Gunshots ripped through the alley.
The first bullet struck the wall inches from Damian's head, sending concrete dust into the air. Arielle screamed, instinctively covering her ears. Damian didn't flinch. He fired back, quick and precise, forcing the attackers to scatter behind dumpsters and broken crates.
"Stay behind me!" he barked, pushing Arielle deeper into the shadows.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. The alley was narrow—too narrow. A trap. Damian knew it. She could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the way he shifted his stance, preparing for close combat.
The attackers advanced again—five men, all masked, all armed.
One aimed directly at Arielle.
Damian saw him first.
He shoved her behind a rusted metal drum and fired at the man's wrist. The attacker screamed as his gun clattered to the ground. Damian didn't wait—he lunged forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and slammed him into the brick wall so hard Arielle felt the vibration.
"Who sent you?" he snarled.
The man tried to fight back, twisting, punching, but Damian's strength swallowed his resistance. He hit the man with an elbow to the jaw, knocking him unconscious.
Two more attackers rushed forward.
"Arielle, down!" Damian ordered.
She dropped just as bullets tore through the air above her.
Damian fired twice, hitting one in the leg, sending him crashing to the ground. The other managed to duck behind a dumpster and fire again. Damian pulled Arielle close behind the drum, protecting her with his body.
She could feel him breathing—fast, controlled, deadly focused.
"Damian…" she whispered, trembling. "We're trapped."
"Not yet," he muttered, checking the magazine of his gun. "But close."
He pressed his hand against her cheek briefly—just one second, but enough to steady her—and then he was gone again, stepping out to return fire.
Arielle peeked out.
The alley was chaos: smoke, shouting, footsteps, metallic clangs, the bitter smell of gunpowder. One attacker tried to flank from the other side of the alley, but Damian saw him instantly. He whipped his arm and threw a knife, hitting the man in the shoulder and sending him screaming to the ground.
Arielle's breath hitched.
Damian was terrifying when he fought—silent, calculated, ruthless. But in that same ruthlessness, she felt safe.
Too safe.
The remaining attackers regrouped near the alley's entrance, whispering sharply. One pointed toward Arielle. Another nodded.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "They're targeting you again."
Fear spiked through her. "Why won't they stop?!"
"Because they think you're my weakness."
Arielle froze.
Her weakness.
Her lungs stuttered.
Damian realized what he'd said—but he didn't correct it. He didn't soften it. He didn't look away.
Another wave of bullets came, cutting off the moment.
Damian fired back, forcing the attackers deeper into cover. He grabbed Arielle's hand and dragged her toward the far end of the alley.
"Come on—we need higher ground," he said. "They're boxed in from this direction, but they're closing in from the other."
They reached a metal staircase leading to the fire escape. Damian practically lifted her onto the first step.
"Go," he urged. "Climb."
Arielle climbed, heart pounding. Halfway up, the metal groaned loudly—too loudly.
One attacker heard it.
He fired.
Arielle screamed as a bullet tore through the metal beside her.
Damian shot the man instantly, but two others rushed forward.
"Move!" Damian shouted again.
Arielle climbed faster, hands shaking, legs trembling so much she nearly slipped. Damian was right behind her. Another attacker climbed after them. Damian turned, kicked the man off the ladder, and the attacker fell back with a sickening thud.
They reached the rooftop.
Arielle stumbled onto the gravel-covered surface, gasping for air.
Damian pulled himself up behind her, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her to the side just as bullets flew past them.
"They're coming up!" Arielle cried.
"I know," Damian said, already scanning the rooftop.
The roof was wide, with only a few ventilation units and antennas. No easy exits. No cover.
Another trap.
Damian cursed under his breath.
Three attackers appeared at the edge of the roof.
Arielle grabbed Damian's arm. "Damian—there's too many—"
"Stay behind me."
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, gun raised. The attackers hesitated—not because of the weapon, but because of the look in Damian's eyes.
A look that promised death.
The first attacker lunged. Damian dodged, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him onto the rooftop. The second attacked from behind, but Damian twisted, blocking the knife with his forearm before elbowing the man in the ribs.
Arielle watched helplessly, heart in her throat, as Damian fought two men at once. His movements were a blur—fast, brutal, efficient. He disarmed one, turned, and shot the other in the leg.
But before he could finish them, the third attacker rushed Arielle directly.
She froze.
Time slowed.
His hand reached for her.
Her scream tore out of her throat.
But Damian was faster.
He barreled into the attacker, knocking him backward. The man stumbled dangerously near the edge of the roof. Damian kicked his knee, sending him falling backward over the ledge.
Arielle gasped loudly.
Damian grabbed her shoulders. "Are you hurt?"
"No—no, but—"
Footsteps thundered behind them.
Damian spun around.
Four more attackers. All armed.
"Damn it," he whispered. "They're not stopping."
Arielle's breath hitched. "What do we do now?!"
Damian grabbed her wrist. "We run."
He pulled her toward the opposite end of the roof where another building stood about ten feet away. Too far to jump. Too dangerous.
But Damian wasn't slowing down.
"Damian—no—please—we can't—"
"You trust me?" he said sharply.
Her breath hitched. "Yes."
He pulled her tighter against him.
"Then hold on."
He backed up.