BLOOD ON THE FLOOR

The red dot settled directly over Karl’s heart.

He moved with terrifying speed. No shouting. No hesitation. He lunged forward, tackling me hard to the hardwood floor.

A split second later, the massive window exploded inward.

Glass rained down like a deadly waterfall. The muffled crack of a silenced rifle echoed from a distant rooftop. Karl covered me completely, pressing my face into the floorboards as his heavy coat shielded my bare skin from the flying shards. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers clawing into the lapels of his jacket.

"Stay absolutely still," he rumbled against my ear.

Another bullet tore through the penthouse, ripping a gaping hole in the drywall above our heads. Karl reached up blindly, slamming his palm against a digital wall panel. The penthouse plunged into total darkness. Heavy steel security shutters rolled down over the broken windows, grinding loudly until they locked into place with a heavy, metallic thud.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Karl pushed himself off me. He grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet while keeping his massive frame between me and the metal shutters.

"Are you bleeding?" His voice was tight, lethal, and entirely focused.

"No," I breathed. My hands shook so violently I had to press them against my thighs. "They tried to kill you."

"They missed." Karl gripped my shoulder, shoving me down the dark hallway. "Get into the guest room at the end of the hall. Do not come out until I open the door. Do you understand me, Julian?"

"Where are you going?"

"To make sure they don't try a ground assault." He threw open a heavy oak door and pushed me inside. "Lock it."

The door clicked shut. I twisted the deadbolt, the metal mechanism snapping into place.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I spent the entire night curled in a tight ball on the edge of the mattress, my ears straining against the silence, flinching at every creak of the building. The image of the stranger dying on the concrete floor replayed on a loop behind my eyelids.

By the time sunlight finally filtered through the small gaps in the metal shutters, my eyes burned from exhaustion. The penthouse remained deathly quiet. I unlocked the door, the handle giving way easily.

"Karl?" I called out softly.

No answer.

I stepped into the hallway. The destruction from last night was a scar across the luxury. Broken glass coated the expensive rugs. Bullet holes ruined the pristine white walls. Karl was gone.

I hurried into the massive kitchen. My stomach was hollow with pure terror. I needed to get out of this cage. I opened a drawer, my fingers wrapping around the thick, heavy handle of a chef's knife. The cold steel grounded me. I ran to the front entrance, but the biometric lock on the main door flashed a solid, mocking red. I needed his fingerprint to leave.

Trapped.

I turned back, searching for a service elevator or a fire escape. At the very end of the hall, a narrow door stood slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

The lights flickered on automatically. The air stalled in my lungs.

An armory.

Rows of tactical rifles hung neatly on reinforced steel pegboards. Handguns sat in custom foam displays. In the corner, a massive open safe revealed stacks of banded cash and multiple passports. I stepped closer, staring at a dark blue passport sitting on top of a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Karl’s face stared back at me from the photo, but the name printed next to it was entirely fake.

Everything was a calculated lie. He was building a violent empire while I was just trying to survive college.

I dropped the kitchen knife onto the table. My shaking hands hovered over a sleek, heavy handgun. I didn't know how to shoot, but I grabbed it anyway, shoving the heavy metal into the waistband of my jeans alongside a stack of the cash.

Before my fingers could leave the safe, a loud explosion rocked the penthouse.

The floor vibrated violently. I spun around, drawing the handgun on pure instinct. The sound came from the main living room. Someone had just blown the steel security shutters completely off the windows.

I crept out of the armory, pressing my spine against the hallway wall, and peeked around the corner.

Smoke poured in from the destroyed balcony. Two men stepped through the rubble. They wore dark tactical gear, their faces hidden behind black balaclavas. Both carried short, suppressed assault rifles.

"Clear the rooms," the first man ordered, his voice rough and accented. "Find the boy. Victor wants him alive if possible, but dead works too."

Victor. The name meant nothing, but the threat was crystal clear. They were here for me.

I swallowed hard, pushing down the rising panic. The hallway offered zero protection. My only chance was the massive, heavy marble dining table in the center of the open floor plan. I dropped to my hands and knees, scrambling across the floor the second their backs turned.

I slid behind the thick marble base. My shoulder bumped hard against the stone.

"Did you hear that?" the second assassin snapped.

Heavy boots crunched over the broken glass, walking slowly toward the dining area. I clamped my hand over my mouth to silence my breathing. My other hand gripped the heavy handgun, my knuckles turning completely white. I was a university student. I didn't belong in a warzone.

The footsteps grew louder.

"Check behind the table," the rough voice commanded.

I pressed my body flat against the cold marble, trying to disappear. The boots stopped right on the other side of the stone base.

The sound of a rifle safety clicking off echoed loudly.

The assassin stepped quickly around the side of the table. He looked directly down at me, his dark eyes cold and empty behind the black mask. He raised the heavy rifle, pointing t

he black steel barrel straight at my chest.