Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO-Chapter 84: Deeper Into the Dark

LEONARDO ANNISON

Oliver’s blood smelled like copper and gunpowder, that metallic tang mixing with the damp earth scent of the rotting cabin. I pressed the bandage harder against his arm, watching his jaw clench as the fabric bit into torn flesh. The lamplight flickered across his face, catching the sweat beading along his hairline and the unnatural pallor of his skin beneath the golden glow.

"Christ, Annison," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You could at least buy me dinner first."

I didn’t dignify that with a response, just tightened the knot with a sharp tug. His blood had already soaked through three layers of gauze. Too much. Too fast.

Charles groaned from the moth-eaten couch, his breathing wet and labored. The bullet had gone through his shoulder clean, but he’d lost enough blood to make his movements sluggish. "They’ll have trackers," he muttered, his good hand fumbling with his phone. "Should’ve been here by now."

Oliver stiffened beside me. "Who’s ’they’ exactly?"

I kept my voice flat. "People who don’t want you dead."

"That narrows it down." Oliver tried to laugh but it came out strangled. His fingers trembled where they gripped the armrest, the usual steady hands of a pianist now shaking like a junkie in withdrawal. Shock setting in. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

The realization sent ice through my veins. I’d seen men die from less. Watched as the light left their eyes while I stood helpless—

No. Not again.

I grabbed Oliver’s chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. His pupils were too wide, the normally vibrant green of his irises nearly swallowed by black. "Stay with me."

His breath hitched. "Not going anywhere, princeling." But his voice lacked its usual bite.

The floorboards creaked as I stood, my boots leaving bloody prints on the warped wood. Through the broken window, the moon hung heavy between the pines, casting long skeletal shadows across the clearing. Too quiet. No crickets. No owls.

They were coming.

I turned just as Oliver pushed himself upright, swaying dangerously before catching himself on the mantel. His shirt hung open, revealing that jagged scar along his ribs—old but vicious, the kind that spoke of stitches done hastily in some backroom clinic. Another secret. Another piece of the Oliver King puzzle that didn’t fit the spoiled heir narrative.

"You’re staring," he said without turning.

"You’re hiding."

That got his attention. He faced me, eyes glittering with something dangerous. "Yeah? And what exactly—"

The first bullet took out the oil lamp.

Darkness swallowed the cabin a heartbeat before the second shot shattered the window. I moved on instinct, tackling Oliver to the floor as wood splintered where his head had been. His body hit the ground beneath me with a pained gasp, the heat of him searing through our clothes.

"Stay down," I growled against his ear.

His laugh was breathless. "Not how I imagined this position."

Charles was already moving, his pistol flashing in the moonlight as he returned fire through the broken window. "East tree line! Two shooters!"

Another volley of gunfire chewed through the cabin walls. Oliver flinched as a bullet buried itself in the floorboards inches from his face.

I rolled us both behind the overturned table, shielding his body with mine. His breath came in short bursts against my neck, his fingers digging into my hips like he wanted to push me away and pull me closer at the same time.

"Root cellar," he gasped. "Through the kitchen."

I didn’t ask how he knew. Just hauled him up and shoved him toward the doorway, covering his retreat with two precise shots toward the muzzle flashes outside.

The basement stairs groaned under our weight, the darkness swallowing us whole. Behind us, the cabin door exploded inward.

Oliver’s hand found mine in the blackness, his grip fever-hot and unshakable. "This way," he whispered, pulling me deeper into the dark.

The tunnel walls pressed in around us like a living thing, the scent of damp earth and gunpowder thick in my throat. Oliver’s hand was slick with blood where it gripped mine, his breathing ragged but even. Behind us, the muffled shouts of our pursuers echoed through the narrow passage.

"Left here," Oliver whispered, tugging me toward a fork in the tunnel I wouldn’t have seen without his guidance.

Charles brought up the rear, his labored breathing the only sign of the bullet wound in his shoulder. "They’re gaining," he muttered.

I didn’t need the reminder. The beam of a flashlight had just cut through the darkness behind us.

The tunnel opened abruptly into a storm drain, the sudden rush of cold air making Oliver shiver against me. Moonlight filtered through the grate above, painting his face in fractured silver. Blood streaked his temple where a bullet had grazed him, the wound still oozing.

"Up there," I said, nodding to the rusted ladder.

Oliver’s grip tightened. "Wait."

The word sent a chill down my spine.

He crouched, pressing his palm to the damp concrete. "Do you feel that?"

I didn’t. Not at first. Then—

Vibrations.

Engines.

Charles cursed under his breath. "Extraction’s early."

Or it wasn’t our extraction at all.

I moved before the thought fully formed, shoving Oliver behind me as the grate above us screeched open. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark.

I fired blind, the recoil jarring up my arm. A body thudded to the ground.

Oliver didn’t freeze this time. He snatched the fallen gun and fired twice more, his movements precise despite the tremor in his hands. Two more shadows collapsed.

Charles grabbed my arm. "That’s not our team."

No shit.

Our team wouldn’t be wearing King insignias on their vests.

Oliver went very still beside me. "That’s my uncle’s mark."

The words hit like a bullet.

His uncle.

His blood.

Hunting him.

The realization must have shown on my face because Oliver flinched. "Leo—"

Gunfire cut him off.

I dragged him down as bullets ricocheted off the concrete. Charles returned fire, but his movements were sluggish. Too much blood lost.

We were outnumbered.

Outgunned.

And running out of time.

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