Chapter 33 · Cleared Funds

Ten feet of reinforced iron blew straight off the hinges.

The crack slammed through the auction hall like a hull splitting open on black reef. Chairs shrieked against concrete. A woman in the front row screamed, choked on it, and clamped both hands over her mouth.

June’s hand was already in the air, clawed and swinging for my jaw.

The shockwave caught her mid-strike. She staggered hard into the mahogany auction podium, nails tearing into the varnish just to keep her heels under her.

I didn’t budge.

My boots were rooted to the floor. I was done running.

Cold harbor rain drove through the ripped-out doorway in a gray wall, and out of the downpour walked a pair of boots. Heavy. Polished black leather. Bone dry.

Then the rest of him.

God help me, I wanted to pretend I didn’t know him.

I knew those wide shoulders before I even saw the face. I knew that slow, brutal stride that ate up space without ever rushing. But I didn’t know the suit.

Charcoal wool, cut so sharp it looked tailored with a scalpel. Crisp white shirt unbuttoned twice at the throat. No tie.