Shared by the Obsidian Lords

Chapter 2

The words etched into the steel felt like a brand burning against my skin.

*Property of Thorne.*

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I scrambled to my feet, my heels slipping on the Persian rug. I had to get out. I had to run. Silas was playing a twisted game, giving me a head start before his monsters came to collect me.

I threw open the study doors and sprinted down the lavish corridor. The pulsing of the collar against my throat synced perfectly with my racing heartbeat. It felt heavy, a constant, suffocating reminder of the ruthless man who had just claimed me.

"Hey! You there!"

I froze at the top of the grand marble staircase. Two men in sharp black suits were pushing through the crowd of masked gala attendees. One of them tapped an earpiece, his eyes locking directly onto my neck.

"It's the boss's mark," the guard barked to his partner. "He said she's wearing the collar. Grab her!"

*No.*

I kicked off my stilettos, leaving them tumbling down the marble stairs, and bolted. I tore through the ballroom, dodging swirling gowns and tuxedo-clad billionaires.

"Out of the way!" I screamed, shoving past a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Glass shattered across the floor, drawing gasps from the elite crowd, but I didn't stop.

"Get her!" a voice roared from behind me.

I burst through the French doors, the cold night air hitting my face like a physical blow. The sprawling gardens of the Thorne estate were a labyrinth of manicured hedges and stone fountains. I ran blindly, the silk of my stolen dress tearing on thorns as I forced my way through the brush.

Behind me, the sound of heavy boots crunched on the gravel. Flashlights sliced through the darkness.

"Spread out! The boss wants her alive and unbruised!"

I ducked behind a massive marble statue, my lungs burning. I pressed my hands over my mouth to muffle my ragged breathing. They were going to find me. The collar was tracking me. I was a glowing beacon in the dark.

Suddenly, a sleek, matte-black Aston Martin roared to life just beyond the wrought-iron gates of the estate. The headlights flashed twice.

The passenger window rolled down, and a man leaned across the leather seats. He wasn't wearing a mask. The streetlights illuminated a sharp jawline, tousled dark hair, and a pair of piercing, incredibly bright blue eyes.

"Unless you're planning on becoming a permanent fixture in Silas Thorne's basement, I suggest you get in!" the man shouted over the purr of the engine.

I hesitated. "Who are you?"

"The guy with the running car," he flashed a brilliant, charming smile that felt wildly out of place in the middle of a cartel hunt. "Hurry up, Cinderella. The clock strikes midnight in about thirty seconds, and those goons are bringing guns, not glass slippers."

A flashlight beam swept over the statue I was hiding behind.

"There she is!" a guard yelled.

I didn't think. I relied purely on the resourceful instinct that had kept me alive on the streets before I found my quiet life as an archivist. I sprinted toward the gate, squeezed through the bars, and threw myself into the passenger seat of the Aston Martin.

"Punch it!" I screamed.

The man slammed his foot on the gas. The tires squealed, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel as we fishtailed onto the winding coastal highway. I looked in the side mirror, watching the cartel guards shrink into the distance as we sped away from the nightmare.

I collapsed back against the plush leather seat, my chest heaving. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Breathe, sweetheart," the driver said, his tone light and breezy. He effortlessly navigated the treacherous curves of the cliffside road with one hand on the wheel. "You're safe now. Though I have to say, stealing from the Obsidian Circle is a bold career move. What did you take?"

"Nothing," I snapped, my defensive walls slamming back into place. I turned to look at my savior. "Who the hell are you? And how did you know I was running from Silas Thorne?"

"Name's Julian," he said, offering a casual two-finger salute from the steering wheel. "Julian Croft. Hacker, thief, and occasional knight in shining armor. And I knew you were running from Thorne because half the cartel's security frequency just lit up like a Christmas tree talking about a girl in a red dress wearing a biometric collar."

Julian's eyes flicked to my neck. The charming smile faded for a fraction of a second, replaced by something entirely unreadable, before returning in full force. "Speaking of which. Edgy jewelry choice. Not my style, but it suits you."

