Page 54 of Heat Me

Ragu exhaled heavily. "Like I got hit by a train. Luckily, when I saw you running, I dove under the table. Jordan followed right after me."

We all looked at the lawyer. Damien zapped Jordan as well, and the guy groaned before almost immediately letting out an ugly curse.

Mr. Ragu snorted. "Well, and the others… let’s just say they didn’t trust the purple alpha." He gestured toward Lowen’s lawyer and the dead guard nearby.

"That’s on them," I said grimly. "But tell me—who’s trying to kill Lowen? This wasn’t just a random hit. A full-on attack like this? They were prepared. There must be serious leaks among Lowen's people. And those bodyguards who conveniently disappeared? They had to be in on it."

"Yeah, those fuckers," Ragu spat. "They’ll pay for it. I’ll sue them into oblivion and make sure they rot in prison. As for Lowen’s enemies…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I’ve heard it’s the local mafia. This’ll be all over the papers tomorrow."

Then, unexpectedly, Jordan groaned and hissed, "I read about Lowen’s trouble with assassination attempts before we set up a meeting with him. Supposedly, the capo of the local mafia is a big enemy of the Malden company. Anzo Ferro. The guy’s a legit psychopath. He’s a deeply insecure beta, obsessed with this Beta Empowerment ideology. He takes it as a personal insult whenever someone brings up the Beta Activation program. Suggesting that betas should be ‘changed’ in any way? That’s like declaring war on him."

Damien nodded and muttered quietly to me, "Yeah, I heard that from my uncle too."

Ragu snorted grimly. "That program’s set to launch this month. Beta activists are losing their minds. And if this guy’s as sick as they say, yeah, I could see him pulling off something this insane. Ideologically motivated people are always the craziest." He shook his head in disapproval. "But anyway… now our collaboration with Blue Lowen is going public—the last thing he wanted. I need to call Jun ASAP. This whole thing is a disaster. A catastrophe! It was supposed to be discreet, not turn into this… mayhem!"

Then we heard voices in the corridor—police, loud and authoritative. Damien shot me a panicked look.

"It’s going to start soon, Storm. The next wave," he whispered, almost ashamed. "The police will be here any second. It’s going to be chaos."

"There’s another room that’s still intact," I said, remembering the second lounge room.

Damien’s hand grasped mine as if seeking reassurance, and at that exact moment, I felt my spikes retract. It was also a good time to grab my clothes, abandoned in the corner of the room, as his touch had a certain effect on me.

My eyes flicked to Ragu, and I let out a huff. "I came here with Damien as a favor to you. You promised us accommodations in case of a wave. We need your help."

Ragu coughed, trying to sound more confident than he looked. "Well, that was before the whole floor exploded, but I’ll do my best. When they come, I’ll ask them to let you move to the other room. But, uh… I’d recommend using the bathroom first." His gaze dropped pointedly to the blood splattered across me.

"They’re here," I murmured, hearing the heavy stomp of boots drawing closer.

Damien cursed softly under his breath, his cheeks reddening deeply. I understood perfectly—being exposed like this wasn’t ideal, but there was no time to fix it…

We were surrounded by police a few seconds later.

***

The next half hour was pure insanity.

The police were hostile and didn’t seem inclined to let either of us leave, no matter how much I insisted we weren’t involved. I explained we were here at Mr. Ragu’s request and didn’t know the details of what had gone down.

Meanwhile, Damien huddled in a corner, fighting off the effects of his heat wave. His scent filled the air, putting some of the officers visibly on edge. I felt awful for making him endure this.

Fortunately, Blue Lowen came through as soon as he regained consciousness. One call to someone on the city council, and things finally started moving. The lead officer took the call, and after a tense conversation, they begrudgingly allowed us to leave.

We made a quick stop in the guest bathroom to rinse off the blood, then moved to the second room, locking the door behind us.

Damien was flushed and breathing hard, the heat wave fully taking hold.

"Crazy, crazy day," he muttered, laying paper towels over the sofa.

I draped my suit over a chair. As I did, Damien's eyes drifted to my chest. "The wounds," he murmured. "We should clean them. Could we ask them for some disinfectant?"

I looked down. A dozen or so dark purple bruises were spread across my chest, near my solar plexus and collarbones, each with a bloody puncture mark in the center.

"There's no need, they're closing up already. I regenerate quickly, so the wounds don’t even have time to get infected."

Damien approached me, his face full of concern. His delicate fingers brushed over one of the wounds, barely grazing the skin.

"Does it hurt?" His dark graphite-and-sapphire eyes lifted to mine.

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