Chapter 2 - The Bloodline in the Rust
"Mr. Cross," a tiny voice squeaked.
Damian’s head snapped up. He expected a guard, a mercenary, or an assassin. He did not expect a tiny girl with soot-stained cheeks, wild brown hair, and cracked sneakers standing in front of him, holding a pair of rusted maintenance pliers.
"Who..." Damian gasped, his brows furrowing as he tried to process the sight. "Lily? Nora’s daughter? What are you doing here?!"
"Shh!" Lily whispered, tears welling in her large brown eyes as she stepped up on her tiptoes, frantically trying to jam the tip of the pliers into the padlocked chain wrapped around Damian's wrists. "The bad lady said an assassin is coming at three! We have to go!"
"Lily, stop!" Damian whispered urgently, straining against his bonds. The metal bit into his wrists, but he ignored the pain. "This place is crawling with armed men! How did you get in here?!"
"I hid in the laundry cart... then I took a taxi... I followed you from the house," she sobbed softly, working the tool against the heavy brass lock with all her meager strength. Her small hands were slippery with sweat and rust. "My mom says you're a good man. You paid for my hospital when I was little. I won't let them hurt you!"
Damian stared down at the small child. A strange, sharp ache bloomed in his chest—a feeling far sharper than the toxin running through his veins. He looked at her eyes—warm, stubborn hazel eyes with tiny golden flecks near the pupils.
Hazel eyes.
Suddenly, a memory from ten years ago hit Damian like a thunderbolt.
Nora Harper had been his private secretary before she abruptly resigned, claiming she wanted a quieter life cleaning his estate. They had shared one dark, desperate night together after his first wife had passed—a quiet, grief-stricken encounter neither had ever spoken of again. Nine months later, Nora had returned to work for him as a housekeeper, carrying a newborn baby girl. Nora had sworn the father was a transient worker who had left the city.
Damian had never questioned it. He had simply quietly paid her medical bills, covered Lily’s schooling, and ensured they lacked for nothing.
"Lily..." Damian whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming realization. He looked at the subtle shape of her jaw, the way her brow creased when she was determined—the exact duplicate of his own mother’s features. "Your mother... did she ever tell you about your father?"
"She said he was a brave man who protected people," Lily whimpered, straining against the lock. SNAP. The rusted pliers snapped in half under her pressure, the sharp metal flying across the concrete floor!
Lily gasped, dropping the broken handles, her face collapsing in utter panic. "No! No, no, no!"
Footsteps echoed down the corridor! Heavy, tactical boots were coming back toward the holding room!
"They're coming!" Lily panicked, backing away, looking around the empty concrete cell for a place to hide.
"Lily, look at me!" Damian commanded, his voice steadying with sudden, absolute authority.
The little girl looked up into his dark eyes, her small chest heaving.
"Get behind the wine crates in the far corner. Hide under the canvas tarp," Damian said, his eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire that made the damp air seem to ignite. "Don't make a sound. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens to me, you stay down. Do you understand me?"
"I don't want to leave you!" she cried softly.
"You aren't leaving me, sweetheart," Damian murmured, a fierce, beautiful smile breaking through the blood on his face. "You just saved my life. Now let your father handle the rest."
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Lily’s eyes widened in shock at the word—father—but before she could ask, Damian barked, "GO! NOW!"
Lily sprinted into the shadows, ducking beneath the heavy oilcloth tarp behind the wooden crates just as the iron door swung open with a heavy bang.
