Chapter 5: Knocking on the Devil's Door

"Shoot her in the legs if she won't stop!"

Hector Caldwell’s grating roar boomed from the distance, distorted by the howling wind and the deafening roar of the storm.

Vivienne didn't look back. She dragged herself across the black marble bridge spanning the artificial lake. The slick stone ground against her bare knees and elbows, tearing at her skin and leaving a trail of searing pain in her wake.

Glass shards were still lodged deep in the sole of her left foot. Every time she hauled her sprained leg forward, white-hot agony flared straight into her hip, forcing her to bite down on her tongue to keep from blacking out.

Dark crimson welled from her toes, smearing the wet marble before being instantly washed away by the torrential rain.

Behind her, the baying of attack hounds tore through the darkness. High-powered flashlight beams cut erratic arcs through the dense sheets of rain.

Four burly guards in black tactical uniforms sprinted after her, flanking two muscular Rottweilers straining violently against their leashes. But their combat boots skidded to an abrupt, jarring halt.

The toes of their boots froze inches before a thick white line painted across the stone floor—the neutral boundary marker dividing the main estate grounds from the West Wing.

The attack hounds suddenly broke into low, frantic whimpers, backing away with their tails tucked between their legs. Pure animal instinct registered an unseen, lethal threat.

From the dark silhouette of the West Wing's towering watchtower, three infrared red lasers flared silently to life. The crimson dots locked squarely onto the foreheads and chests of the guards lined up along the border.

Not a single one of Hector’s men dared push past that line.

"Miss Vivienne! Come back right now, or Mr. Caldwell will snap both your legs!" the lead guard bellowed from across the perimeter, his voice cracking with sheer panic as a red dot drifted up to rest dead center against his Adam's apple.

Vivienne tuned out the threat entirely. If she turned back to the East Wing, her life was over tonight, reduced to nothing more than a plaything for a repulsive old bastard.

With the last scrap of strength in her burning lungs, Vivienne hauled herself up the five marble steps leading to the West Wing terrace. Each step felt like scaling a sheer cliff, steadily draining the final dregs of her consciousness.

Her white silk nightgown had turned a muddy gray, shredded at the waist and thigh, clinging damply to skin wracked with violent tremors.

She crawled right up to the thirteen-foot teak double doors. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her chest heaving in an agonizing rhythm.

Lifting hands caked in grime and smeared with blood, she mustered every ounce of willpower she had left and pounded her fists against the heavy wood.

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The dull knocks echoed off the stone terrace pillars.

"Open up..." Vivienne whispered, her voice choking in her dry throat. "Please..."

She struck the wood one more time, leaving a bloody handprint smeared against the polished varnish.

Just as her strength completely gave out and her forehead tipped toward the wet stone, the lock mechanism clicked softly.

Click.

The heavy double doors swung inward without a single squeak.

Warm light from the foyer’s crystal chandelier spilled onto the rain-slick terrace. With it came the rich scents of heavy tobacco, gun cleaning solvent, and cedarwood, instantly cutting through the freezing air.

Bastien Vance loomed in the doorway.

His dark hair was slightly damp and tousled, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. His black silk shirt was unbuttoned three notches down, revealing his chiseled collarbones and a jagged slash of a scar cutting across his chest.

In his right hand, Bastien held a matte-black semi-automatic pistol. A white microfiber cloth was still tucked between his fingers, a clear sign he had just finished stripping and reassembling the weapon.

Behind him in the corridor shadows stood Silas Drake, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes as still as stagnant water.

Bastien’s gray eyes slowly drifted down.

He looked down at the crumpled, fragile figure lying at his feet. Vivienne looked like a porcelain doll shattered to pieces. Her lips were pale blue, her eyelids drooped with exhaustion, and her entire body shivered uncontrollably against the bone-deep chill.

Her bloodied right hand dragged weakly across the floor, catching the cuff of Bastien’s tailored black trousers. Her small fingers clamped onto the fabric with desperate strength, leaving a smear of mud and crimson across the expensive wool.

"Bastien..." Vivienne's voice cracked into a hoarse, desperate whisper. The split corner of her lip wept fresh blood as she forced the words out. "Help me... Please, make them leave..."

Bastien didn't answer right away.

His gaze lifted over her head, cutting straight across the stone bridge. On the other side, Hector’s guards still stood frozen beneath the torrential downpour, their flashlight beams trembling with anxiety.

Bastien’s eyes turned cold and lethal.

He lifted his left hand slightly, raising a single finger toward the watchtower.

BANG!

A suppressed sniper rifle cracked through the night. A high-caliber round smashed into the paving stone less than an inch from the lead guard's boot. Chipped stone and lead spattered upward, sending the man stumbling backward in sheer terror. Wheeling around, he and his men scrambled blindly back into the darkness of the east gardens.

Quiet reclaimed the terrace, save for the dull roar of rain battering the canopy overhead.

Bastien lowered his hand and holstered the pistol at his hip.

Slowly, he crouched down in front of Vivienne. Paying no mind to the dirty puddles and mud soaking into the knees of his trousers, his large, calloused hand reached forward.

His fingers clamped around her jaw with unyielding pressure, tilting her face up until their eyes locked.

Vivienne could feel the heat radiating from his skin—a searing contrast to her near-frozen body.

Bastien’s thumb brushed gently across her lower lip, wiping away the smear of blood. The touch wasn't rough, but his piercing gaze pinned her down, stripping away any pretense to lay bare the sheer terror lurking in her mind.

A faint, lethal smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Begging the devil always comes at a steep price, Vivienne."

His baritone was low, resonating steadily over the rumbling thunder overhead.

"I can make Hector disappear and bury your mother tonight without leaving a trace. But in exchange..."

Bastien leaned in closer, closing every bit of distance until his lips brushed the cold shell of her ear.

His arm slid around her slender waist, scooping her drenched, trembling frame off the stone floor in one effortless motion.

Vivienne was pulled flush against his chest, caged securely within his arms.

"... from this second on, your life belongs to me. Your soul, your breath, every inch of your body answers to no one else. Step through these doors, and you will never be allowed out of my sight for the rest of your days. How does that deal sound, little sister?"