Trigger Me Gently

The first shot was never meant to be heard.

That’s what Ember Vale reminded herself as she stepped through the velvet-curtained threshold of the Vairo underground auction. Beneath chandeliers shaped like thorned crowns, surrounded by men in tailored suits and women wrapped in diamonds like shackles, she didn’t belong. She looked like sin dressed in midnight a floor-length slit gown, black as a threat, her lips blood-red, and eyes darker than her name.

She didn’t have a number on her paddle.

Because she wasn’t bidding.

She was hunting.

Somewhere in the auction crowd was a man who once worked for her father before he vanished six years ago without a body, a note, or a trace. Ember had waited for justice. Waited for answers. Waited to be saved.

Tonight, she became the bullet instead.

"Keep your chin up," Violet's voice crackled through the earpiece. Her best friend was somewhere in the getaway car three blocks out. "You're already getting stared at."

"Good," Ember whispered. "That means I’m baiting the right wolves."

A paddle went up. The first girl was auctioned like a car. Blonde. Silent. Seventeen maybe. Ember didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Not when her hands itched for the pistol strapped to her thigh beneath the gown’s slit.

Then she felt it.

Heat. Attention.

Her spine tingled.

Someone was watching her.

She turned, slowly, pretending to admire the centerpieces. Her gaze landed on him.

A man standing in shadow near the raised VIP section. Broad-shouldered, tall, wearing a charcoal three-piece suit like he was born to lead revolutions. Sharp jaw, darker eyes. He didn’t smile.

He didn’t blink.

He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure out if she was a threat or a gift.

Lucien Vairo.

The heir. The devil in a suit. The man whose family name bled fear into the bones of the city.

Her target.

Her heart thudded once hard like it recognized a killer in the room.

“Violet,” she murmured, suddenly breathless, “change of plan. He’s here.”

“Who?” Violet hissed. “Ember who?!”

“Lucien Vairo. He’s watching me like he knows me.”

A pause.

Then Violet’s whisper dropped to a deadly tone. “Get out. Now. I mean it. Abort.”

Ember didn’t move. Couldn’t. Lucien was walking now, cutting through the crowd like smoke. Straight toward her.

Then gunfire.

The entire auction floor exploded into chaos. Someone fired from the upper balcony. Screams echoed. A body dropped. Security pulled weapons.

Ember’s training kicked in. She reached under her dress, yanked out the gun holstered to her thigh, and dropped behind the nearest table.

More gunfire. A second body hit the floor.

And then a voice, smooth like venom right behind her ear.

“Nice aim for a girl in heels.”

Lucien.

She spun. He was crouched beside her like a devil at prayer, one knee on the ground, gun drawn, watching her with amusement and suspicion.

“You don’t look like one of mine,” he said. “And I know every goddamn face in this room.”

“I’m just a guest,” she replied coldly. “Wrong place. Wrong time.”

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re a lie wrapped in a dress.”

A moment later, she was on her feet and running. He didn’t stop her.

He chased her.

Gunfire followed. The crowd scattered like pigeons. Ember sprinted through a back hallway, breathing hard, heart pounding against cracked ribs of memory and adrenaline.

She kicked open a metal door into an alley and collided straight into two of Lucien’s men.

One grabbed her arm.

The other lifted a taser.

She didn’t scream.

She bit the first one hard enough to draw blood, dropped, elbowed the second in the groin

Then Lucien was there.

A shadow crashing against her like thunder, pinning her to the alley wall.

“You’re fast,” he growled.

“I’m smarter.”

“Are you?” he whispered, leaning in. “Because I just saw you pull a weapon in a room full of monsters. And now I’m wondering why a girl like you is armed, lying, and not afraid to aim.”

“I’m afraid of plenty,” she said, breath catching. “Just not men like you.”

Lucien studied her. He wasn’t smiling now. His fingers brushed the side of her cheek, mockingly gentle.

“You’re bleeding power and secrets, sweetheart.” He leaned close. “And I never leave a mystery unsolved.”

