"The elevator's dropping too fast."
Lucien's voice was strained, his hands pressed against his temples as the high-speed descent triggered another wave of sensory overload. The fluorescent lights felt like molten needles piercing his skull, the mechanical whirring of elevator cables amplified into a symphony of torture. But when he unconsciously swayed toward Vivian in her bodyguard disguise, the agony... dimmed.
*She's like a walking morphine drip. What the hell is she?*
The elevator doors opened to reveal Marcus waiting with a bulletproof Maybach, its engine purring like a mechanical predator. Rain hammered the parking garage with the fury of an angry god, and the storm outside promised biblical destruction.
"Sir, we need to move. The situation's escalating."
They slid into the armored vehicle as the radio crackled with breaking news: "...suspect found dead in what appears to be a vehicle explosion. Police are treating the incident as accidental pending investigation..."
Lucien's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "Accidental. How considerate of our enemies to demonstrate their 'good faith' by executing witnesses in broad daylight."
Vivian snorted with professional disdain. "Sloppy work. If you're going to eliminate someone, at least make it look convincing."
*Famous last words.*
The first drone struck like a falling star.
**BOOM.**
The explosion sent the Maybach skidding sideways as a swarm of suicide drones descended from the storm clouds like mechanical angels of death. High-frequency interference waves flooded the vehicle's interior, and Lucien immediately collapsed, his body seizing as the sensory assault overwhelmed his already fragile nervous system.
*Shit. My human battery just blue-screened.*
**[CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE]**
**[ENERGY SOURCE: OFFLINE]**
**[HOST NEURAL NETWORK: COMPLETE SHUTDOWN]**
**[EMERGENCY REBOOT REQUIRED]**
The driver slumped unconscious over the wheel, blood trickling from his ears. The Maybach careened toward the bridge's guardrail at seventy miles per hour, and Vivian had approximately two seconds to prevent them all from becoming very expensive fish food.
She grabbed her takeout container of duck blood—three extra servings that had cost her a week's worth of lunch money—and wedged it securely between the seat cushions. Some things were sacred, even during apocalyptic scenarios.
Then she kicked the unconscious driver aside with brutal efficiency and hauled all six-foot-four inches of Lucien's dead weight into the driver's seat. The cramped space left her no choice but to straddle his lap like the world's most dangerous automotive accessory.
*This is either going to save our lives or land me in prison for sexual assault of a billionaire.*
**[DEEP CONTACT PROTOCOL INITIATED]**
**[ENERGY TRANSFER: ACTIVE]**
**[NEURAL REBOOT: IN PROGRESS]**
The moment her body pressed against his, electricity seemed to arc between them. Lucien's eyes snapped open, the sensory overload instantly neutralized by her proximity. But before he could process the compromising position, Vivian had commandeered the steering wheel, one hand pressed firmly against his chest to pin him in place.
"Stay down and shut up," she commanded, yanking the wheel hard left to avoid another drone strike. "I'm driving this death trap."
"What the hell do you think you're—"
*CRACK.*
Her backhand caught him across the cheek with enough force to rattle his ancestors' graves.
"I said shut up! You want to die because your fragile ego can't handle being saved by a woman?"
Lucien's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish, too stunned by the casual violence to form coherent thoughts. No one—absolutely no one—had ever struck him and lived to see another sunrise.
But somehow, trapped beneath this insane woman while she performed automotive miracles in a hail of explosive death, he found himself... aroused.
*Focus, you perverted idiot. She's saving your life, not auditioning for your bedroom.*
Vivian wove through the drone swarm like a woman possessed by the spirit of every Formula One champion who'd ever lived. The Maybach danced between explosions with impossible grace, her body moving against his with each sharp turn. Despite the mortal peril surrounding them, Lucien couldn't ignore how perfectly she fit against him, like two pieces of a puzzle designed by a sadistic god.
The heat of her pressed against his chest. The scent of her hair—cheap shampoo mixed with something uniquely her. The way she bit her lower lip in concentration while casually defying the laws of physics and probability.
*This is insane. I'm getting turned on while we're being murdered by flying robots.*
Five minutes of automotive warfare later, the Maybach burst through the final wave of drones and skidded to a smoking stop in the safe zone beyond the bridge. The vehicle looked like it had been used for target practice by a particularly vindictive military, but they were miraculously alive.
Vivian immediately scrambled off Lucien's lap—leaving him with an embarrassing physical reminder of their proximity—and dove toward the back seat with desperate urgency.
"No, no, no..." Her voice cracked with genuine anguish as she lifted the takeout container, revealing the shattered remains of her precious duck blood. "Three extra servings... I saved up for three extra servings..."
She released a wail of despair that would have made professional mourners weep with envy.
Lucien stared at her in complete bewilderment, his arousal rapidly cooling into incredulous rage. This woman had just saved both their lives with driving skills that would make stunt professionals jealous, and she was having a complete breakdown over... soup ingredients?
"Are you seriously having a mental breakdown over takeout?" His voice carried the kind of incredulous fury that preceded homicide. "We nearly became street pizza, and you're mourning Chinese food?"
The wailing stopped.
Instantly.
Vivian's head turned toward him with mechanical precision, and the look in her eyes made every survival instinct Lucien possessed start screaming evacuation orders. Gone was any trace of the quirky woman mourning her lunch. What stared back at him was something cold, calculating, and absolutely lethal—a predator that had just remembered it was hungry.
"Look at the wreckage," she said quietly, her voice carrying the kind of supernatural calm that preceded mass extinction events.
Lucien followed her gaze to a piece of drone debris embedded in the twisted guardrail. Etched into the blackened metal was a logo that made his blood crystallize—a venomous snake coiled around a spider lily, its forked tongue extended like a promise of beautiful death.
"I know that symbol," Vivian continued, her tone so flat it could have been used for construction purposes. "Ten years ago, it was painted on the truck that ran down my mother in a hit-and-run. Left her bleeding out on the asphalt like roadkill while the driver disappeared into the night."
She turned back to face him, and Lucien saw something in her expression that made his most primitive instincts beg him to run.
"The contract needs a modification," she said with surgical precision. "I'm not taking your money for this job anymore."
"What do you want instead?"
Her smile was sharp enough to perform emergency surgery without anesthesia.
"I want that logo engraved on every single one of their tombstones. Matching sets. Nice and neat. A complete collection."
The promise of violence in her voice made the recent drone attack seem like a friendly greeting card.