Chapter 6 The Debt

Lydia POV

The ceiling did not just fall; it detonated. Plaster, carved mahogany beams, and heavy crystal shards from the central chandelier rained down like shrapnel. Dust choked the air in thick, gray clouds, turning the blaring alarm lights into dull, red smears. All around us, screaming cut through the sharp crackle of automatic gunfire. Blackwood guards in heavy tactical vests were pouring through the shattered glass doors of the north terrace, while Mark family enforcers fired back from behind overturned oak tables and fallen marble pillars.

I did not get a second to process any of it. Damon’s fingers locked around my right wrist like a steel clamp. He yanked me off my feet, dragging me across the ruined dance floor before I could even draw a breath to scream.

“Get off me!” I yelled, digging my heels into the carpet. A jagged piece of glass ripped through the side of my dress shoe, but I did not care. I slammed my left fist against the side of his chest. It felt like punching a wall of solid iron. “Let go of me! Damon!”

He did not answer. He did not even look back. He kept moving with brutal, precise efficiency, keeping his head low as a spray of bullets shattered the mirror paneling on the wall three feet above our heads. Silvered glass showered over my shoulder, stinging my skin.

“Stop!” I screamed again, twisting my body, trying to use my weight to throw him off balance. “Where is Cole? He was supposed to meet me near the archway! What did you do to him?”

Damon did not slow down. He rounded a corner into the service hallway, pulling me so hard behind him that my shoulder popped with a sharp, burning pang. He shoved open a heavy fire door, hauled me into the narrow corridor, and let the heavy metal door slam shut behind us. The roaring noise of the ballroom dropped to a muffled, rhythmic thudding, but the red emergency lights were still spinning on the ceiling, casting long, blood-colored shadows down the concrete hallway.

The moment the door slammed, I threw my whole weight backward, ducking my head and yanking with both hands against his grip.

“I said stop!” I shrieked. My voice scraped raw against my dry throat.

This time, he stopped. But he did not let go. He turned around so fast I nearly stumbled into his chest. His face was streaked with dark gray soot and a cut along his cheekbone was oozing fresh blood, but his dark eyes were unnervingly calm. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, completely untouched by the madness happening fifty feet away.

“Cole is not coming, Lydia,” Damon said. His voice was flat, low, and cut straight through the wailing siren above us.

“You’re lying!” I shoved my palm against his chest, trying to push him away, but his grip on my wrist did not loosen a fraction. “He messaged me! He was right outside! You did something to him! Who the hell are you? What are you even doing here?”

“If Cole were coming, he would be in that room right now getting torn apart by Blackwood’s hit squad,” Damon said. He took a step forward, forcing me back until my shoulder blades hit the damp concrete wall. “He isn’t coming. Now move your feet.”

“No!” I glared at him, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I thought it would crack them. “Back in the ballroom, you said I owed you. You said my life belonged to you! I don’t know who you are! I don’t owe you a damn thing!”

Damon leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from mine. Up close, I could smell the sharp scent of copper, gunpowder, and cold rain on his jacket. His thumb pressed firmly against the inside of my wrist, right over my thumping pulse.

“You heard me wrong,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t hear anything wrong! You said…”

“I said you owe me nothing,” Damon interrupted. His voice dropped lower, thick with a dark, heavy intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. “You owe me nothing, Lydia. Because I owe you everything. Now if you want to stay alive long enough to figure out what that means, you are going to walk.”

I stared at him, my breath catching in my chest. “What does that mean? What do you owe me?”

Before he could answer, the fire door behind us burst open with a loud metallic crash.

A Blackwood guard stepped through the frame, a short-barreled automatic rifle raised to his shoulder. His eyes locked onto us instantly. “Hold it right there! Don’t move!”

Damon did not hesitate. He did not even flinch. In one fluid motion, he let go of my wrist, stepped inside the guard’s reach, and slammed his palm directly upward into the bottom of the rifle’s barrel. The gun went off with a deafening crack, sending a burst of bullets straight into the concrete ceiling. Dust and sparks rained down on us.

Damon grabbed the barrel with his left hand, twisted the weapon entirely out of the guard’s hands, and drove the heavy butt of the rifle directly into the man’s sternum. The guard let out a wet gasp and stumbled backward. Damon followed up instantly, stepping in and driving a knee straight into the man’s stomach, then throwing a hard right hook across his jaw. The guard’s head snapped sideways, and his body went completely limp, dropping to the floor like a sack of wet sand.

It took less than three seconds.

Damon did not check the man’s pulse. He did not look at the rifle. He tossed the gun aside onto the floor, turned back around, and grabbed my wrist again before I could even attempt to run in the opposite direction.

“Move,” he growled, pulling me down the corridor toward the rear exit.

“Let go!” I scrambled behind him, my knees shaking. “You just killed him!”

“He’s breathing. He’ll have a broken jaw and a concussion,” Damon said without looking back. “Next time, I won’t be so gentle if it keeps us from getting out of here.”

We hit the double doors at the end of the service hallway. Damon slammed his shoulder against the crash bar, and cold, night air hit us like a slap in the face. Heavy rain was pouring down in thick gray sheets, instantly soaking my hair and ruining my silk dress. The outdoor loading dock was lit by flickering yellow floodlights, casting long, oily reflections across the wet asphalt pavement.

Down in the main courtyard, engines were revving violently. Spotlights cut through the dark, sweeping across the stone walls of the estate. I could hear men shouting commands through megaphones in the distance—Blackwood reinforcements were already setting up a perimeter around the front gates.

