CHAPTER 9- ESCAPE

Lucien’s POV

As the gunshot echoed through the halls, I dropped to my knees to pick up Natalie, there was a lot of blood, a part of me prayed it wasn't Natalie's blood, while the other prayed it was Malachi's, hoping he'd bleed to death.

He made a very bad mistake by touching you what's mine

Natalie’s body is weak lying in the middle of the gala floor, champagne and blood under her.

People pushed through the crowd because they were all scared but all I heard was the ragged sound of my own breathing.

I lifted her, she weighs close to nothing. One arm under her knees, the other braced against her back, and I feel the blood soaking through my tuxedo shirt as my hand rested on her side.

I don’t know whose blood it is anymore.

“Boss,” Marcus hisses beside me as he draws his gun from his jacket.

“We gotta move. Now.”

I was already walking through the panicked crowd, past the shattered glass and overturned tables. Past Malachi’s bodyguards who are too busy dragging their bleeding boss out to stop me.

The car is already waiting at the driveway.

I slide into the backseat with her in my arms as Marco slams the door shut behind us.

“Drive,” I snapped at the driver.

Natalie’s head lays backwards against my chest. Her skin is cold. I press two fingers to her throat to check her pulse.

It was weak, but there.

I pulled out my phone with my free hand. Blood smears across the screen.

“Prep a bath,” I screamed over the phone. “Hot. Now. And get the first aid kit to my room.”

I didn’t tell them it’s for her. I have my reasons

The drive takes fourteen minutes. The bullet grazed me when I threw myself over her, tearing my palm before it hit the floor. I barely feel it.

We pull through the gates, and I ran out before the car stops, carrying Natalie against me.

The servants scatter when they see me with blood on my shirt and blood on her dress

I walked up to my room and took her to my bathroom; it was already clouded with steam. The tub is full of lavender and salt in the water like I asked.

I kick the door shut behind me.

Firstly, my hand. I wrap it fast with gauze from the kit, using my right hand and my mouth to pull the knot tight.

I opened the zipper at her back. There was no bullet wound, Thank Goodness. The blood isn’t hers. It’s mine, or Malachi’s, or some poor bastard who got caught in the crossfire.

I put her into the tub. The water turns pink instantly because of the blood, then I washed the blood from her hair, under her nails, the curve of her collarbone. She was still unconscious while I bathed her

When she’s clean, I wrapped her in my bathrobe. She looks twelve years old and furious, even asleep.

I dressed her myself. Soft black pants. One of my shirts. No bra, no lace, nothing that would dig into her skin. She’d hate me for it if she were awake. She’ll hate me anyway.

Then I carried her to her room. Even though every possessive part of me wants her in my bed, under my guard.

I lay her down and pull the blanket to her chin.

I didn't want to leave her alone, so I just sat at her side watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps.

For three hours, that’s the only thing that matters.

Then her eyes fly open.

She snapped up like she’s been electrocuted, her hands flying to her chest.

“Let go of me!”

Her eyes dart around the room, wild, unfocused then they land on me.

The questions start immediately, tumbling out of her like she can’t hold them in.

“What happened to Malachi? Is he dead? When did we leave the party?”

Fingers twisting in the blanket then her gaze drops to see my shirt on her.

Her head snaps up and stares at me with a glare that could cut glass.

“What happened and where’s my dress?”

“You passed out. I got you home. Bathed you. Put you in new clothes. That's all, no need to thank me”

“Thank you? Hold on. You bathed me?” She asked in a louder voice. “What the hell, Lucien? You’re a freak for invading my privacy like that.”

I leaned back in the chair my eyes dragging over her, she’s wrapped in my shirt, my scent, my house. And, Mine.

“There’s nothing on you I haven’t seen before, Natalie,” I say quietly. “So quit whining. Be thankful the bullet didn’t hit you.”

I stood up before she could even speak. Can’t, maybe.

I walked out of the room without another word as the door clicks shut behind me.

Natalie’s POV

He bathed me.

Lucien Montclair undressed me, touched me, saw me while I was unconscious, and he thinks that’s fine.

I pressed my palms to my burning face. The shirt smells like him. Cedar and smoke and something darker. I want to rip it off. I also never want to take it off.

God, what is wrong with me?

Focus.

The party. The gunshot. Malachi went down first. I remember that. Then pain in my side where Lucien tackled me to the ground. Then black.

Is Malachi dead?

I scrambled for my purse that was on the nightstand. I dump everything on my bed. Lipstick, compact, and Phone. No wallet. I didn’t bring it.

My phone is dead. Of course it is. I jam the charger in with shaking hands and wait for the screen to light up.

No texts. No missed calls. Nothing from Amelia. Nothing from anyone who should be losing their mind that I disappeared from a crime scene.

I was about to set the phone down when it vibrates in my hand. Someone was calling but it was a private Number.

My thumb hovers. Every instinct says don’t answer but then curious me picks up the call.

“Hello?” I whisper slowly.

A voice came through the phone distorted and sounded unfamiliar.

“That person who got shot could be you, stay away from Lucien,” the voice continues. “Next time, we won’t miss.”

“Who are you?” I demanded shakily “What do you have to do with what happened at the gala—”

The line goes dead as I stared at the phone.

My head pounds as I remember that happened at the gala, the gunshot, Malachi, Lucien carrying me, Lucien bathing me, and now this.

Stay away from Lucien?

Like I have a choice. I’m in his house. Wearing his clothes. Bleeding his scent.

I threw the phone onto the bed and pressed my hands to my eyes.

What the hell did I get dragged into?

And why does it feel like the gunshot at the gala was just the opening act?

Lucien’s POV

I got to my room and locked the door behind me

Natalie’s questions echoed in my head. What happened to Malachi? Where’s my dress?

She’ll get answers when I decide she needs them. Not now.

Six hours ago. Feels like six days.

The blood was stuck on my cuffs now. I shrugged the shirt off and tossed it in the corner for the staff to burn. My palm throbbed under the fresh gauze, nothing vital. Good.

I poured some whiskey into a glass as I pulled up the security feed for her room. Camera 4.

Natalie’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands pressed to her face, my shirt hanging off her like a confession.

Her lips move but I can’t hear her, her tone was lower this time

On screen, she throws the phone onto the bed, stands up and paces round her room.

Good. Fear keeps people alive, I shut down my systems then looked around my room for anything amusing then I heard whispers coming from the living room

I told the staff to keep the house clear today. No one should be near her hall.

I moved silently across the room with my gun already in my hand.

I stay close to the wall, then the whispers got clearer. One voice I haven’t heard in four years. One I hear every damn week.

I stopped at the corner of my door then peeked around, there she is.

Camille.

Hair longer than I remember. Same red lipstick. Same way of standing like the world owes her something. Four years ago, she walked out with a suitcase and half my trust in women. She was the one talking to my father.

I can't hear everything they were talking about just pieces.

“…she’s a liability…” Camille hisses.

“…handle it like we discussed…” my father says in a low voice.

Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a huge stack of cash. Hundreds, maybe fifties.

He holds it out then she takes it with no hesitation, tucks it into her designer bag like a gold-digger that she is. What was he paying her for?

Liability. Her. Natalie?

I stepped back without thinking, towards my room. I need space to think. I need to not put a bullet in my own father yet.

My elbow brushed against the stool and the vase got knocked over and a loud sound caught their attention they turned their heads slowly toward the sound.

I duck back into my room before they could spot me, with heart beat racing.