I lunged forward, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. My shoulder caught him in the midsection, sending us both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and violence. The gun spun away across the marble, but the match?—
The match stayed in his grip.
We rolled across the gasoline-slicked floor, trading brutal hits that echoed through the empty mansion. Declan was younger,but I was stronger, fueled by rage and desperation. My fist connected with his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways, but he recovered quickly, driving his knee toward my ribs.
I caught his leg and twisted, using his momentum to slam him into the base of the staircase. Wood splintered behind his head, but he managed to wrap his arm around my throat, cutting off my air supply.
"Should’ve let me kill you clean," he gasped, tightening his grip. "Now you get to burn alive."
Spots danced at the edges of my vision, but I could still see that damned match flickering in his other hand. I drove my elbow back into his ribs, once, twice, until his grip loosened enough for me to break free.
Cassie
The guest room door was solid oak—beautiful, expensive, and absolutely fucking impossible to break down with my bare hands.
I’d been throwing myself against it for what felt like hours, my shoulder screaming in protest with each impact. The wood had barely even scuffed. Declan had chosen his prison well.
"ROMAN!" I screamed until my throat was raw, pounding my fists against the door until my knuckles bled. "ROMAN, I’M UP HERE!"
The smell of gasoline was getting stronger, seeping under the door like poison. I could hear voices downstairs—Roman’s voice,clear and strong, then Declan’s smooth replies. They were talking, negotiating, and every word felt like a countdown to disaster.
What I could also smell was something else. Smoke.
Panic clawed at my throat as I looked around the room desperately, searching for anything that could help. A letter opener on the desk—too small. A lamp—too bright. Then my eyes landed on the marble bookend shaped like a rearing horse.
Heavy. Solid. Perfect.
I grabbed it and started attacking the door hinges instead of the lock. If I could pop the pins, maybe I could get the door to fall away from the frame. The sound of impact echoed through the house as I hammered at the first hinge, desperation giving me strength I didn’t know I possessed.
A crash from downstairs made me freeze. Bodies hitting the floor.
They were fighting.
The third hinge pin came loose just as I heard Roman’s voice, strained with effort. He was in trouble. He was going to die because of me, because I’d become his weakness. Because he loved me more than he loved staying alive.
Like hell.
I wedged the bookend into the gap I’d created and threw my full weight against it. The door groaned, shifted, and finally gave way with a crack that sounded like gunfire.
I was free.
The hallway was thick with gasoline fumes and something else—real smoke, not just the threat of it. Somewhere in this house, the fire had already started. I could hear grunts and thuds from the foyer below, the sound of a brutal fight.
I reached the top of the main staircase just in time to see Roman and Declan locked in combat on the floor below. They were covered in gasoline, rolling dangerously close to the walls where accelerant had been splashed.
And Declan still had that fucking match.
Roman managed to get on top, his hands fighting for control of Declan’s wrist. But I could see the strain in his shoulders, the way Declan was fighting to bring that flame closer to the nearest surface. The match was flickering, threatening to go out, but still burning.
We were all going to die if that match found its mark.
The marble bookend was still clutched in my hand, solid and heavy. I calculated the distance, the angle, and the risk of hitting Roman instead of Declan.
Then I let it fly.
The bookend caught Declan just above the left ear with a sickening crack. His eyes rolled back, his grip on the match loosening just enough for Roman to tear it away from him. The flame guttered out against the marble floor.
"Stay away from my fiancé, you bastard," I snarled, the words coming out before I could stop them.