“This way,” Damon muttered, dragging me down the steel stairs leading to the lower parking bay.

I slipped on the wet metal step, my knee slamming hard against the railing. A cry of pain escaped my throat, and I dug my free hand into his leather sleeve, pulling back with everything I had left.

“Stop dragging me like I’m trash!” I screamed into the wind and rain. Water streamed down my face, stinging my eyes. “Tell me where Cole is! Did you set this up? Did you bring Blackwood here?”

Damon stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face me in the downpour. The rain ran down his forehead, soaking his dark hair and washing the thin line of blood off his cheekbone. His grip on my arm remained rock solid.

“Look around you, Lydia,” he demanded, pointing back up toward the main hall where dark gray smoke was billowing out of the broken upper windows. “Look at the estate. It’s burning. Blackwood didn’t come here for a chat, and they didn't come here because of me. They came to wipe out every single person with Mark blood in their veins. If I wanted you dead, I would have walked out of that ballroom ten minutes ago and left you standing under that falling chandelier.”

“Cole wouldn’t leave me!” I shouted back, tears mixing with the rainwater on my cheeks. “He promised he would get me out! You took me away from the rendezvous point!”

“Cole is a coward who runs when the first shot is fired!” Damon snapped, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous heat that made me recoil. “He was never going to save you. He was using you as a distraction to clear his own exit route!”

“That’s not true!”

“Believe whatever fairy tale you want,” Damon said coldly, turning away and pulling me toward the shadowy edge of the loading dock. “But you’re going to believe it inside the truck.”

Parked in the dark alcove between two large waste containers was a heavy, matte-black SUV. It had no license plates, thick reinforced steel bumpers, and dark tinted windows that reflected the yellow floodlights like black glass. The engine was already idling, a low, guttural thrum echoing off the concrete walls around us.

Damon reached out, grabbed the handle of the front passenger door, and yanked it open.

“Get in,” he commanded.

“No!” I backed away, pressing my spine against the side of the metal dumpster. “I’m not going anywhere with you! I don’t know who you work for!”

Damon did not waste time arguing. He stepped in close, grabbed me by the waist with both hands, and lifted me off the wet pavement as easily as if I weighed nothing at all.

I screamed, kicking my legs wildly. My heel caught him sharp across his shin, but he did not even flinch. He shoved me sideways onto the leather passenger seat, leaned over me to reach across my body, and pulled the heavy seatbelt across my chest, clicking it firmly into the buckle before I could push him off.

“Hey! Let me out!” I scrambled for the door handle, but he slammed the heavy door shut from the outside. A heavy, mechanical double-click echoed through the cab as the electronic locks engaged.

I beat my fists against the thick reinforced glass of the window, but it didn't even vibrate under my knuckles. Through the dark tint, I saw Damon round the front of the vehicle in two fast strides, yank the driver’s side door open, and slide into the seat beside me.

He slammed his door shut, instantly cutting off the sound of the rain and the distant sirens outside.

“Unlock this door right now!” I demanded, grabbing the gear shift console and trying to pull it back. “Damon, I swear to God…”

He grabbed my wrist again, shoving my hand away from the controls, and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

The heavy armored SUV lurched forward with a violent snarl, the tires spinning on the wet asphalt before catching traction. We shot out of the dark alcove, cutting across the lower service driveway toward the rear exit path.

Ahead of us, two large Blackwood pickup trucks swerved around the stone archway, their high-beam headlights blinding us through the rain-streaked windshield. The trucks turned sideways, blocking the narrow access road that led to the main highway. Armed men jumped out of the truck beds, raising their rifles toward us.

“Hold on,” Damon said, his voice flat and steady.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, grabbing the dashboard with both hands as I saw the metal barricade approaching at fifty miles an hour. “Damon, stop! They’re going to shoot!”

“They can shoot all they want,” he said.

He did not hit the brakes. He stomped down harder on the accelerator. The engine roared violently, the heavy vehicle surging forward through the sheets of falling water. Bullets began to bounce off the reinforced windshield, making loud, sharp pinging sounds that made me duck my head and scream.

Damon gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white, and braced his shoulders.

The front steel bumper of our SUV slammed directly into the side panel of the lead Blackwood truck. The impact threw me hard against my seatbelt, the sharp locking mechanism biting into my shoulder. Metal crushed against metal with a sickening, deafening crunch. Sparks erupted across the hood like fireworks, lit up brightly against the pitch-black night.

The lighter Blackwood truck was shoved violently sideways, its rear wheels sliding across the slick mud and slamming into the heavy stone pillar of the estate’s rear gate. The gap opened up just enough—maybe six feet of space between the crushed truck and the stone wall.

Damon yanked the wheel to the left, sending the SUV tearing right through the narrow opening. The side mirror shattered against the stone pillar with a loud crack, but the heavy vehicle did not stop. We burst through the perimeter wall, hitting the open asphalt of the rural highway just as two more Blackwood security vehicles pulled up behind us, their red and blue lights flashing uselessly against the dark trees.

I sat up in my seat, my whole body trembling uncontrollably, my breathing fast and shallow. I looked back through the rear window. In the distance, high up on the hill, the Mark family estate was glowing bright orange against the black night sky, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the storm clouds.

I turned back to look at the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Damon’s eyes were locked on the dark road ahead, his hands steady on the wheel, his face emotionless as the black asphalt stretched out into the empty night.