❝It's not blood that runs through my veins, but vengeance.❞
Tatum Braddock wants to beat her sister at a decades-long search for fortune.
Nathan Drake wants to find his long-lost brother and complete the mission they've dreamed of since childhood...
SHE KNOWS THERE IS SOMETHING wrong before she even closes the door behind her.
Tate and Ronan's apartment isn't in the nicest or swankiest part of town by any means, but they generally don't have to worry about break-ins. Every external door requires a key to open and each residence is locked by a keypad. That is to say— it's not the easiest or most convenient place to rob, so most criminals don't even try.
But when Tatum first opens the door, she can feel a disturbance in the air. The hair on the back of her neck stands straight up and tickles the base of her low bun. Is it just her imagination, or is the door a little easier to open than before? Usually, there's a perpetual drag that she has to counteract with a bit of force, but now it glides open like butter.
It's late. She's just gotten off work. The apartment is dark, but Tate uses the light from the hallway to make a quick yet subtle scan of the entryway before she closes the door. And she sees it: in the living room just beyond the small kitchen, there is a silhouette on the sofa. It's only visible because it's slightly darker than the rest of the room, disrupting the flow of shadows throughout the area.
It's clear that the person thinks they have the element of surprise on their side. Refusing to allow them that upper hand, she pretends she doesn't notice anything is wrong and closes the front door, shrouding the apartment in black. Tate walks toward the kitchen and acts like she's going to set her bag on the counter. In reality, she remains in the hallway and flings her keys at the intruder, hoping that her quick assessment of their proportions would mean she aimed for the face, and flips the light on just before they land.
A masculine voice cries out when the assortment of keys smacks him directly in the target area. The intruder shields his eyes against the unexpected burst of light, giving Tate the perfect opportunity to aim a swift kick to the side of his head. It makes him jerk toward the coffee table but doesn't send him sprawling to the floor as she'd hoped. Instead, she decides to take the risk of getting closer to send a right hook to the other part of his face.
He catches her fist in his hand even while his eyes are still recovering. Tate doesn't waste a second, using the leverage to send her foot flying into his gut. Then she grabs his arm, crouches down, and throws him over her back so he lands on the wooden floor with a grotesque thud.
She feels victorious for about a second before she goes right down with him.
The man seizes her ankle and pulls her off-balance. Tate smacks onto the sofa when her feet fly out from underneath her. It would have been a soft landing if it hadn't been on the less-padded corner of the cushion, jabbing the wooden base of the couch into her gut. A grunt of pain escapes her when the wind threatens to exit her lungs. She steadies herself even as her body hits the floor.
