Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Blizzard and the Heavy Coat of a King
A quarter of a mile down the private estate road, a convoy of three black, armored Cadillac Escalades moved slowly through the blinding whiteout, their heavy snow chains clinking rhythmically against the frozen asphalt.
In the back seat of the center vehicle sat Nicholas Grimm.
At thirty-two years old, Nicholas commanded both the legitimate corporate skyline of the city and the shadowed underworld that operated beneath it. He was a man built of sharp angles, ruthless discipline, and absolute authority. He wore a bespoke three-piece charcoal suit beneath a heavy cashmere and wool overcoat, his dark hair cut sharp, and his steel-grey eyes scanning the blizzard outside with quiet, calculating focus.
Beside him sat Roman, his head of personal security and lifelong right hand, checking the tactical readouts on an encrypted tablet.
"The storm has shut down all commercial transit in the county, Boss," Roman said, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the SUV's engine. "The city council and the syndicate heads are already arriving at the manor. If the snow keeps piling at this rate, everyone will be snowed in for the night."
"Let them be snowed in," Nicholas replied, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that commanded immediate deference. "It makes them easier to watch. Tonight we settle the shipping territory on the northern docks. I want no disruptions, no drama, and no excuses."
"Understood. Caldwell signaled that the staff has prepared the banquet hall to your exact—"
"Hold," Nicholas commanded suddenly, leaning forward. His eyes locked onto something through the sweeping motion of the windshield wipers.
The driver instantly applied the brakes, bringing the heavy armored SUV to a smooth stop in the middle of the winding driveway.
"What is it, Boss?" Roman’s hand dropped instinctively to the concealed Glock beneath his jacket.
"There," Nicholas pointed through the passenger window toward the dense pine tree line thirty yards ahead. "Beside that blue spruce. Is that a person?"
Roman squinted through the driving snow. "Could be a fallen branch, sir. Or a drift."
"Fallen branches don't wear black cloth," Nicholas said coldly.
Before Roman or the driver could react, Nicholas pushed open his door. The furious gale of the blizzard immediately rushed into the heated luxury cabin, but Nicholas didn't flinch. He stepped out into the knee-deep snow, his heavy Italian leather boots crunching into the powder as he marched directly toward the dark silhouette against the tree trunk.
Roman and two armed guards leaped from the trailing vehicle, weapons drawn, flanking their boss as they pushed through the snowdrifts.
When Nicholas reached the base of the spruce tree, the breath caught in his throat.
Lying half-buried in the snowbank was a girl. She was barely more than a wisp of a thing, curled into a tight fetal ball. Her skin was a terrifying, translucent shade of marble white, with a faint, deadly blue tint around her delicate lips. Snow had completely covered her bare legs and her thin, ridiculous uniform jacket. Ice crystals clung to her dark eyelashes and the strands of brown hair plastered against her frozen forehead.
Nicholas dropped to his knees in the snow, abandoning all concern for his tailored clothes. He pulled off his leather gloves and pressed two warm fingers against the side of her icy neck.
For three agonizing seconds, there was nothing.
Then, faint and erratic, a weak pulse fluttered against his fingertips.
She's alive. Barely.
"Jesus Christ," Roman muttered, stepping up behind him with a heavy flashlight. "Is that... is that one of the new manor maids? Why the hell is she out here without a coat in a negative twenty-degree blizzard?"
"Get the car door open and turn the rear heat to maximum," Nicholas commanded, his voice trembling with a terrifying, suppressed fury that made even his hardened security men stiffen.
Nicholas stripped off his heavy, five-thousand-dollar cashmere overcoat in one fluid motion and wrapped it tightly around the girl's shivering, near-lifeless frame. He slid his powerful arms beneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her easily against his broad chest.
She weighed almost nothing. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, her breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps.
"Stay with me," Nicholas murmured near her ear, his voice rough as he carried her swiftly back to the idling SUV. "Don't you dare close your eyes, girl. Stay with me."
He stepped into the back of the Escalade, pulling her in with him and cradling her against his chest as Roman slammed the door shut, locking out the brutal wind. Nicholas adjusted the air vents, blasting scorching heat directly over them, and wrapped the thick wool overcoat tighter around her trembling body, using his own body heat to fight the deadly chill radiating from her skin.
"Drive!" Nicholas ordered the chauffeur. "Get to the main house in sixty seconds, or I will put a bullet through your engine block myself."
"Yes, Mr. Grimm!" The driver slammed his foot down, and the SUV surged forward through the storm.
Nicholas looked down at the pale, beautiful face resting against his lapel. Her lips were cracked from the frost, and her small hands were curled into tight, bloody fists. He noticed thin, fresh lacerations across her fingers, speckled with dried red droplets and tiny flecks of blue porcelain.
"Roman," Nicholas said, his voice dropping into a register of icy, murderous calm that signaled someone was about to die.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Call Dr. Vance. Tell him to get to my private master suite immediately with warm IV saline, burn kits for frostbite, and hypothermia resuscitation gear."
"Right away, sir."
Nicholas reached down, his large, warm hand gently brushing the icy strands of hair from Emily’s forehead. "And Roman?"
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"Sir?"
"Find out who was responsible for the staff rota tonight. If anyone in that house knew she was out here in this storm... they will not live to see Christmas morning."
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