32. Kanyan
32
KANYAN
T he cemetery looms ahead, shrouded in darkness. My headlights sweep across the rusting gates and rows of tombstones, the place looking like something out of a ghost story. The air feels heavy, thick with the weight of what we might find—or what we might lose. Scar leans forward in the passenger seat, his jaw tight, eyes scanning every shadow.
As we pull closer to the entrance, the sight of a fleet of parked cars halts us. They’re not ours. My grip on the steering wheel tightens. This is it. They’re here. We must be in the right place.
Scar whistles low, his voice sharp in the quiet. “That’s a lot of muscle for two women.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “Let’s not make this easy for them.”
I pull the car off to the side, killing the lights. The men in the other cars climb out silently, their faces grim and ready. I signal to split the group. Scar and I head for the cars. The others fan out, their weapons drawn, moving like shadows into the cemetery.
The night is eerily quiet except for the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. Scar pulls a knife from his belt, the metal glinting faintly under the moonlight. I do the same, heading for the first car. The tire hisses as my blade slices through it, the sound like a slow exhale. Scar does the same to the next car, his movements quick and precise.
By the time we’ve worked through the fleet, the once-pristine vehicles sag like broken toys. I glance at the men we’ve left behind, nodding once. They know their job: hold the exit and wait for our signal.
Scar wipes his blade on his pant leg and smirks. “Now, let’s go crash their little party and bring our women home.”
We slip into the cemetery, moving between the gravestones. The place is a maze, rows of marble and stone casting long shadows in the pale moonlight. Every muscle in my body is coiled, my senses sharp. Somewhere in this godforsaken place, Lula is waiting. The thought of her alone, scared, in the hands of these bastards—it drives me forward.
A sound cuts through the silence: the faint shuffle of boots on gravel. I raise a hand, signaling Scar to stop. We crouch low behind a row of tombstones, peering into the darkness. A group of armed men is stationed near a crypt, their figures barely visible in the dim light.
Scar leans in close. “It’s too dark to see anything.”
“We take them quick and quiet,” I whisper.
We move as one, slipping through the shadows. The first man doesn’t even see me coming. My arm wraps around his neck, my knife pressing against his throat. He struggles for a second before going limp. I lower him to the ground silently.
Scar handles the next one with brutal efficiency, his crowbar cracking against the man’s skull. The others don’t notice—until it’s too late. One of the men turns, his eyes widening in alarm just before Scar barrels into him. The sound of the scuffle draws the rest of the group.
Then, chaos erupts.
Gunfire shatters the quiet, echoing through the cemetery. I dive behind a tombstone as bullets pepper the ground around me. Scar returns fire, his shots sharp and controlled. The men scatter, their movements frantic. But we’re faster, more skilled. One by one, they fall.
By the time the dust settles, the cemetery is silent again, save for the sound of my heavy breathing. I rise to my feet, scanning the area. Scar kicks over one of the fallen men, checking for weapons.
“We’re clear,” he says, but his tone is wary. “For now.”
We push forward toward the crypt. My heart pounds as we approach, the air thick with tension. I’m so close. I can almost feel Lula’s presence, her fire, her defiance. I reach for the door, but something stops me—a sound. Faint but unmistakable. The rumble of an engine.
“No,” I breathe, my stomach sinking. I bolt to the other side of the crypt, Scar hot on my heels. The sight that greets us freezes me in place.
A van is waiting at the far end of the cemetery, its headlights cutting through the dark. Lula and Allegra are being dragged toward it, their faces pale but determined. Altin Kadri stands nearby, his expression cold and calculating. Even in the dim light, I can see the twisted smirk on his face as he watches us from the distance, knowing there’s no way we can make it to them before they’re driven away.
My blood boils. I charge forward, but gunfire forces me to dive behind a row of gravestones. Scar curses under his breath, returning fire, but it’s no use. The van’s engine roars to life, and the tires spin against the gravel.
“Lula!” I shout, my voice raw, desperate.
She turns her head, and for the barest second, her eyes find mine—wide, pleading, a silent scream trapped behind distance. Then the van lurches forward, ripping her from my sight, from my grasp. A jagged, merciless pain tears through my chest, as if my heart has been ripped out and crushed beneath the tires, leaving nothing but a gaping void where my soul used to be.
