Chapter 3 - Whispers in the DarkMidnight descended upon Manhattan, wrapping the towering skyscraper in a shroud of fog and neon lights. High above the bustling streets, inside the penthouse suite, the silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic, deep breathing of Titan sleeping across the rug and the soft sighs of little Penny, who had drifted into a dreamless sleep with her small hand clutched tightly around Willa’s thumb.
Willa sat awake on the edge of the velvet sofa, her mind racing at a fever pitch.
Escape. She had to escape.
The suite had two exits: the main double doors leading to the private elevator lobby, which were undoubtedly guarded by two of Kendrick’s most ruthless enforcers, and a floor-to-ceiling glass balcony sliding door that overlooked the dizzying drop of eighty-eight floors.
Unless she had a parachute, the balcony was a death trap.
Soft, muffled scraping sounds echoed from the hallway outside the main door. Willa froze, holding her breath.
Click.
The heavy iron key turned slowly in the deadbolt.
Someone was unlocking the door from the outside.
Willa gently slipped her thumb out of Penny’s grip, sliding off the sofa with cat-like stealth. She crept toward the heavy velvet drapes near the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing her back against the cool glass.
The door creaked open, just a fraction.
A sliver of light cut across the dark carpet. A tall, slender silhouette slipped into the room, moving with the practiced, silent grace of an assassin. The figure wore a dark trench coat, the collar turned up high, concealing their face in shadows.
It wasn't a guard. It was someone smaller, lighter, but moving with lethal purpose.
The intruder crept toward the sofa where Penny lay sleeping. In the dim light, a metallic flash caught Willa's eye—a long, wicked silencer attached to the muzzle of a pistol.
Panic surged through Willa’s veins, washing away every ounce of fear. Six years ago, she had watched men in dark coats tear her family apart. She had sworn then that she would never hide while someone she cared about—or even an innocent child—was hunted in the dark.
Without thinking, Willa lunged across the coffee table, grabbing a heavy silver crystal decanter.
As the intruder raised the weapon toward the sleeping child, Willa threw herself forward, bringing the heavy crystal base crashing down against the intruder's shoulder.
Crack!
The intruder let out a sharp, breathless gasp, stumbling sideways and dropping the silenced pistol onto the rug.
Before the attacker could recover, Titan erupted from the floor like a dark avalanche. The one-hundred-fifty-pound mastiff slammed into the intruder with bone-crushing force, pinning them to the floor beneath his massive paws. A terrifying, guttural growl vibrated through the suite, shaking the glass on the tables.
"Stay! Down, Titan! Stay!" a commanding voice echoed from the doorway.
Kendrick Ashford stood under the archway, holding a smoking Walther PPK in his right hand, his eyes wide with a terrifying fury. Behind him, the main hallway was lit by the flashing red emergency lights of the building’s security grid.
Titan immediately ceased his growling, stepping off the pinned intruder with a low, obedient huff.
Kendrick strode across the room in three long strides, his boot heel pressing heavily into the chest of the intruder. With a swift, merciless jerk, Kendrick grabbed the trench coat collar and ripped away the black hood.
The overhead chandelier clicked on, bathing the room in blinding gold light.
Willa dropped the empty decanter, her hands shaking violently as she stared down at the face of the assassin.
It was Elena, Barrett’s personal assistant.
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And clutched in Elena’s trembling hand, just inches from her fingers, was a small, blood-stained syringe filled with a clear, lethal liquid.
"Well, well," Kendrick whispered, his voice dangerously low, turning his lethal gaze from the assassin up to Willa. "It seems my guests are far more interested in my new waitress than I originally thought."
