The Rescue

“Get me Killan. Now.”

Static crackles, then a voice comes through, steady but cautious. “Boss.”

“I just got a message,” Damien says, voice raw from shouting and no sleep. “Unknown number. Images of Ivy. There is a countdown. I want the origin traced. Right now.”

“Send it through.”

Damien forwards the file, fingers shaking. His chest is tight, heart hammering. “God please don’t let anything happen to Ivy.” He whispers it, the first prayer he has muttered since his mother disappeared.

Killan’s voice returns, clipped. “Got it. Location pinged. License plate matches a van. I have a street address. You want me to send coordinates?”

“Yes. Coordinates. Now.”

Maps pop up on the screen in front of Damien. Pins, lines, nothing but movement, everything pointing to a single building on the edge of the city. A warehouse district, empty streets, perfect for hiding.

Damien grabs his coat, pistol in one hand, chain in the other. He signals to his men, their eyes wide but knowing. No questions. They move instantly, engines roaring to life. Vans, bikes, and a few black SUVs cut through the night.

He drives, chest aching, ribs screaming, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. Every light, every shadow, every sound makes him flinch. Every wrong turn could cost Ivy her life.

The warehouse comes into view. A single dim light flickers over the loading dock. Men move inside, silhouettes against the windows. They look organized, armed, but unprepared for what is coming.

Damien jumps from the vehicle. Boots hit the gravel, echoing like gunshots. He scans the doors, chain coiled in his hands. He does not wait for anyone. He does not hesitate.

He bursts in.

Inside, Ivy is slumped against a wall. Her clothes are torn, dirty, hanging off her. Blood smears her skin, a dark echo of bruises. Her hair is damp with sweat. She is barely conscious, lips trembling, eyes half-closed.

Eve steps forward, clapping slowly. “Ah, here he comes. The savior. My, my, Damien Voss. Always the hero. And you are just in time to watch your little pet fall apart.”

Damien does not respond. He moves.

A guard lunges. Chain wraps around the man’s neck. Bone snaps, head hits the floor. Another fires. Damien ducks, spins, and slams the chain into the kneecap. Flesh cracks. The man screams, and Damien does not stop. He does not pause. He only moves forward.

Eve sneers, pulling a knife. “I thought you would come.” She swings. Damien grabs her wrist, twists it until she drops the blade with a yell. Blood blooms on the concrete.

His men move in. They know what to do. They split, take down Eve’s people with precision. Guns fire. Bodies hit the floor. A man tries to tackle Damien. He throws him into a wall. Another screams, cut open by the chain. The warehouse becomes chaos, noise, and pain.

Damien reaches Ivy. She shivers, barely breathing. He lifts her effortlessly, despite the ache ripping through his ribs. Her head falls against his shoulder, hair sticking to sweat and blood. Her ragged clothes brush against his arms, soaking in grime and tears. He tastes bile and anger at the same time.

“Damien.“ She calls my name weakly.

I'm here with you baby, I really am. I would get you away from here now and I promise, nothing will ever happen to you again. Not on my watch

“Hold Eve down,” he orders. His men tighten around Ivy, making sure she does not fall. “I attend to her later, I need to take care of Ivy now. I will deal with the rest after.”

He checks her pulse, shakes her lightly. Her eyes flutter. She moans. He wipes blood from her face, cradles her. His chest heaves with pain, every breath a knife. He does not care. Only her matters. Only getting her alive matters.

Outside, the sound of his men cutting through Eve’s forces echoes. Screams, gunfire, the clatter of falling bodies. Damien does not look up. Every second with Ivy is sacred.

Eve screams from the corner. Damien finally looks at her, face twisted with fury. He steps forward, fists cracking ribs and jaws. Her men try to help, but they are too late. Damien moves like a storm, his rage a weapon. Limbs snap, teeth break, blood sprays across concrete. By the time he stops, most of her people are dead or moaning on the floor.

Damien wipes sweat and blood from his forehead. His hands shake, but he does not drop Ivy. He looks at her face, bruised and pale, hair tangled. He presses her closer to his chest. The warehouse smells of blood, sweat, and smoke from overturned lamps. He tastes it all, feels it in every ache in his body.

“Do you hear me?” he growls to the remaining ones alive. “Do not touch her again. You breathe, you move, you even think, I will find you and I will finish you.”

His men, loyal and brutal, nod. They move to secure the perimeter, dragging the last ones alive to hold them down.

Damien does not wait. He carries her out of the warehouse, ignoring the sting in his chest, ignoring the blood soaking his coat. Every step is pain, every breath is fire, but he moves fast. He leaps over crates, crashes through doors. The night air hits them both, carrying smoke and dust and the last echoes of death behind them.

Back in the van, he lays Ivy across the seats. Her head rests on his lap. He presses a hand to her temple, wipes the blood, whispers, “I got you. I am here.” His voice shakes, rough from anger and exhaustion.

The van speeds through empty streets. Tires scream. Damien order one of the men to drive immediately. Every bump is agony in his chest, but he grits his teeth. The city blurs around them.

He glances back once. Eve’s survivors are scattered, screaming, some trying to flee. His men cut them down without mercy. Guns fire, bodies fall. The street becomes a battlefield. Damien does not care. He never looks back. He cannot.

Inside the van, Ivy murmurs. Her hand twitches. Damien stiffens, checks her pulse. Strong enough to hold on. He sighs. Not relief, not yet. Determination. Rage and love combined.

“Hold on,” he whispers. “We are almost at the hospital. Just a little longer.”