed light, every kitchen light. Blazing white across the marble floor and the glass walls. It was wrong. Elias lives in the dark. He hates bright lights. He told me once that darkness is the only place he feels safe.

Someone turned on every light to send a message. I am here. I found you. I got inside your fortress.

I moved first. I shoved Elias hard back against the elevator wall and stepped in front of him. My red dress meant nothing now. My hand was already in my clutch, fingers around the cold metal of my Glock 19. I have carried it every day since I was 19 years old.

"Stay in the elevator. Do not move," I hissed at him. My voice was not my date voice anymore. It was my soldier voice. Flat. Dead.

For once, he listened. His bloody bandaged hand slipped off my waist.

I went in low and fast, sweeping the penthouse. Barefoot, silent on the freezing marble. Living room - clear. Kitchen island - clear. Terrace doors - locked from inside, no forced entry, no footprints in the rain on the glass. Hallway to the office - dark, but the light from the living room bled into it.

A sound. From the master bedroom. A soft click. Like someone closing a drawer quietly, trying not to be heard.

I took a breath, kicked the bedroom door open hard with my bare heel, gun up, both hands, finger off the trigger until I saw the target.

And I froze.

A woman was sitting on the edge of Elias's huge black bed. Blonde, maybe 24, perfect. White designer dress, perfect hair, perfect makeup, even though she was crying. She was clutching a tiny white Birkin bag in her lap like it was a shield. Her mascara was not even smudged when she cried. That kind of girl.

I knew her face. I had seen it in the file Elias gave me on his first day as my client. Before he was my client.

Clara Hale. His ex-fiancee. The one who was supposed to marry him before Lena died. The one who left him when he became, in her words, "too dark, too broken."

"Oh my god! Oh my god, Elias!" She saw us and burst into louder, prettier sobs. "He found me! He found me in Paris! He gave me the key! He said you would kill me if I didn't come!"

Elias came up behind me despite my order. He saw her, and his whole body went stiff.

"Clara?" His voice was raw. Shocked. Not happy. I'm not angry. Just empty. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"He sent me!" She looked at me then, at my gun pointed at her head, and flinched.

"Marcus! Marcus Thorne sent me! He was at my apartment in Paris! He said you tried to kill him three years ago! He said you pushed him off the cliff! He said he's alive and he's coming back to finish what you started! He said I'm not safe! He said you would protect me! He gave me this!"

She opened the Birkin with shaking hands and pulled out a small silver key card. Elias's penthouse key card. The private elevator one. The one only three people in the world have.

My blood went cold.

Only Elias has that key. His head of security, Jonah, has one. And Marcus... Marcus had one, three years ago, before he died. Before Elias told everyone, Marcus died in an accident.

Elias took a step forward. I grabbed his arm to stop him. "Don't. It's a trap. Don't touch her, don't touch anything."

"It's not a trap, Elias, I swear!" Clara cried, standing up now, coming toward us, hands out. "He told me to wait here for you! He told me to tell you that Lena was just the beginning! That he will burn everything you love! Just like you burned him!"

That last sentence hit Elias like a bullet.

I saw his face change. All the blood left it. His blue eyes went black again. That look from the car. That looks from the hallway.

"Get out," he whispered. Not loud. But deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that is worse than shouting.

Clara stopped mid-step, shocked. "Elias? I... I came here because I was scared! I thought you still... you still loved me! You promised you'd always protect me!"

"I don't love you," Elias said, his voice getting louder, shaking now, the bandage on his hand starting to bleed through again from how tight he was clenching his fist. "I haven't loved you in three years! Since the night you told me Lena deserved to die because she was weak! Get out of my house! Get out!"

Clara started crying again, louder, uglier this time. Real tears now.

And that was when my phone buzzed. And Elias's phone buzzed. At the exact same second.

Same unknown number.

Same message.

We both looked down.

It was a photo. Live photo, actually, moving. Of us. Right now. From inside this bedroom. Someone took a picture of us from the corner of the room. Me with my gun up. Elias behind me. Clara is crying on the bed.

Under the photo, text:

"Three little birds in a bright cage. Which one should I shoot first? The bodyguard who thinks she's in love? The ex-fiancee who still is? Or should I just burn the whole nest down again like I did with Lena? Your move, little brother. I'm watching. I'm already inside.

- M"

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

He is not watching from the gala. He is not watching from Paris.

He is watching from INSIDE this penthouse. Right now.

There is a camera in this bedroom. Or he is still here.

I spun around, gun up again, scanning the room wildly. The vents. The mirrors. The smoke detector. The bookshelves. Where is the camera? Where is he?

Then I saw it. Small red dot. Blinking. Behind the curtain. On the terrace. Someone had taped a tiny camera to the glass door, facing in.

And behind that curtain, on the terrace, in the pouring rain, I saw the shape of a man's shoes.

Wet footprints leading from the terrace door into the bedroom.

He was here. He had been sitting here, watching Clara wait for us, watching us come in.

And now he is gone. Or he is still on that terrace, watching us read his message.

Elias saw where I was looking. He saw the footprints. He saw the camera.

And he did what I was terrified he would do. He let go of my arm, pushed past me, and ran straight for the terrace doors, straight into the rain, straight into whatever Marcus had left for him, shouting his brother's name like a man who wants to die.

"ELIAS! NO!"