Derin Kadri is sprawled across the cold, uneven ground like a discarded puppet, his body twisted unnaturally. Even in the dim light, I can see the blood soaking through his shirt, pooling beneath him. His face is a mangled mess of flesh and blood—almost unrecognizable from the cocky man I’d seen before.
Jayson steps closer, nudging Derin’s side with the toe of his boot. “Looks like someone got to him twice,” he says, his voice flat. “First the knife, then the bullet.”
I crouch down briefly, inspecting the wounds. Whoever did this had been thorough. “One of ours?” I ask, more out of curiosity than concern. I was looking forward to ending him myself.
Jayson shrugs, giving the body one last shove with his foot. “Hard to say. Could’ve been during the shootout, or maybe someone else had business with him before we showed up.”
Dante stands nearby, scanning the darkness. He doesn’t even glance at Derin’s body. “Doesn’t matter who got to him,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “He’s not our priority. The girls are.”
I reach for the bulge in his pockets. There’s a set of keys and a phone. Lula’s phone. Which explains why she wasn’t answering her phone.
It’s scratched and cracked, but it’s hers. The only piece of her I have left. My grip tightens around it as a roar builds in my chest, erupting into the night like a wounded animal.
Scar places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “We’ll get them back,” he says, his voice low. “We’re not done yet.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I can’t afford to lose her. And Scar can’t afford to lose Allegra.
I rise to my feet, my jaw tightening. Dante’s right. As much as I want to dwell on who robbed me of the chance to finish Derin off myself, Lula and Allegra are still out there. Every second we waste here could be a second too late.
We move quickly through the cemetery, the shadows stretching long and foreboding. The night feels colder now, the air heavier, as if the place itself is holding its breath. My nerves are on edge, every crunch of gravel beneath my boots making my muscles coil. I don’t know where they’ve taken her, but I swear I’ll tear this entire city apart if I have to.
As we approach the line of cars we left parked at the entrance, Dante’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and his face hardens. Without a word, he steps away from us, his voice low as he answers the call.
Jayson leans against the hood of one of the cars, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it up, and the flame flickers, briefly illuminating his face, which is lined with exhaustion but still sharp with determination.
When he exhales a thin stream of smoke, he nods once. “We’ll get them back,” he says, although I think he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince me.
Dante returns, his face grim but focused. “We’ve got eyes on the van,” he announces, and my stomach twists, equal parts hope and dread.
“What?” I ask, stepping toward him. “How?”
He slips his phone into his pocket. “Attila and The Jekyll are tracking it. They picked it up as it was leaving the cemetery. They’re trailing it now.”
I raise an eyebrow, more surprised than I care to admit. Attila and The Jekyll are some of the best in the business, but they hadn’t joined us tonight. Now I understand why – because Dante utilized them elsewhere.
Dante must notice the wheels working in my mind and allows a faint smirk. “In times of war, you plan for every possibility, no matter how slim. I figured there was a chance they’d try to move the girls, so I had them stationed nearby. Just in case.”
“That’s some quick thinking,” Jayson says with a grin, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground.
“Men in love let their emotions overrule their logic. These two,” he points from me to Scar “Can run a whole country, but they’ll crumble when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
“Where are they headed?” I ask, my mind already racing with the possibilities.
“An industrial district on the outskirts,” Dante replies. “Looks like they’re trying to get out of sight before morning breaks.”
I glance at Jayson and Dante, my pulse pounding. “Then let’s move. We can’t lose them.”
We pile into the cars, the engines roaring to life. As we speed down the empty streets, the tension in the air is palpable. My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. The thought of Lula and Allegra in that van, terrified and trapped, is enough to make my vision blur with rage.
“Keep your distance,” Dante’s voice comes through the radio. “If they catch wind we’re following, they might try to split up.”
“Not happening,” I growl. “They’re not getting away.”
Jayson glances over at me from the passenger seat. “You’re ready to do whatever it takes, right?”
I shoot him a look. “Do you even have to ask?”
The van is in sight now, its taillights glowing faintly in the distance. My heart pounds as we close the gap, every fiber of my being focused on one thing: bringing Lula and Allegra back home where they belong.