Chapter 4 - Marked Woman|
Two days after the funeral, I tried to reclaim the only normal life I knew. I put on my worn sneakers, tied my hair into a tight bun, and walked through the staff entrance of the hotel at 3:00 PM, ready for my evening shift.
I didn't even make it past the security checkpoint.
"Bella Carter?" The head of human resources, a rigid man named Henderson, was waiting for me in the hallway holding a manila envelope. "Don't bother clocking in. Your employment with the hotel has been terminated, effective immediately."
I stood frozen. "Terminated? On what grounds? I haven't missed a day of work, except for my mother's funeral!"
"Corporate restructuring," Henderson said dismissively, refusing to meet my eyes. He shoved the envelope into my hands. "Inside is three months' severance pay. Take it, leave your keycard, and do not return to the premises. If you step onto this property again, you will be arrested for trespassing."
I opened the envelope. Inside was a cashier's check for twenty thousand dollars. There was no corporate signature—only the stamp of Drake Harbor Logistics.
Nathan.
He was scrubbing me out of his life. Firing me, paying me off, and ensuring that no link remained between the maid who had entered his room and the empire he ruled. Part of me wanted to tear the check into confetti and throw it in Henderson's face. But the rational, starving part of me knew that eviction was only two weeks away.
Numb with shock, I walked out of the building. The afternoon had faded into a cold, purple twilight. The wind coming off Lake Michigan felt like razor blades against my skin. With my subway card tapped out, I pulled my collar high and began the two-mile walk toward my tiny apartment in Pilsen.
I took the shortcut through the industrial alley behind 14th Street—a route I had walked hundreds of times. But half halfway down the narrow passage, the hair on my arms stood on end.
Footsteps echoed behind me. Fast. Heavy.
I quickened my pace, my heart surging into my throat. Ahead of me, the alley exited onto a well-lit street. I broke into a run.
Suddenly, a rusty van screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alley, cutting off my escape. Two men leaped out, wearing dark hoodies and track jackets. Behind me, two more closed the distance.
"Bella Carter," one of them sneered, stepping into the dim yellow light of an overhead bulb. A jagged scar ran from his lip to his collarbone. "Pretty little thing. No wonder Drake opened his vault for you."
"Stay back!" I shouted, raising my bag like a weapon, backing against the cold brick wall. "I don't have anything! I don't know who you are!"
"We know who you are, sweetheart," the scarred man said, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The blade snapped open with a vicious metallic click. "You're the little maid Drake paid fifty grand to sleep with. Marcus Moretti wants to know what secrets Drake whispered in your ear while you were in his bed."
"He didn't tell me anything!" I screamed. "Let me go!"
The man lunged forward, grabbing my coat. I fought back violently, kicking his shin and clawing at his face, but he was twice my size. He shoved me violently against the brick wall, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
"Search her!" he barked. "Take her to the warehouse!"
Before their hands could touch me again, the deafening roar of a high-performance engine shattered the alley.
Tires shrieked. A massive matte-black SUV smashed directly into the side of the thugs' van, crushing the metal like an aluminum soda can. The impact threw two of the men to the pavement.
Car doors flew open. Four men in combat tactical gear emerged, suppressing the thugs with brutal, military efficiency. Gunshots echoed off the brick walls, followed by groans of agony as Moretti’s men were disarmed and neutralized in under ten seconds.
Then, from the backseat of the SUV, a tall figure stepped into the drizzle.
Nathan Drake adjusted the cuffs of his tailored charcoal suit, stepping over a bleeding gunman as if he were nothing more than a puddle of dirty water. He walked straight toward me, his dark eyes ablaze with cold, lethal fury.
He stopped inches away, looking down at my bruised cheek where I had hit the brick wall.
"I told you to take the severance and disappear, Bella," he said, his voice deadly quiet.
"You got me fired!" I gasped, shaking from adrenaline and fear. "You caused this!"
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Nathan reached out, his thumb gently brushing across my cheekbone where the skin was reddened. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture made my breath hitch.
"I tried to protect you by letting you go," Nathan murmured, his eyes darkening. "I was wrong. From this moment on, you stay where I can see you."
