The rain in London didn't wash things clean; it just made the grime slicker.
Elena Vance stood under the awning of the opera house, shivering in a dress that cost more than her first car. She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be wearing silk that clung to her damp skin, and she certainly wasn't supposed to be holding a clutch that contained a USB drive stolen from her husband's safe.
Her husband, Marcus. The man currently being toasted inside the gilded hall as "Philanthropist of the Year." The man who, if the files on the drive were accurate, had buried three bodies in the foundation of his latest skyscraper.
Elena checked her watch. 11:45 PM. The contact from the agency was late.
"You look like a woman waiting for a ghost," a voice rumbled from the shadows.
Elena didn't jump. She had learned over the last three years of marriage to suppress her fear. She turned slowly.
The man leaning against the stone pillar was devastating. That was the only word for him. He was tall, wearing a charcoal coat with the collar turned up against the drizzle. His face was a map of sharp angles and rough stubble, but his eyes were what caught her—steel gray, intelligent, and completely devoid of warmth. He looked like violence wrapped in expensive tailoring.
"I'm waiting for a taxi," Elena lied, her voice steady.
"No, you're not," the man said. He stepped closer, invading her personal space. He smelled of rain, expensive scotch, and gun oil. "You're clutching that bag like it holds your heart. Or something worse."
Elena took a step back, her heels clicking on the wet pavement. "Who are you?"
"I'm the guy Marcus hires when he loses something," he said softly.
Elena's blood turned to ice. She turned to run, but his hand shot out, wrapping around her upper arm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was inescapable. It was the grip of a man who knew exactly how much pressure to apply to control someone without leaving a bruise.
"Let me go," she hissed, glancing toward the opera house doors. People were starting to filter out.
"If I let you go, Elena," he said, using her name with a terrifying familiarity, "Marcus's security team picks you up in three minutes. They're already sweeping the perimeter. They know you opened the safe."
Elena stopped struggling. She looked up at him, breathless. "You... you work for him?"
"I work for money," he corrected. He pulled her closer, lowering his head so his lips brushed her ear. The heat radiating off him was intoxicating, confusing her panic with a strange, dark thrill. "But tonight, I'm making a bad business decision."
He spun her around, positioning her body to block the view from the street. "Smile," he whispered against her hair. "Act like you adore me."
"What?"
"Do it."
Before she could process the command, the opera house doors burst open. Marcus Vance stepped out, surrounded by his entourage. He looked every bit the grieving, worried husband. His eyes scanned the crowd, shark-like.
The stranger's hand slid from her arm to the small of her back, pulling her flush against his hard chest. He lowered his mouth to hers.
It was meant to be a cover, a disguise, but the moment his lips touched hers, the world tilted. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was demanding, possessive, and hungry. Elena gasped, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until her head spun. For a second, she forgot the USB drive, forgot Marcus, forgot that she might die tonight. She only felt the rough drag of his stubble and the power in his hands.
He broke the kiss abruptly but kept his forehead resting against hers. They were both breathing hard.
"My name is Silas," he murmured, his voice rougher than before. "And if you want to live to see sunrise, you're getting in my car right now."
Elena looked over Silas's shoulder. Marcus was moving toward a black SUV, his security chief whispering in his ear. The chief pointed toward the alleyway where Elena had been just minutes ago.
"Why help me?" Elena whispered, trembling.
Silas looked down at her, his eyes darkening. "Because I saw what was on that drive before you stole it. Marcus Vance isn't just a murderer, Elena. He's my brother."
The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Before she could speak, Silas grabbed her hand, interlacing their fingers. "Run."
They sprinted into the rain, away from the lights, away from her life, and plunging headfirst into the dark.