Empire of Lies and Flames (Ruins of Power #1)

Chapter 25

JAVIER

The engine idled softly and my grip on the steering wheel got tighter. The quiet hum wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts screaming in my head.

My chest was tight, the weight of guilt pressing down like a stone. Renée’s face was burned into my mind—her wide eyes, the way they dimmed when I brushed her off, the hurt that flickered there for a fraction of a second before she masked it. I couldn’t shake it.

Why couldn’t I just say it? That I wanted her. Hell, I needed her. Not just in my bed, but in my life, my every breath. I was a coward, hiding behind excuses while she suffered for my indecision.

And the worst part? I knew it.

“Fuck,” I groaned and turned the car around.

I couldn’t keep doing this. Not to her. Not to myself. Pushing her away, telling myself it was to protect her—it was a lie. The truth? I was terrified. Not of wanting her, but of wrecking her. Of dragging her into the mess that was my life and dimming that fire in her eyes.

But wasn’t I doing that already? With every step back, every excuse, I was breaking her in ways I couldn’t fix.

In less than five minutes, I was tearing down the hallway to Renée's apartment, my boots pounding against the floor like a war drum. I barely noticed the guy I nearly flattened as I ran past him, his startled curse drowned out by the blood roaring in my ears.

But nothing— nothing —could have prepared me for what I found.

The door to her apartment was ajar, creaking faintly as it swayed. No sound came from inside. Not her voice. Not her laugh. Not even the hum of her TV. My stomach twisted, a sickening knot pulling tight and painful.

Something was wrong. Very fucking wrong.

I pushed the door open, and it hit the wall with a dull thud. The place was trashed. Furniture overturned, glass shards littering the floor like jagged snowflakes, and then I saw it—streaks of blood smeared on the floors.

My heart nearly stopped.

I didn’t want to think about what it meant. Didn’t want to picture what I might find. But the possibilities clawed at the edges of my mind, relentless and cruel.

My breaths came short and shallow as I stumbled into the kitchen, my hands instinctively grabbing a knife from the counter. It wasn’t much, but it was sharp enough, deadly enough. My whole body was trembling now, every nerve in my system firing at full capacity.

Someone was going to pay for this. Someone was going to fucking die tonight.

I moved through the wreckage, stepping over broken furniture and glass as I made my way to her bedroom door. The air was heavy with a suffocating kind of silence, but my pulse was a thunderous drumbeat in my ears.

I kicked the door open and froze.

Two men in black stood inside, their faces hidden beneath masks, but they couldn’t hide the fear in their postures. And there, on the floor, was Renée.

Her wrists were bound, her mouth duct-taped, her golden hair a tangled mess. She looked up at me, her beautiful blue eyes wide with terror, tears streaking her flushed cheeks.

I felt something inside me break.

Rage flooded through me, hot and searing, until it consumed every ounce of restraint I’d ever known. My blood boiled, a violent storm pounding through my veins. I wanted to pull her into my arms, to shield her from the filth of this world. But more than that, I wanted their blood.

They had dared to touch her. To hurt her. They hurt my Renée.

They were dead men walking.

One of them sneered, taking a step toward me. “Where do you think you’re barging in, pretty boy?” His voice was laced with arrogance. “Walk away before we carve your face into something real memorable.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch. My gaze darted to his busted lip and the bruises blooming across his jaw. The other guy didn’t look much better. A black eye and a nasty gash across his cheek told me all I needed to know.

Renée had fought them. My girl fought them.

The corner of my mouth twitched upward, pride bubbling beneath my rage. But the pride only fueled the fire.

“Move,” the first one growled, throwing a wild punch in my direction.

Big fucking mistake.

“You think you can stand in my way?” I caught his wrist mid-air and twisted, hard. “Try it. Just know I’ll destroy everything you are before I let you touch her again.”

He cried out, but I didn’t give him a chance to recover. With one swift motion, I drove the knife into his throat. His eyes widened, his mouth gurgling as blood spilled out in a torrent. He dropped to the floor like the trash he was, his body twitching as his blood soaked into the carpet.

The second guy froze, his hands trembling as he raised them in surrender.

“P-please,” he stammered, his voice shaking.

They were new to this game. Fresh, inexperienced. They didn’t know what the hell they were dealing with. But I did.

I’d seen blood. I’d spilled it. I’d taken lives before, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe. If it meant keeping my Renée safe.

I stalked toward him, and he backed away, tripping over himself in his desperation to escape. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going anywhere. With a swift slash, I opened his throat, and his body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

And just like that, I broke my promise. The one I’d made to my sister. I had sworn I wouldn’t cross that line again, but these two assholes made me forget it all. Made me cross it in less than ten fucking minutes. And I didn’t regret a damn thing.

The silence returned, heavier now, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing. Blood dripped from my hands, warm and sticky, but I didn’t feel it. My focus was on Renée.

She was staring at me, her wide eyes flicking from my bloodied hands to my face.

I knelt beside her, cutting the tape from her wrists and gently pulling the duct tape from her mouth. The moment she was free, she threw herself into my arms, her face buried into my shoulder her body trembling as sobs wracked her frame.

“You came,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.

I held her tighter, pressing my lips to her hair. “Of course, I did, love. I’ll always come for you.”

With her clinging to me, I carried her out of the apartment, stepping over the bodies of the men who had dared to hurt her. They would never lay another finger on her. No one in this fucking world would ever lay a finger on her.

Not while I was breathing.

“Where is he?” she whispered, her voice trembling as I settled her into the passenger seat of the car. Her wide, tear-filled eyes searched mine. “Did you catch him too?”

“Who are you talking about, love?” I asked, my voice softer than I thought possible as I knelt beside her.

Her hands fumbled against her lap, still trembling. “The—there was another one. He said—he said they were just following orders.” Her words came out in a shaky rush, barely holding together, and it hit me like a fist to the chest.

The guy in the hallway. The one I’d nearly plowed into on my way here.

Shit.

Her gaze dropped, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks as if she was trying to hide behind them. That prickle of unease crawled up my spine, sharp and insistent. She wasn’t just scared. There was something else. Something she wasn’t saying.

Maybe she knew him. Hell, maybe she knew him.