The door slab flew across the room, knocking Silas into a pile of dirty laundry.
Four men in tactical gear swarmed the room. They moved with a terrifying efficiency that made the street thugs look like children.
The man with the knife didn't even have time to raise his weapon. Thwip-crack. A taser probe hit him in the chest. He convulsed and dropped like a stone.
The second thug reached for a gun in his waistband. A rifle butt smashed into his face, shattering his nose with a sickening crunch. He went down screaming.
Ines was pressed into the corner, the shard of glass held out like a dagger. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. She was in a fugue state, her brain disconnected from reality.
Dorian walked in.
He stepped over the twitching body of the first thug. He was still wearing his immaculate suit, but his tie was gone, and his collar was unbuttoned.
He scanned the room. He saw the blood on the floor. He saw the bruise blooming on Ines's cheek.
His eyes went black.
He walked straight to her. He crouched down, ignoring the filth on the floor.
"Ines," he said.
She didn't lower the glass. She slashed at the air, a feral sound escaping her throat. She didn't recognize him.
Dorian didn't flinch. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the jagged glass she was holding.
"It's me," he said.
The glass sliced into his palm. Blood-bright red-welled up between his fingers, dripping onto her knee.
Ines stared at the blood. The color shocked her back to the present. She gasped, dropping the shard.
"Dorian?" she mouthed.
He didn't answer. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, covering her torn dress. Then he scooped her up into his arms.
He stood effortlessly, holding her against his chest.
Silas was trying to crawl toward the door. "Dorian! Mr. Mcclain! I'm her uncle! I was just-"
Dorian stopped. He looked down at the pathetic man.
"Preston," Dorian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Make him disappear."
"Understood, sir," Preston said.
Ines shuddered in his arms. She buried her face in his shirt. The smell of cedar and blood filled her nose. It was the safest smell she had ever known.
Dorian carried her down the stairs, past the gawking neighbors, and out into the night.
He didn't put her in the seat. He sat in the back, keeping her on his lap.
"Don't move," he growled when she tried to shift. "You're bleeding."
The car pulled away smoothly.
Dorian opened a first aid kit from the console. He took an alcohol wipe.
"This will sting," he warned.
He dabbed the cut on her neck. Ines hissed, shrinking away.
Dorian frowned. He leaned down and blew gently on the wound. The cool air soothed the burn.
Ines looked up at him. His face was inches from hers. He was focused, intense, treating her skin like it was precious.
"Why didn't you speak?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you ask for help?"
Ines looked down. She couldn't explain that her voice wasn't a choice. It was a casualty of war.
Dorian sighed. He pulled her tighter against him, his wounded hand staining the back of her dress.
"Never mind," he said. "Rest."
