Page 8 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

Player Two ran forward, too dumb or too inexperienced to realise what was going on. I dropped him with a double tap to the head as he left the kitchen, but Player Three came out firing.

Pew-pew-pew.

Pew-pew.

Thunk.

Great. Now tonight would be memorable for all the wrong reasons. I checked the pulse on the nearest body and found nothing, wiped the blood off my fingers on his shirt, then moved to the next.

The shadow flickered on the edge of my vision, but I knew what it meant.

A new player has entered the game.

Fuck.

I ran across the room as Player Four began firing, zigzagging as I went, and vaulted over a credenza. The wood would stop a .22 round, even if— Wait, where the fuck was the floor? I bent my knees for impact but instead found myself falling, falling, until I hit a flight of stairs awkwardly and tumbled the last few steps to the bottom.

Double fuck.

I didn’t have to be a doctor to know there was a problem with my ankle. I’d felt the pop, and the flash of pain was instantaneous. But there was no time to dwell on that, not with five rounds left and a gunman above me, so I pushed myself to my feet and backed up, stopping when I felt the wall of bottles digging into my spine. Was this…some kind of wine cellar?

The faint squeak of a rubber sole on tile came from above.

Player Four was moving forward, but cautiously.

He didn’t know what he was facing, but he’d probably seen at least one of the bodies, and he wasn’t going to make the mistake of rushing into a trap.

But I wasn’t going to stay down here like a fish in a barrel.

Slowly, slowly, I drew a bottle out of the rack, then hurled it into the void. As it smashed a moment later, I was already running up the stairs, and this time, I shot the enemy twice in the back. He fell into the pool of wine and shattered glass, and he didn’t get up again.

And I didn’t stop running.

My ankle screamed as I stooped to grab my purse, but I gritted my teeth and carried on, tearing off my dress as I hit the stairs. I made it just in time.

“Bella, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? I thought I heard a crash.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m so sorry. I wanted a drink, and a glass fell down.”

Cole appeared on the landing, buck naked and rubbing his eyes, and I frantically tried to unpick the jumble of thoughts flying around my brain. Why had those men been here? Home invasion? Hit job? And who had they been looking for? Me or Cole? True, I’d only just met him, but I’d seen enough to believe he wasn’t amonster. Although hadn’t I said the same about Bastian years ago?

Or could it have been a case of mistaken identity? Maybe the assassination squad had come to the wrong house, or had they been after its owner? Because I was fifty-fifty on whether this place belonged to Cole. If it did, when had he bought it?

So many questions, and absolutely no answers.

“Go back to bed, beautiful,” he said. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Oh honey, no.We needed a team of professionals for that.

“We can do it in the morning.”

“I don’t mind—better than having water soak into the wood.”

“The glass was empty.” I took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Hold me?”

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