Chapter 8 - Darkness and Bullets"Everyone stay down!" Grant’s voice boomed from the gallery above as the sound of shattering glass echoed through the high ceilings.
Panic erupted. Screams echoed as wealthy socialites dove beneath tables and scrambled for the exits.
Dominic’s arm shot around Rachel’s waist, dragging her behind a massive marble pillar just as a volley of submachine gun fire chewed through the floral arrangements where they had stood a second earlier.
"Vance's men," Dominic cursed, unholstering a sleek custom Beretta from his inner jacket pocket with frightening speed. "They crashed the party early."
"Your plan is working brilliantly," Rachel panted sarcastically, crouching behind the marble column.
"The best plans always involve a little improvisation," Dominic replied, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled ballroom. He turned to her, his expression turning deadly serious. "Listen to me. Take the service elevator behind the kitchen corridor. It leads straight down to the underground parking garage. My driver is waiting in the armored sedan."
"And what about you?" Rachel demanded, grabbing his lapel. "I'm not leaving you here to get riddled with lead!"
Dominic looked down at her hands gripping his jacket, a sudden, fierce tenderness breaking through the hard lines of his face. He covered her hands with his own.
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"I survived six years of hunting for the woman who saved my brother," Dominic whispered fiercely, leaning down until his forehead touched hers. "I am not going to die tonight. Go to the car, Rachel. I'll be right behind you."
Before she could argue, he pressed a quick, burning kiss to her lips—rough, desperate, and full of unspoken promises—before vanishing into the smoke and crossfire.
