HER RUTHLESS SALVATION

CHAPTER 13: BANG!

The basement door closed behind Damien with a finality that sounded like a death sentence. Darkness swallowed him whole, and Ellie was left alone with only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the war raging above.

The gun was a dead weight in her palm. Black. Sleek. Cold enough to burn. Damien had pressed it into her hand like it was a promise.

_If he gets past me, you shoot him. Between the eyes. No hesitation, no mercy._

Her hands were shaking. Not from fear. From the weight of what he’d asked her to do.

Above her, glass shattered. Gunfire cracked like lightning through the mansion.

_Rule number twenty, Ellie. You survive. Even if I don’t._

Her chest cracked open. “Don’t you dare die on me, Damien Ashford,” she whispered to the closed door.

Footsteps. Measured. Confident. Cruel. Coming down.

The hidden door behind the painting creaked. A thin line of red emergency light cut through the darkness. Ellie’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She raised the gun with both hands, just like Damien had shown her. Finger off the trigger. Aim for the eyes.

The door opened wider. Light spilled in. And with it, a man.

Tall. Broad shoulders that mirrored Damien’s. Same jawline. But where Damien was night, this man was winter. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Cold like the ocean that had almost killed Damien at twelve.

“Hello, Ellie,” he said. His voice was smooth and cultured. “I’m Adrian. Damien’s dear half-brother.”

Ellie’s finger moved to the trigger. “Stay back.”

Adrian laughed softly. “You’re trembling. He gave you a gun but didn’t teach you how to use it, did he? Possessive but careless.”

He took one step forward. “He’s busy dying right now. Which means I have time for you.”

Another step. “You’re pretty. But you don’t belong to him, little dove. You belong to the Ashfords who actually deserve the name.”

_Rule number eighteen point five: I don’t share what’s mine._

Ellie remembered Damien’s lips on hers just minutes ago. His voice, rough from the kiss: _No one touches you. Except me._

Adrian reached for her. But Damien’s touch was a claim. Adrian’s touch would be a cage.

Something in Ellie snapped.

She was tired of running. Tired of being a prize.

Rule number twenty-one echoed in her head. _I always win._

Ellie raised the gun. Both hands are steady now. For the first time since she ran from the Castrovilla name, she wasn’t the prey.

She was the hunter.

“Rule number twenty-one,” she said. The voice was quiet but cutting through the gunfire above. “I always win.”

She pulled the trigger.

*BANG.*

The sound swallowed the basement. Adrian stumbled back, a red bloom spreading across his white shirt. Shock in his blue eyes.

“You shot me,” he choked out.

Ellie stared at the gun. At the smoke curling from the barrel. Her hands were steady.

She’d done it. Her first shot.

And upstairs, everything went silent. Because Damien had heard it.

“ELLIE!”

His voice tore through the mansion. Raw. Torn open. Panic and fury.

Ellie dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor.

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up. Up the marble stairs two at a time. Through the hidden door.

Because rule number nineteen was simple now. No one touches her. And no one touches _him_.

She burst through the basement door and into chaos.

The foyer was a warzone. Damien stood in the center of it all. His black suit was torn at the shoulder. Blood on his knuckles. His gun raised at Adrian.

But Damien wasn’t looking at his brother. His steel gray eyes—black with rage—were locked on Ellie.

She froze in the doorway, breathing hard. Damien’s gaze swept over her, checking if she was whole. His whole body was coiled, ready to kill.

But he didn’t move. Because she was standing. Breathing. Alive.

Adrian laughed, wet and broken. “She shot me, brother. Your little dove has claws.”

Damien didn’t turn. “Rule number nineteen,” he said. Voice low. Dangerous. “No one touches her.”

He took one step toward Ellie. Then another. When he reached her, he just looked. Really looked. At her face. The way she was standing on her own two feet, spine straight.

Not the runaway girl from the alley anymore.

His hand came up, thumb brushing plaster dust from her cheekbone. Too gentle for a man who’d just been in a gunfight.

“You fired it,” he said quietly.

“You told me to. If he got past you,” Ellie whispered. Then stronger: “But I’m not surviving without you, Damien. Not anymore.”

Something shifted in his eyes. The black receded. Gray returned, hotter now.

Behind him, Adrian groaned. “This is touching, but I’m still bleeding—”

Damien turned his head half an inch. The temperature in the room dropped.

“Rule number twenty-one,” Damien said without looking away from Ellie. “I always win.”

He raised his gun.

“Half,” Damien corrected. The word was "ice." “And brothers don’t try to drown each other at twelve.”

*BANG.*

Adrian hit the floor.

Ellie flinched but didn’t look away. She’d chosen this. Chosen him.

Damien lowered his gun slowly and turned back to her. Full attention. Like the dead man didn’t exist. Like only she existed.

“You came up,” he said. Voice is rough. “I told you to stay.”

“I know,” Ellie said, stepping closer. “But rule number eighteen has a loophole. When you say hide, I hide. But you didn’t say hide forever.”

A ghost of a smile touched Damien’s lips. “You disobeyed me.”

“I saved you,” Ellie corrected, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “That counts for something, doesn’t it? ”

Damien’s hand closed over her wrist. “Rule number twenty-two. You never run from me again. Not from danger. Not from this.”

He lowered his head, forehead pressing to hers. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered. For the first time, Damien Ashford sounded vulnerable. “When I heard that shot—”

“You thought wrong,” Ellie cut him off, arms sliding around his neck. “I’m not dying. Not today. Not ever.”

Damien’s arms tightened around her. The gun clattered to the floor from his hand.

“You’re bleeding,” Ellie said.

“It’s not mine,” Damien said. Echoing her lie from the alley.

"Liar." Ellie huffed a laugh.

Damien’s mouth curved. A real smile, small and sharp, just for her. Then his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Ellie,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

Damien kissed her. Not desperate. This was claiming. This was _mine_. His hand fisted in her hair, lips moving over hers with reverence.

When he pulled back, both were breathing hard.

“Rule number twenty-three,” Damien said against her mouth.

“There’s no rule twenty-three." Ellie smiled against his lips.

“There is now. Rule number twenty-three: You’re mine. Not because I bought your debt. But because you chose to stand beside me. Gun in your hand. Fire in your eyes. My equal.”

Ellie’s breath caught. “I’m not like you, Damien.”

“No,” Damien agreed, kissing her temple. “You’re better.”

Footsteps. Guards appeared. “Sir, the ship is sinking. His men are retreating.”

Damien didn’t look away. “Clean it up. No witnesses. No traces.”

Silence fell again. Damien picked up the gun and pressed it back into Ellie’s hand.

“Rule number twenty-four. You carry this always. Because you’re not my weakness anymore, Ellie. You’re my strength.”

He pressed her hand, gun and all, over his heart.

Ellie stared at him. The girl who ran from hunters in the rain was gone.

In her place stood a woman with a gun in her hand and a monster at her side.

The storm was over.

But the war was just beginning.

And this time, she wasn’t running from it.

She was walking into it.

Beside him.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._