“Sniper down.”
Watchdog exhaled once, sharp and controlled. One threat neutralised. But Clara was still walking away with the devil himself.
Chapter 24
The gun pressedinto her ribs as Oliver steered her along the pavement, his arm snug at her waist like a lover’s embrace. To the crowd, they were just another couple leaving a café at twilight. Only she could feel the steel hidden by his coat.
The damp air smelled of rain on stone and exhaust fumes, the glow of streetlamps smearing across wet tarmac. A busker’s song drifted from the corner, the notes lost to the grind of traffic. Everything around her was maddeningly ordinary, while every step she took pulled her deeper into danger.
“You see?” Oliver murmured against her ear, his breath warm, his tone soft as honey. “When you listen, everything falls back into place. Order restored. Exactly as it should be.”
The words snagged at her. Order restored. Her father used to say that, clipped and unyielding, whenever he lectured her about family, about duty. The thought pricked like a splinter, uncomfortable and persistent, but she shoved it down.Later. If there was a later.
Ahead, a black car idled at the kerb, polished bonnet reflecting the orange wash of the streetlamps. The driver held the rear door open, his cap low. From her angle, she glimpsedmovement inside, the shadow of someone seated in the back. Too still. Watching. Her stomach lurched. Whoever it was, they were waiting for her.
Her pulse hammered. If she stepped into that car, she’d vanish behind tinted glass, locked into whatever nightmare Oliver had prepared.
“Good girl,” he murmured, guiding her closer. “This is how it’s meant to be.”
No. Not anymore.
Clara’s skin prickled with heat, anger sparking sharply beneath the fear. She was tired of being manoeuvred like a chess piece, by her parents, by this man, by the whole world.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Lena sat frozen, white-knuckled around her cup. The red dot still hovered faintly against her chest, and Clara’s heart clenched. Then, sudden movement. Lotus, calm and precise, slipping an arm around Lena and tugging her away. Lotus wouldn’t move her if she wasn’t safe. Clara clung to that truth like a lifeline.
Relief cracked through the terror, just enough to fuel her.
At the kerb, the car door gaped open. The smell of leather wafted out, thick and suffocating. Oliver’s hand pressed firmly against her back, nudging her forward.
Now or never.
She twisted sharply, driving her shoulder into his chest. The impact jarred her bones, but his balance wavered just enough. She shoved backwards, elbow striking his arm, and ripped free of his grip.
Then she ran.
Her trainers slapped against slick stones, hair whipping into her eyes as she glanced behind her. Gasps rose from the crowd, and a woman screamed as Oliver shoved past her. The city fractured into chaos: horns blaring, tyres hissing over wetasphalt, the acrid bite of petrol mixing with roasting chestnuts from a nearby cart.
Behind her came Oliver’s snarl, stripped of polish. Heavy footsteps pounded after her, his anger crashing into the air like a storm.
Clara’s lungs burned, her chest aching with every breath, but she kept moving. She wasn’t just being led anymore. She was choosing.
And even as fear clawed at her throat, one truth steadied her racing steps: Watchdog was out there. Watching. Closing in.
Her breath tore in and out of her chest, harsh and ragged, the city nothing but streaks of wet light and the hammer of her own feet against stone. Oliver’s voice carried after her, low and furious, the sound of a man unravelling.
She risked a glance back. He was chasing her, his face twisted, his gun glinting under the streetlamps. But then, for half a heartbeat, he slowed, as if listening for someone else, calculating whether to pursue. The hesitation was enough to slice ice into her veins. Was he confident enough to let her run? Or was he baiting her into thinking she might escape?
Don’t think. Run.
Her legs burned, her side ached, her lungs screamed for air. The taste of copper filled her mouth. People scattered around her, shouting, phones raised. The world blurred into chaos, car horns, brakes squealing, the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city.
She rounded a corner, vision swimming, and slammed into a wall of muscle. The impact jolted her bones, and terror shrieked through her throat in a scream before she even looked up.
“Clara, hey. It’s me.”
The voice dropped straight into her chest, grounding her, pulling her back from panic. His arms came around her, iron-strong, wrapping her tight against him.Watchdog.
The scent of him hit her nose, clean soap, worn cotton, and something darker, the faint musk of adrenaline. She sagged into him before she could stop herself, fingers fisting in his shirt as though she could crawl inside him and hide.
