VEGA

The tires screeched, the city lights blurring into streaks of white and red as I swerved onto the highway. My fingers clenched the wheel, blood roaring in my ears. My mind was already ten steps ahead, calculating, eliminating possibilities. Where would they take her? What was their angle?

Leo’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Arya’s tracking her phone.” A pause. “They already ditched it. We need another way.”

He was steady, too steady. No rage, no panic. Arya’s doing. She was always his tether, keeping him from tipping into darkness—until it was time.

Another way? Like I’d fucking wait.

“They won’t kill her,” Arya said, her voice edged with certainty. “Not yet. She’s leverage.”

For me.

For what I did.

I shoved the thought away and forced my brain to work. If I were them, where would I take someone if I wanted to bait me in?

And then it hit.

“Check the old shipyard,” I said.

A beat of silence.

Leo hesitated. “Why?”

My grip tightened around the wheel. “Because that’s where I found his son.”

The silence stretched. One second too long.

Then Arya: “We’re right behind you.”

I ended the call and pressed harder on the gas.

**************************************************

The second my boots hit the concrete, my body moved on instinct. Kill first. Find her second.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its rusted doors hanging open. Inside, shadows shifted. Armed men, waiting. Slow. Unprepared. They hadn’t expected me this fast.

Their mistake.

The first one barely had time to breathe before my knife buried deep between his ribs. A quick, sharp exhale. His body sagged against mine. I caught him before he hit the ground, dragging him behind a crate.

Footsteps. Another one.

He turned the corner. My hands shot out. A quick twist. The snap of vertebrae. He dropped like dead weight.

Gunfire cracked outside. Leo. Arya. Keeping them busy. Good.

I kept moving, body low, steps silent. A hallway stretched ahead, doors lining both sides. She had to be here.

A man stepped out of a doorway, eyes widening in shock. Too late. My gun fired before he could even blink.

I didn’t stop.

Another one.

His weapon rose. My hand caught his wrist, twisting until bones shattered. He screamed. I slit his throat before he could make another sound.

Then—

A crash. A sharp voice, slicing through the silence.

“Fuck you!”

Bianca.

My pulse surged.

I tore through the last door, my boot slamming against the wood. The hinges gave way, the door flying open.

Bianca sat bound to a chair, arms wrenched behind her, blood smearing her split lip. But her eyes—fierce, defiant—burned into mine.

A bald man crouched in front of her, his hand gripping her jaw. His head snapped toward me just as my gun swung up.

I pulled the trigger.

Bone shattered. Blood sprayed the wall. His body crumpled to the ground.

Bianca flinched, but she didn’t look away.

“There’s still another one,” she muttered.

I cut the ropes from her wrists.

“Can you walk?”

She rolled her shoulders, wincing. “I can run.”

Of course, she could.

A metallic click.

The sound of a gun cocking behind me.

“Not so fast,” a voice drawled.

I turned.

And there he was.

Vega.

The bastard who took everything from me.

His eyes gleamed with recognition, lips curling.

“Long time no see, boy.”

He wouldn’t be seeing anything when I was done with him.

The barrel of his gun pointed straight at my chest. Close-range. He wouldn’t miss.

Neither would I.

I kept my own gun loose at my side, my body as still as stone. Bianca’s breath was uneven behind me. She was watching. Waiting.

“Long time no see, boy,” he said, tilting his head like he was looking at a ghost.

I let out a slow breath, my lips curling. “You got old.”

His smirk deepened. “And you got sloppy. Should’ve checked your sources before you killed my boy.”

My pulse didn’t flicker. “He was collateral damage.”

His nostrils flared. His grip on the gun tightened. A mistake. Anger makes men careless.

I took advantage of it.

Before he could pull the trigger, I lunged. Fast. Precise. Brutal. I grabbed his wrist, twisted hard—bone snapped like dry wood. The gun clattered to the floor. His yell barely left his throat before I drove my elbow into his ribs, knocking the air out of him.

He staggered, coughing, trying to regain balance. I didn’t let him. I grabbed him by the collar, shoved him against the wall, and rammed my gun under his chin.

Bianca let out a sharp breath behind me.

“Who gave the order?” I demanded, my voice a low growl.

The rage in his eyes flickered—just for a second. Then, he barked out a laugh. “You think the real bosses care about trash like me?” He coughed, blood staining his lips. “You think they care about you?”

I pressed the barrel harder against his throat. He choked.

“Last chance,” I said. “Who sent you that night?”

His lips curled. His voice dropped, taunting. “You’ll never find them.”

Wrong answer.

I pulled the trigger.

His body slumped to the ground. Blood spread fast, seeping into the cracks of the dirty floor.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Then—Bianca exhaled. “Jesus Christ.”

I turned to her. She was glaring at me, shaking, wrists raw and red—but her eyes burned with something fiercer than fear.

“Let’s go,” I said.

I stepped over the body. She followed.

But this wasn’t over.

If the real bosses thought they could hide behind men like him, thought I’d stop here?

They were dead fucking wrong.