The door was already slightly ajar. Ronan had positioned it that way as a trap waiting to spring.

Lucien pushed it open slowly. His eyes swept the room in one bloody glance-Maya and me huddled on the floor, blood streaking down her face, five armed men, scattered destruction, Ronan standing over us with a gun.

His face went cold. Not angry nor panicked, but cold and deadly.

Two of Ronan's men moved to grab him, but Lucien stepped inside willingly.

"Let them go, Ronan."

"Search him," Ronan ...