In The Hands Of The Enemy

Chapter 2: Garrett’s POV

Smoke curled around me, the acrid scent of burning wood and chemicals clinging to the night air. The distant roar of flames filled the silence, punctuated only by the crunch of boots over debris and barked orders as my men worked to cover our tracks. The warehouse was all but reduced to ashes, taking with it any evidence of tonight's deal.

But I wasn't looking at the fire anymore. My focus was on the figure sprawled in the dirt a few feet away.

"Boss," one of my men said, stepping cautiously toward me. "That's him. Thorne Langley. FBI. He's the one who's been after us. The guy building a case against the family."

Thorne Langley.

The name was familiar, whispered in meetings, muttered in warnings over the past few months. The relentless agent who had crippled two of our major operations. The one they said was smart, unshakable, and impossible to bribe.

I took a step closer.

The man lying before me didn’t look like the invincible force I’d heard about. He was broken, blood pooling beneath him, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths. His face was pale, smeared with dirt and streaked with blood, but there was no mistaking the sharp lines of his jaw, the proud set of his features even in unconsciousness.

This guy's a problem, boss," one of my other men said, his voice colder. "He's got evidence on us. You know what that means. If we leave him alive, he's a liability."

"We should kill him now," another said. "Burn the body, make it look like he died with the rest.

I dropped to my knees beside Thorne, disregarding them. The damage was worse close up. His uniform was in tatters, revealing skin that was mottled with bruises and cuts. A gash on his temple oozed blood, dark red staining his dark blond hair. Despite the battering he had taken, his right hand still clutched a gun, knuckles white around the handle. Even out cold, he looked ready to fight.

"Boss?" One of the men pressed again, but I held up a hand to silence him.

I leaned in further, brushing the hair back from Thorne's face; the cut across his cheekbone was starting to darken. My eyes ran lower, to his lips, cracked but still set tight, as though tucking in some final chip of resistance.

Instinctively, I reached out, my fingers pressing against the pulse in his neck. It was faint, but it was there.

He was alive.

For reasons I couldn't explain, I felt something tighten in my chest.

"Garrett." The voice of one of my more trusted lieutenants pulled me from my thoughts. "We don't have time for this. If he wakes up, he'll come after you again. We've already lost too much tonight. Let us handle it."

I glanced back at him, my hand still lingering near Thorne's throat. The logic was sound. Killing him would be the smarter choice. Easier. Cleaner.

But I couldn't do it.

"Take him to the hospital," I said with an authoritative calmness in my tone.

The room was caught up in a momentary astounded silence.

"What?"

"You heard me," I cut in sharply as I rose and turned to them. "I want him taken to our hospital. I want the best doctors treating him. And I want him alive."

"Boss, this guy—"

"I don't care what he is!" My voice cut through the night, sharper than any blade. My men flinched. "You do as I say. Now."

They hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, but no one dared to argue further. Two of them moved to pick Thorne up, carefully prying the gun from his hand before lifting his limp body between them.

I watched as they carried him toward the waiting car. The blood on his face stood out starkly against his pale skin, and for a moment, I felt something foreign twist in my chest again.

"Boss," another man said cautiously, lingering behind. "If he wakes up, he'll go right back to the Bureau. He'll bring everything he has down on us."

I didn't look at him to say it. "Not if I get to him first."

 

He hesitated, nodded once, and then backed up to rejoin the rest.

 

I turned and followed, my steps deliberate. The fire at my back was getting louder, well on its way to consuming the remainder of the deal gone south.

 

I should've killed him. Would have been the smart thing to do.

But as I'd climbed into the car and peered at the unconscious man lying across the seat, I knew I couldn't.

Not yet.

Not when something about him made me want to keep him alive, something I couldn't name.

For now, Thorne belonged to me.