CHAPTER SIX: SECONDS FROM DEATH

I froze.

The office door creaked open—just an inch—but it was enough to make my heart pound so loud I could hear it in my ears. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get enough air. My heart slammed so hard I thought it would break my ribs.

Voices drifted in from the hallway. A man’s. Deep. Serious. Then a woman’s—soft, flirtatious, like she was trying to charm someone.

They were right outside the door.

I panicked and slipped behind the long, heavy curtain by the bookshelf. I pulled it closed as quietly as I could, careful not to make the fabric rustle.

My hands shook as I held the small burner phone in my pocket. That phone had photos—proof that could get me in big trouble. Proof that could get me killed.

The door opened all the way.

Footsteps.

Two pairs.

First, I heard high heels clicking on the floor. Then the heavy thud of men’s shoes—loafers, I think.

They entered the office like they owned it.

They probably did.

“Close the door,” the man said.

It clicked shut behind them. I held my breath, trying not to make a sound.

“You said you had something to show me,” the woman said, her voice smooth and teasing. I recognized her voice—it was Aleena, Santiago’s assistant. The woman I stole the access card from.

God, if she found out—

“I do,” the man said. “But not on the desk. That’s Santiago’s private drawer.”

I dared a peek through a crack in the curtain.

It wasn’t Emilio.

It wasn’t even a security guard.

It was Santiago himself.

Up close, Santiago Torres looked even more terrifying than I imagined. Slick black hair. Sharp jaw. A scar down his neck like a knife had once tried to silence him.

He was calm—but the kind of calm that meant danger. A tiger before the pounce.

He walked toward the desk, dragging his fingers along the edge. My phone was still inside the bottom drawer.

If he opened it now—

Aleena laughed. “You never bring me in here.”

Santiago smirked. “You’ve been useful lately.”

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. My legs started to cramp from standing so still behind the curtain, but I didn’t dare move.

I barely blinked, afraid even the smallest sound would give me away.

Then I heard it.

The click of the desk drawer.

He was opening it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying, praying, praying—

Silence.

Then Santiago’s voice again, low and suspicious.

“Hmm. Someone’s touched this.”

Aleena paused. “Touched what?”

“This drawer. It’s not how I left it.”

Oh God.

My lungs screamed for air.

He grabbed the drawer harder. “And something’s missing.”

I couldn’t see him anymore, but I heard every sound.

Then, like fate had mercy on me, his phone rang.

He answered in Spanish, angry, pacing. I caught pieces: “shipment… betrayal… kill him tonight.”

My blood ran cold. Whoever he was talking about, they were in danger.

After a tense minute, he snapped the phone shut.

“Stay here,” he ordered Aleena. “I’ll be back.”

He stormed out.

Aleena sighed and lit a cigarette, flipping through a magazine like nothing happened.

I had one chance.

Only one.

I crept out from behind the curtain slowly, silently. My eyes locked on the door.

Aleena had her back turned.

I took a step.

She didn’t notice.

Another step. Just five more and I’d be out.

Then my ankle bumped the edge of a chair.

It scraped the floor.

She turned.

“Maya?”

Shit.

“Maya?” she repeated, standing, cigarette falling from her hand.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

I ran.

She screamed behind me, yelling for security.

I slammed through the hallway door and sprinted. The hallway was packed with people—drunk men laughing, dancers swaying, waiters carrying trays of vodka shots.

I shoved past them, my shoulder bumping into someone’s drink. It spilled, and they yelled, but I didn’t stop.

“HEY!” a guard shouted. “STOP HER!”

I didn’t look back. I pushed through the crowd, my legs burning, my lungs screaming for air. I reached the back exit and burst through the door into the dark alley outside.

The cold night air slapped me in the face. I ran through puddles, nearly slipping, my heels flying off one by one.

I didn’t stop until I saw Diego’s black car waiting down the block.

I jumped in, slamming the door. “GO!”

The driver didn’t even ask. He hit the gas and took off.

In the rearview mirror, I saw two guards run into the street, searching, shouting.

But they were too late.

I was gone.

Diego was waiting for me when I got back.

He sat in the dark living room, still as a statue. The only light came from a small lamp on the table, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones. A glass of scotch sat next to him, half-empty.

I didn’t wait for him to speak.

“I got in,” I said, panting. “I got the photos.”

I handed him the burner phone. His fingers brushed mine as he took it.

Warm. Strong. Brief.

He scrolled through the photos, saying nothing at first.

Then: “These are real.”

His voice was low. Impressed. Almost…proud. It made my chest feel warm despite everything.

“This proves Santiago’s getting weapons from Colombia. That shipment on Thursday—it’s not drugs. It’s rifles.”

I leaned against the wall, my knees still weak. “They almost caught me.”

He looked up at me, eyes locking on mine. “But they didn’t.”

He stood and limped closer, the cane tapping softly on the wood floor. “You’re better than I thought.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I muttered, half-laughing. “Wasn’t aware I was in an audition.”

“You are,” he said seriously. “And you passed.”

He stepped closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his body. His hand reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His touch sent a shiver down my spine.

My breath caught.

“I knew you were brave,” he murmured. “But this...”

Our faces were inches apart.

“I did it for my mom,” I whispered.

His lips twitched. “Keep telling yourself that.”

His eyes flicked down to my lips, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me.

Then a door slammed upstairs.

Diego turned away, jaw tight again, retreating to the cold version of himself.

“You’ll go again tomorrow night,” he said, walking back to the shadows. “Same time. New mission.”

I stared after him, heart racing, skin still tingling from his touch.

How could one man be so cold and so... magnetic?

That night, I lay in my small bed, listening to the sound of his cane echoing down the hallway.

And then I heard a knock.

Not on my bedroom door.

But on the front gate.

A loud, frantic bang.

Then a voice.

“Maya! Maya, it’s me! Open up—it’s urgent!”

I sat up straight, heart racing.

It was Javier.