The Gunshots
1302 Words
The gunshot was still ringing in my ears. For several seconds, I couldn't move. I stood frozen behind Bryan, staring at the shattered window while fragments of glass glittered across the marble floor.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Another sharp sound came from somewhere beyond the penthouse. Not a gunshot this time.
Footsteps.
Bryan's entire body changed. The man who had been standing beside me moments ago disappeared beneath a layer of cold, lethal control.
“Stay behind me, Laura.”
His voice was quiet. Too quiet but firm. I swallowed.
“Bryan”
“Don't move.”
He reached beneath his jacket and drew his weapon. I had never seen anyone look so calm while holding a gun. He moved toward the window, keeping his body between me and the broken glass. I followed his instructions. For once, I didn't argue.
Bryan pressed a finger against the communication device attached to his ear.
“Lock down the entire floor.”
A voice answered immediately.
“Already done, sir.”
“Seal the elevators.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And nobody enters this suite without my authorization.”
I stared at him. The order sounded less like a request and more like a death sentence. Then something moved outside the broken window. Bryan raised his weapon.
“Whoever you are,” he called, “you have three seconds to show yourself.”
There was silence. One second. Two. Three.
Nothing. Bryan fired. The sound exploded through the room and I flinched. A figure outside the adjoining balcony collapsed behind the railing. Bryan immediately crossed the room. I grabbed his arm.
“Don't.”
He looked down at my hand. For a brief second, something softer passed through his eyes. Then it vanished.
“I need to know who sent him.”
“It's dangerous.”
“So is leaving him alive.”
He gently removed my fingers from his sleeve.
“Stay here.”
“Bryan.”
“Laura.”
The way he said my name stopped me. It wasn't commanding this time. It was almost pleading.
“Please.”
That single word unsettled me more than the gunshot. I nodded and he disappeared through the adjoining door.I remained where I was, listening. A minute passed. Then another. My imagination filled the silence with every possible nightmare. What if there were more of them? What if Bryan was hurt? What if...
The door opened. I turned sharply. Bryan stepped inside. There was a small cut above his eyebrow. Blood traced a thin line down his temple. My breath caught.
“You're hurt.”
“It's nothing.”
I moved toward him before I could stop myself.
“Sit.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That's an order?”
“Yes.”
Something almost resembling amusement flickered in his eyes.
“You're getting bold.”
“You're bleeding on my floor.” I said teasingly.
“Your floor?”
That moment our eyes met, a slow smile curved across my lips before I could stop it. It wasn't practiced or deliberate. It simply happened, as though some invisible spark had leaped between us. Warmth fluttered through my chest, and my pulse skipped a beat.
Our eyes remained locked for a heartbeat longer, letting the smile linger. There was something playful in it, something that silently dared him to wonder what I was thinking. His expression changed almost instantly, surprise melting into fascination.
Without a single word, the air between us seemed to tighten. The noise around us faded into the background as though the world had stepped aside. My smile wasn't loud or dramatic, but it carried a quiet confidence that made the moment feel charged with possibility.
In a long while, I understood how a single smile could trigger some undeniable feelings.
Bryan actually smiled. It lasted barely a second. But I saw it. And strangely, the sight made my chest tighten.
He sat, and I grabbed a clean cloth from the bathroom and returned. When I reached toward his forehead, he caught my wrist. Our eyes met. The room suddenly became too quiet. His fingers were warm around my wrist. My pulse jumped.
“So,” I whispered, “the terrifying Bryan Nimrod can bleed.”
He looked at my lips.
“And apparently, Laura Sanders can worry.”
“I don't worry.”
“You've been staring at this cut for thirty seconds.”
“Because you're making a mess.”
His mouth opened slightly.
“Of course.”
I dabbed the blood away. Neither of us spoke. But something had changed. The tension between us wasn't only fear anymore. It was something warmer. Something neither of us seemed willing to name.
When I finished, I pulled my hand away. Bryan caught it again.
“Thank you.”
Two simple words. Yet they sounded strangely intimate coming from him. I looked into his eyes.
“You're welcome.”
He released me slowly. Then his expression hardened.
“Now we need to talk.”
---
Bryan led me toward the study.
A large monitor displayed security footage from the surrounding buildings. The image showed the man who had fired at the penthouse.
He was unconscious. Two of Bryan's security officers stood over him.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“That's what I'm trying to determine.”
“You don't know?”
“No.”
He enlarged the image. The man's face appeared on the screen. Bryan studied it.
“He isn't one of Richard's regular contractors.”
My stomach tightened.
“You know Richard's men?”
“I know more about your family than you realize.”
I turned toward him.
“Then tell me.”
He remained silent.
“Bryan.”
He looked strangely at me.
“Richard has been moving money through shell companies for years.”
“How long?”
“Before your mother died.”
The words struck me like a physical blow. I stared at him.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected my uncle was stealing from my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because suspicion isn't evidence.”
I stepped closer.
“And my mother's death?”
Bryan's expression changed. He looked away and that frightened me more than anything else.
“What do you know about my mother's death?”
“Not enough.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only one I can give you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
His honesty made me angrier.
“You keep telling me there are things I can't know.”
“Because knowing them could get you killed.”
“You already told me they want me dead.”
Our eyes met
“Exactly.”
“Who?”
There was silence.
“Richard?”
“No.”
“Chloe?”
“Possibly.”
“Then who?”
Bryan walked toward the window.
“That's what I'm trying to find out.”
I followed him.
“You said someone was trying to kill you this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Was it connected to Richard?”
“I don't think so.”
That surprised me.
“Then who was the target?”
“My security team believes the shooter was part of an unrelated operation.”
“Unrelated?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“A classified transfer was taking place in the building this morning. Someone wanted access to it. The attack wasn't about you.”
I breathed out slowly.
“So I'm not the target.”
“Not this time.”
The words should have comforted me. They didn't because, the way Bryan said them made me realize there could be a next time.
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