CHAPTER 3: UNDER FIRE.

Noah’s POV

There’s a split second, right before the glass shatters, before instinct overrides thought, when the world seems to slow.

That red dot burned against Adrian’s chest like a countdown.

I didn’t think. I moved.

One step. Two. Then I hit him hard, driving him down just as the window behind him exploded in a spray of glass and fury.

The bullet missed his heart by inches. I felt the vibration of impact through my bones as we hit the marble floor, shards raining down around us like frozen rain.

Adrian’s breath left him in a sharp, shocked exhale beneath me. His eyes flew wide open like what just happened was a movie. For one long, suspended moment, his body was pinned under mine, his heart hammering hard enough for me to feel it through his chest.

“You’re okay,” I said. “You’re okay.”

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, eyes wide. “Is this—”

Another shot cracked through the apartment. Closer this time. Controlled. Calculated.

This wasn’t a warning.

This was a hunt.

Whoever was doing this, wanted to put him out for good.

Without thinking or wasting time, I stood up and I grabbed his arm, pulling him with me into a crouch behind the steel support column cutting through the center of the living space. My mind worked faster than my body calculating all possible: angles, exits, threats, priorities.

Just then it rang in my head: Secure the client. Evacuate immediately. Engage only if necessary.

“You’re not safe here,” I snapped. “We need to move. We need to leave her NOW!”

Adrian didn’t argue. That, more than anything, told me how rattled he was. His usual smirk, his endless taunts — gone. Replaced with something raw beneath his skin.

Fear. Real, human, vulnerable fear.

“Where—”

“Service elevator. Back hall.”

“Keys, codes—”

“I’ve got them.”

Another shot punctuated the air. Glass shattered again somewhere above us. Not random. Strategic, and calculated. They were herding us. Whoever was on the other end of that scope wasn’t alone. Someone was giving the orders.

I pulled Adrian up, kept him close. Too close. His breath touched my jaw. His pulse pounded where my hand gripped his wrist.

I could literally hear his heart pounding.

“You trust me?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was insane for even asking. “Right now? With my fucking life.”

Good answer.

We moved fast, low, silent. Through the wreckage of his designer living room, past the spilled coffee cooling on shattered tiles, through the sleek, silent corridors he called home. My mind cataloged every possible vulnerability: cameras disabled, locks compromised, vantage points compromised.

Someone had planned this well.

Too well.

And there was basking in the relics of it.

“They knew my schedule,” Adrian whispered as we ducked through the utility door, into the narrow passageway meant for staff no one ever saw. “They knew when to strike.”

“Keep quiet and focus.”

“Jesus, Noah—”

“Later.”

The service elevator yawned open like a mouth waiting to swallow us. I shoved him inside, hit the emergency override, and jammed the controls for basement access. If anyone tried to intercept from the lobby, they’d miss us. If they waited on the roof, they’d miss us. Underground was our only shot. And it was worth the go, or we'd both be damned.

Adrian pressed against the far wall, hands braced on the cold steel panels, chest heaving. His eyes cut to mine in the flickering half-light.

“This is real,” he said, almost to himself.

“It's really real” he pinched himself and let out a low “ouch.”

Another shot rang out, not close, but not far. Somewhere above. Moving. Pursuing.

“Stay low,” I said, stepping between him and the door just as the elevator lurched downward. My hand hovered at my weapon. My body blocked his. My heart stayed steady. His didn’t. I could feel it, rapid and frantic, in the silence between us.

“Tell me you’ve done this before,” Adrian said. His voice shook. Just a little. Enough to make my chest ache somewhere deep and unexpected.

“Too many times.”

“And you’ve never lost a client?”

I met his gaze. “Not planning to start now.”

The elevator creaked, old metal groaning like bones under strain. Seconds dragged like years. Floor numbers lit and died. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

“Why me?” he said suddenly. Quiet. Not like his usual games. “Why do they want me dead, Noah?”

I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t know, power, greed, revenge, money, the same tired motives wrapped in new faces, but because none of it mattered right now. Right now, survival was the only priority. Answers could wait.

“I didn’t think it would go this far,” he said. “Threats, sure. Lawsuits. Scandals. But this—”

The elevator jolted to a stop. Basement level. Lights flickered again. My hand closed on the door release. My other arm swept out, instinct pulling him behind me.

Gun first. Body second.

Rule of protection: Take the hit before they can.

I stepped out into shadow, senses straining. Empty corridors. Silent halls. A single exit, already cracked open. No movement. No sign of pursuit. Not yet.

“Move fast,” I said.

We slipped through the loading dock like ghosts, hearts pounding louder than footsteps. My SUV waited at the far end, untouched, unmarked. A miracle I didn’t question. Not now.

Keys. Engine. Doors locked. I peeled us out of that underground hell with tires screaming protest and adrenaline singing in my blood.

Beside me, Adrian braced against the seat, breath catching sharp in his throat. The city lights caught his face in flashes: pale, stunned, too beautiful even like this, scared and silent and stripped of all his defenses.

He turned to me then. Reached blindly for my arm. Gripped hard, like I was the only solid thing left in a world he couldn’t trust.

“They really do want me dead,” he whispered.

And for the first time since this job started, I realized: this wasn’t business anymore.

Not for me. Not for him. Not for anyone who planned to survive what was coming.