Click.

His men cocked their weapons.

Lucien turned to them and said:

“Bag her. She comes with me.”

Three hours later, Ember woke up in silk sheets and a golden cage.

The room was massive, more like a suite carved from power and old money. Marble floors. A fireplace burning like it had secrets to confess. Velvet drapes closed tight, drowning the city beyond. Her gown was torn at the hem, her heels gone, wrists bruised but not bound.

He hadn’t handcuffed her.

That would’ve been predictable.

Lucien Vairo didn’t do predictable.

The door clicked open. She sat up fast. Ready to kill or beg, whichever bought time.

Lucien walked in with a glass of scotch and a gun at his hip like it belonged there. Like it was part of his body.

He didn’t smile. “Comfortable?”

“Screw you.”

“Later,” he said, deadpan. “For now, I want answers.”

“I’m not one of your girls. I’m not for sale.”

“I know,” he said smoothly. “That’s why I haven’t shot you yet.”

He walked to her. Stopped a breath away. Ember fought the urge to recoil or lean in. He smelled like woodsmoke and rich things that came with a price.

Lucien held up a small photo.

A faded snapshot. A man standing beside her father.

Her heart stopped.

“Recognize him?” Lucien asked.

“What is this?”

“That’s my older brother,” he said. “Rafael.”

Her blood turned to ice.

“He died six years ago,” Lucien continued. “The same year your father vanished.”

She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

Lucien’s voice dropped to a warning whisper. “Don’t lie again. I’ve torn people apart for less.”

“I’m not lying.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know they knew each other.”

“But they did,” he said darkly. “And now you show up armed, undercover, wearing a face I don’t forget. You look like trouble.”

She met his stare. “Maybe I am.”

Lucien studied her for a long, heavy second. Then he chuckled low and sharp.

“You’re either the bravest woman I’ve ever met…”

He leaned closer. His voice brushed her neck.

“…or the dumbest.”

His hand moved to her jaw, lifting her face just slightly. Ember’s pulse roared. She didn’t flinch.

“You’re not here by accident,” he murmured. “You’re a ghost. You came for something.”

“Maybe I came to kill you,” she whispered.

Lucien’s grin was pure sin. “Then you should’ve shot me when I was watching.”

“I didn’t have a clean shot.”

“And now?” he asked. “Still want me dead?”

She stared into his eyes.

Lied.

“No.”

Wrong answer.

Lucien stepped back. Pulled his gun. Tossed it onto the bed between them.

“Pick it up.”

“What?”

“You want to kill me?” he said quietly. “Then do it.”

She stared at the weapon.

“Shoot me,” he said again. “Let’s see what you really came for.”

Ember’s fingers twitched. She didn’t move.

Lucien laughed softly, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so.”

He retrieved the gun and turned away. “You’ve got two options now, pretty thief. Tell me who you are and why you’re lying… or stay locked up in here until you crack.”

“I won’t crack.”

“You will,” he said, pausing at the door. “They all do.”

He left without looking back.

The lock clicked behind him.

Ember stared at the door. Then down at her hands.

They were shaking.

Not from fear.

From rage. From something darker.

He had a photo of Rafael with her father.

And Rafael was supposed to be dead.

But if that photo was real… if her father knew Rafael…

Then someone had lied. About everything.

And Ember was done waiting to be rescued.

She would burn every name on the Vairo family tree to ash to find the truth.

Later that night…

She didn’t sleep. She searched the room instead. Found cameras. Found a vent. Found a hairpin under the carpet and used it to unscrew the vent’s cover.

A note fell out.

She unfolded it with trembling fingers. Violet’s handwriting, scrawled quick.

"You're not alone. You’re not crazy. Rafael is alive. Trust no one. Especially Lucien."

Ember didn’t breathe.

Her heart pounded once twice then sank into something colder.

Lucien had lied.

He had to have known.

He was testing her.

Playing her.

And tomorrow… she’d start playing back.

With bullets.