"It's not jewelry," I snarled, grabbing the metal ring. "He forced it on me. It's locked. And it's tracking me."

Julian's demeanor shifted instantly. The playful rogue vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating professional. "Biometric? Show me."

I leaned toward him, pulling my hair back to expose the seamless lock at the nape of my neck.

Julian glanced at it while keeping one eye on the road. "Ah. Military grade. Nasty piece of work. If you try to cut it, it'll inject you with enough paralytic to drop a rhino."

"He told me," I whispered, the reality of my situation crashing down on me. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Can you get it off?"

"Me? Sweetheart, I can hack the Pentagon before breakfast," Julian said, his charming arrogance returning. "Give me a laptop and thirty minutes, and I'll have that thing popping open like a soda can. But first, we need to get off the grid. If Thorne is tracking that collar, he knows exactly which highway we're on."

"Then why are we still on it?!" I practically shrieked.

Julian chuckled, a warm, rich sound that sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach. "Relax. My car is lined with a localized signal jammer. The moment you sat in that seat, your dot vanished from Thorne's radar. To him, you just fell off the face of the earth."

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Why are you helping me? You don't know me."

Julian shifted gears, the engine roaring as we hit the straightaway toward the city skyline. He glanced at me, his blue eyes softening. "Let's just say I have a soft spot for strays who bite off more than they can chew. Besides, nobody deserves to be Thorne's property."

His words hit a raw nerve. I looked down at my hands, still trembling. The memory of Silas's heavy body pressing me against the desk, the dark, thrilling command in his voice, the shameful, hypersexual response of my own body—it all swirled together in a toxic cocktail of fear and adrenaline.

"Thank you," I murmured softly. "I'm Clara."

"Clara," Julian tasted the name on his tongue. "Beautiful name for a beautiful thief. Sit tight, Clara. I'm taking you to my safehouse. It's an absolute fortress. Not even the Obsidian Circle can breach it."

For the next twenty minutes, the city blurred past us. Julian kept up a steady stream of witty, distracting banter. He asked about my stolen dress, mocked the pretentious elites at the gala, and spun wild tales of his own alleged heists. He was charming, disarming, and entirely intoxicating. The sheer contrast between Silas's terrifying dominance and Julian's breezy, protective warmth made my head spin.

We pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a towering, glass-fronted skyscraper in the heart of the financial district.

"Private elevator," Julian explained as we stepped out of the car. He led me to a heavy steel door, pressing his thumb against a scanner. "Takes us straight to the penthouse. Totally off the grid."

The elevator ride was silent. In the enclosed space, the adrenaline of the chase began to morph into something else. The danger had passed, leaving in its wake a raw, electric tension. I looked at Julian. He was watching me in the reflection of the elevator doors, his eyes tracing the line of my throat, lingering on the collar.

The doors chimed and slid open, revealing a sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the neon-lit city, while plush, dark furniture filled the massive living space.

I stepped inside, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. "It's... incredible."

"It's secure," Julian corrected, stepping in behind me.

He walked over to a high-tech control panel on the wall and flipped a series of heavy switches. Steel shutters slid silently over the massive windows, sealing us in. The heavy front door engaged with a series of loud, mechanical locks.

*Clack. Clack. Clack.*

The sound of the locks echoing in the quiet penthouse sent a strange shiver down my spine. I turned around to face him.

Julian was standing by the door, completely still. The playful, charming hacker who had joked with me in the car was gone. He slowly took off his leather jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. As he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, his bright blue eyes locked onto mine. They were completely dark, swimming with a heavy, undisguised lust that made my breath catch.

The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright suddenly ignited into pure, unfiltered heat. My internal wound—the desperate, primal craving I fought so hard to suppress—flared to life under his intense gaze.

Julian crossed the room, his footsteps slow and deliberate, until he was standing just inches from me. He reached out, his warm fingers brushing against the cold steel of the collar at my neck, before sliding up to cup my cheek.

His thumb brushed my lower lip, and my body instantly leaned into his touch.

Julian locks the doors to his penthouse safehouse, his eyes darkening with lust as he tells Clara, "You're safe now. Let me help you forget them."