Chapter 2 No witnesses

“The ledger is inside the saint.” Elias’s whisper barely reached Raina. His hand slipped from her wrist. “Dad?” She grabbed his sleeve, but a guard seized her under the arms and hauled her backward. Her nails scraped the floor. She kicked, caught someone’s shin, and heard a curse. “Get her out of the way,” Lucian ordered. Raina twisted toward her father. “Don’t leave him! You can’t leave him like this!” Lucian glanced down at Elias, then at the blood spreading beneath him. His face gave nothing away. “Search the house,” he said. “Find the book.” The guards dragged Raina toward the hall. She drove her heel into one man’s instep. He grunted; his grip loosened. She wrenched free, lurched toward the open front door—and slammed into a third man coming in from the rain. He caught her around the waist. Raina swung an elbow into his jaw. He staggered. She seized the doorframe and tried to pull herself outside, but someone grabbed the back of her shirt. The fabric tightened across her shoulders. A second hand clamped over her mouth. She bit down. The man yelped and struck her across the cheek. Light burst behind her eyes. The floor rushed up, and a knee pinned her between the shoulder blades. “Enough,” Lucian said. The pressure stopped. For one hopeful instant, Raina thought he meant to release her. Instead, he crouched beside her. “Tell me where the ledger is.” “I don’t know,” she rasped. “Your father told you.” “I don’t know what he meant.” Lucian’s gaze moved over her face, measuring. “Then you’ll stay here until you remember.” He stood. The guards pulled Raina upright, holding her arms behind her. She tried to wrench away, but they tightened their grip. Lucian turned to the man who had struck her. “Keep her quiet. I want the house searched without interruption.” “You’re leaving?” Raina shouted. He paused at the doorway. “You shot my father, and now you’re walking away?” “I have what I came for: a reason to believe the ledger is here.” His voice remained level. “Your cooperation would have spared him.” He stepped into the rain. His men followed, leaving two behind. The front door swung shut. Raina stared at the wood as if she could force it open with her eyes. Then she drove her boot backward into the nearest guard’s knee. He swore and bent. She dropped, twisted beneath his arm, and bolted down the hall. Her shoulder struck the wall; she bounced off and kept running. The kitchen was ahead. The back door was beside the sink. She reached it and grabbed the handle. It didn’t turn. A hand caught her hair and yanked her back. Her scalp burned. She clawed at the fingers, gasping, and kicked behind her until her heel hit a thigh. “Hold her still,” someone growled. They dragged her away from the door. She caught the edge of the counter, pulled a knife from the drying rack, and slashed backward. The blade nicked a sleeve. A guard seized her wrist and wrenched it until the knife clattered onto the tiles. Raina struck him with her free hand. He shoved her against the wall. Her shoulder hit first, sending a bolt of pain down her arm. “Look at you,” he said. “All that fight, and nowhere to go.” The other man laughed. “Lucian should’ve left her outside.” Raina spat at him. His expression hardened. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You think he wants you? You’re just a problem he hasn’t finished dealing with.” She jerked her face away. “Get your hands off me.” “Or what?” His thumb pressed painfully into her jaw. “You’ll scratch me?” The words, the sneer, the rough hands—each one narrowed the world around her. Raina’s breath came too fast. She kicked, twisted, screamed for help, but the house answered with silence. They forced her down and held her there. She kept fighting until her arms shook, until her voice broke, until the struggle became something she could no longer control. The assault was brutal and terrifying. Raina fixed her eyes on a crack in the floor and clung to the thought of Elias’s voice: inside the saint. She repeated the words silently, again and again, as if they were a door she could hold shut from the inside. When it was over, the men stepped away. Raina remained curled on the floor, one arm wrapped around herself. Her cheek throbbed. She couldn’t make her legs move. The room blurred, cleared, blurred again. “Get up,” one of them said. She pressed both palms to the boards. They slid. She tried again, and her arms gave out. The guard crouched, his face close to hers. “You should’ve stayed quiet.” Raina’s stomach tightened. She turned her head and retched onto the floor. “Disgusting,” he muttered. His partner nudged her shoe with his boot. “Let’s go. Boss wants the house cleared.” Raina flinched at the word boss. She wanted to scream at them, to throw the knife, to crawl to her father. Instead, she stared at the splintered edge of the door and forced air into her lungs. One breath. Then another. The men started toward the hall. Raina reached for the counter, dragging herself a few inches across the tiles. Her hand found the fallen knife. She closed her fingers around its handle. A gunshot cracked through the house. Both guards spun toward the front door. One drew his weapon. The other stepped between Raina and the hall. The door shuddered in its frame. Somewhere beyond it, a man shouted. Raina tightened her grip on the knife. The guards turned fully toward the sound.