Chapter 4

The Maybach turned off the busy avenue and glided into a narrow, poorly lit one-way street in Lower Manhattan. The sidewalks were completely empty, the brick walls of the old warehouses looming like dark canyons on either side.

In the passenger seat of the trailing Escalade, Alex pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Execute," he commanded.

Two of the black SUVs suddenly accelerated, their engines roaring over the sound of the rain. They shot past the Escalade, flanking the Maybach on both sides.

The SUV on the left violently swerved, cutting directly in front of the Maybach's hood, and slammed on its brakes.

The Maybach's driver let out a panicked shout. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, his foot stomping down on the brake pedal.

Before the Maybach could stop, the second SUV accelerated and rammed its reinforced steel bumper brutally into the Maybach's rear right door.

The sickening crunch of tearing metal echoed down the empty street. The impact sent the heavy Maybach spinning out of control. The tires screeched against the wet asphalt before the car violently slammed into a cast-iron fire hydrant on the sidewalk.

A massive geyser of water erupted into the air, raining down on the crushed hood. The Maybach's passenger-side windows shattered inward in an explosion of safety glass.

Inside the cabin, the airbags deployed with a deafening pop. The violent jolt threw Aida forward, and the side of her head smashed brutally against the hard plastic frame of the window.

A sickening wave of dizziness washed over her. Her vision blurred into dark spots. She felt a warm, thick liquid slide down her temple and drip onto her collarbone.

Grayson was thrown against the opposite door. He groaned, shaking his head, and immediately started screaming a string of violent curses. He kicked wildly at his jammed door, trying to force it open.

The Escalade screeched to a halt ten yards away. Brendan didn't wait for the car to fully stop. He kicked his door open and stepped out into the freezing rain.

He walked toward the smoking wreck of the Maybach, his jaw locked. He grabbed the handle of the mangled rear door, planted his foot against the frame, and violently wrenched the metal door entirely off its hinges, throwing it onto the wet street.

Brendan looked inside. His eyes locked onto the blood streaming down Aida's pale face. His pupils contracted to pinpricks. The breath completely vanished from his lungs, leaving a cold, hollow panic in his chest.

He leaned into the ruined cabin, carefully avoiding the jagged edges of the broken glass. He slid his arms under Aida's knees and behind her back, pulling her limp body out of the wreckage.

Aida's head lolled against his chest. Her eyes were half-closed, her consciousness fading. Driven by pure survival instinct, her fingers weakly curled into the wet fabric of his suit lapel, holding on.

Grayson finally managed to kick his door open. He crawled out onto the street, his suit ruined, his face red with rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Brendan. "You son of a bitch!"

Grayson lunged forward, reaching out to grab Aida's dangling arm. "She's with me! Put her down!"

Brendan's eyes turned to absolute ice. He pulled Aida's limp body tighter against his chest, wrapping his left arm firmly around her waist to secure her dead weight against him. Without missing a beat, he shifted his stance, raised his right leg, and drove the flat of his expensive leather shoe directly into the center of Grayson's chest with bone-crushing force.

Grayson let out a choked gasp as the air was forced from his lungs. He flew backward, crashing heavily onto the waterlogged asphalt.

Before Grayson could move, two massive men in black suits materialized from the rain. They grabbed Grayson by the arms, dragged him up, and slammed him face-down onto the hood of an SUV, pinning his arms behind his back.

Brendan didn't look at Grayson again. He shrugged off his suit jacket, the silk lining still warm from his body heat, and wrapped it tightly around Aida's shivering shoulders.

He carried her away from the wreckage, his long strides eating up the distance back to the Escalade.

He laid Aida gently across the wide leather backseat, then climbed in beside her. He carefully lifted her head and rested it on his thighs.

Brendan reached into the compartment between the seats and pulled out a white first-aid kit. He ripped open a sterile gauze pad, pressed it firmly against the bleeding gash on Aida's forehead, and held it there.

Aida sucked in a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth as the pressure hit the wound. Her dark eyelashes fluttered wildly against her pale cheeks.

"Drive," Brendan ordered the driver, his voice tight and low. "Get to the private hospital on the Upper East Side. Now."

Outside, Alex stood in the rain, watching as the bodyguards shoved a struggling Grayson into the back of one of the SUVs.

The Escalade tore away from the scene, its tires spinning on the wet pavement. Inside the cabin, the heavy, metallic smell of fresh blood filled the air.

Aida forced her eyes open a fraction of an inch. Her vision was swimming, but she could see the sharp, tense line of Brendan's jaw and the dark, stormy look in his eyes as he stared down at her.

Her lips parted. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Where... where is my term sheet?"

Before Brendan could answer, her eyes rolled back, and she slipped completely into darkness.