Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Past
Two weeks inside the penthouse felt like living on another planet.
Briar had a spacious guest suite with a king-sized bed, a walk-in closet filled with clothes she hadn't had to buy, and a private bathroom that looked like a luxury spa. Brutus was recovering at a miraculous rate, his ribs filling out, his coat regaining its deep, healthy sheen under Briar’s specialized diet and constant supervision.
Yet, despite the luxury, the ghosts of her old life refused to stay buried.
It was late Tuesday evening. Damien was away in Washington dealing with a congressional subcommittee regarding his shipping ports, leaving Briar alone in the sprawling penthouse with only the security detail stationed downstairs.
She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a mug of chamomile tea, watching the rain streak down the glass.
Clack. Click.
The sound echoed faintly from the private elevator foyer—a sharp, mechanical sound that shouldn't have been there.
Briar froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a cold spike of adrenaline flooding her veins. She set her mug down on the marble counter so fast it chipped.
She knew that sound. She knew the cadence of those footsteps.
Corbin.
How had he found her? She had left no forwarding address, changed her phone number, and completely vanished from Brooklyn. But Corbin was a persistent cancer; once he marked something as his, he never stopped hunting.
Slowly, silently, Briar backed away from the living room toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.
The private elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
“Briar?” a voice called out—smooth, oily, and dripping with a sickening familiarity that made her skin crawl. “I know you’re in here, sweetheart. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
A cold sweat broke out across Briar’s neck. She ducked into the master hallway just as a heavy shadow fell across the living room carpet.
Corbin stepped out of the elevator. He wore a cheap leather jacket, his blonde hair unwashed, a manic, desperate grin plastered across his face as he looked around the multi-million-dollar penthouse with wide, greedy eyes.
“Well, well, well,” Corbin muttered to himself, walking past the minimalist art installations. “Look at you, hiding out with the rich boys. And here I thought you were just a miserable clinic rat.”
Briar's breath hitched in her throat. She reached blindly behind her, her fingers searching for anything she could use as a weapon.
Before she could grab a heavy crystal decanter from the side table, a dark, terrifying shape detached itself from the shadows of the master corridor.
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Brutus didn't bark. He didn't groww.
He simply moved forward like an avalanche of muscle and black fur, his eyes locked onto Corbin with absolute, murderous intent.
