Chapter 41 · Dead Man's Switch

The lights didn't flicker. They just died.

One second, floodlights and Victor Sable's smug smile. The next, pitch black.

Then the shotgun ripped.

The blast tore through the grain dust in the rafters. It showered down hot and dry over my neck. Somebody shrieked. Muzzle flashes strobed across the silo—freezing a knocked-over chair, a capo's bloodied collar, Victor's silver cufflinks mid-move.

"Down!"

Dominic's hand locked around my wrist. He jerked me hard. My knees slammed concrete, and then his entire frame hit mine, heavy, scorching, covering every inch of me.

No vest. No gun under his jacket. Just his weight, his ribs shuddering against mine, his breath ragged at my ear.

"Stay down," he grunted. "Stay right under me."

"You came in here naked?" I hissed.

"Yeah. Starting to rethink that."

A laugh caught in my throat, turning into a rough cough. The whole room tasted like sulfur and stale wheat.

I counted the rounds. It’s what my head does when panic claws at my chest. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

*Click.*

"Dry," I whispered against his collarbone. "He's cycling the drum."

"Good girl." His fingers bit deeper into my wrist, rough and possessive. "Don't make me say it twice.