Rising From Ashes: The Betrayed Heiress

Augustus clamped his teeth down on one end of the white gauze. He pulled the fabric tight across his bleeding abdomen and tied a harsh knot with his free hand. He slumped back against the base of the sofa, his broad chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged intervals. A layer of cold sweat coated his forehead.

Dorene watched him finish. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, raised her arm, and pointed a trembling finger straight at the front door.

"Get out. Now."

Augustus didn't even blink. He kept his head resting against the leather, his dark eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm staying here tonight," he stated. His voice was a weak rasp, but the absolute refusal in his tone was undeniable.

Dorene's blood boiled. She snatched the heavy brass ashtray off the floor and took a step forward. "If you don't walk out that door right now, I am calling hotel security."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Augustus's chest. The movement pulled at his fresh wound, making him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. He turned his head slowly to look at her.

"Those men are still down there," he mocked softly. "They're waiting in the lobby. Or hiding in the blind spots of your hallway. You walk out there, or you invite security up here, and we both end up in body bags."

Dorene's hand froze in mid-air. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Logic screamed that he was right, but the thought of sleeping in the same suite as a violent, bleeding stranger made her skin crawl.

Augustus saw the hesitation in her eyes. He closed his own and let his head fall back. "I'll be gone before the sun comes up. I won't touch you."

Dorene bit down hard on her lower lip. Her eyes darted between the dark blood soaking his shirt and the heavy wooden door leading to the hallway. She let out a frustrated, shaky breath and dropped the ashtray back onto the table with a loud clatter.

She spun around and stomped toward the bedroom, her bare feet hitting the floorboards hard. She reached up to the top shelf of the closet and yanked down a heavy, spare wool blanket and a firm pillow. She hugged them tightly to her chest.

Marching back into the living room, she threw the blanket and pillow directly at the single armchair positioned furthest away from the bedroom door.

"You stay right there," she warned, her chin tilted up in a desperate show of authority. "You don't cross this line."

Augustus opened one eye. He glanced at the blanket, and the faintest ghost of a smirk pulled at the corner of his pale lips. He didn't say a word. He just let his eyes slide shut again.

Dorene didn't wait for a verbal agreement. She turned on her heel, practically ran back into the bedroom, and slammed the door shut. She grabbed the metal deadbolt and twisted it hard. The loud click echoed in the quiet room.

It wasn't enough. She grabbed the heavy mahogany chair sitting by the vanity and dragged it across the floor. She wedged the top of the chair firmly under the brass doorknob, kicking the legs to make sure it was completely jammed.

Only then did her knees give out. She slid down the wooden door panel and sat on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest.

Out in the living room, Augustus listened to the frantic scraping of furniture. He shook his head slowly, ignoring the burning pain in his gut. He reached into the pocket of his dark trousers and pulled out a heavy, battered burner phone. The screen was cracked down the middle.

He pressed the power button. The screen flickered violently before casting a harsh white glow over his face. His thumb moved quickly over the glass, dialing a completely untraceable number. When the line connected, he didn't wait for a greeting. He spoke in a low, gravelly whisper, using a series of obscure, pre-arranged codes.

He informed his contact to hold their position in the blind spots outside the hotel. No one comes in. No one makes a move.

He hung up. The screen immediately died, going completely black. He tossed the useless piece of metal onto the coffee table. He reached out, grabbed the blanket that smelled faintly of vanilla, and pulled it over his shivering body, forcing his eyes shut against the pain.

Inside the bedroom, Dorene lay rigid on top of the massive king-sized bed. She was wrapped tightly in the duvet like a cocoon. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the dark ceiling. She strained her ears, listening for the slightest creak of floorboards from the other side of the door.

Hours dragged by. The only sound from the living room was the man's heavy, labored breathing. Exhaustion finally began to drag Dorene's eyelids down.

Deep in the middle of the night, a violent crack of thunder shattered the silence.

A torrential downpour slammed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sudden noise made Dorene jolt upright in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She instantly looked at the mahogany chair. It hadn't moved.

She wiped a layer of cold sweat from her forehead. A sliver of warm yellow light spilled under the gap of the bedroom door. The floor lamp in the living room was still on.

A sharp, chilling thought suddenly pierced through her panic. Was he dead? Or had he passed out from the massive blood loss? Her mind raced with terrifying scenarios. If a violent, unidentified stranger died right here in her penthouse, the resulting police investigation, the endless interrogations, and the ensuing media scandal would completely destroy her life. Driven entirely by a desperate need to assess the physical threat and ensure she wasn't about to be framed for murder, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. She walked to the door and carefully, silently, pulled the mahogany chair back just an inch.

She unlocked the deadbolt with agonizing slowness. She pulled the door open a tiny crack and pressed her eye against the gap.

Augustus was curled up on the small armchair. His long legs were awkwardly bent. The blanket had slipped off his chest. His brows were pulled together in a tight, agonizing knot, his face caught in the grip of a violent nightmare.

Seeing this massive, terrifying man reduced to such a vulnerable state did not evoke pity, but it did make her calculate her odds. He looked weak, barely clinging to consciousness. Her fingers tightened around the brass doorknob.

She debated pushing the door open just to check if his chest was still rising and falling, needing visual confirmation that he was still breathing.

Suddenly, Augustus let out a low, guttural growl in his sleep. It sounded exactly like a wounded beast preparing to snap a neck.

The sound hit Dorene like a bucket of ice water. Her sanity snapped back into place. What the hell was she doing? Feeling sorry for a violent criminal?

She pushed the door shut instantly. She twisted the deadbolt and shoved the mahogany chair back under the knob with far more force than before. She practically ran back to the bed, pulled the duvet over her head, and pressed the pillows hard against her ears.

In the living room, Augustus heard the distinct click of the lock sliding back into place. The tight knot between his brows slowly relaxed. A faint, bitter smile touched his lips in the dark.

The rain continued to batter the glass, trapping them both in the silent, tense space until dawn.