28. Julian
28
JULIAN
M y phone vibrates against the leather seat. Xander's name flashes on the screen.
"Got them. Traffic cams picked up Travis's Mercedes heading east on Lake Street about twenty minutes ago. Tracked it to a warehouse complex off Canal."
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Address."
"2461 South Canal. Building's owned by Porter Holdings LLC - shell company Travis set up last year. Looks abandoned from satellite view, perfect place to..." Xander's voice trails off.
"Send me the coordinates." I end the call, already pulling away from the curb.
The Bentley glides through Chicago's evening traffic, every second feeling like an eternity. Ten minutes later, I park a block from the warehouse, hidden in the shadows. From beneath my backseat, I slid out my rifle case. Never know when you'll need one.
Through the scope, I scan the building's windows. Most are boarded up or broken, except for one on the second floor where light spills out. Movement catches my eye. Travis paces back and forth, gesturing wildly, his designer suit jacket discarded on a chair. Ivy stands with her back against a concrete pillar, arms wrapped around herself.
My finger twitches near the trigger as Travis steps closer to her. He reaches out, grabbing her chin roughly between his fingers. Her head jerks to the side.
The scope's crosshairs center on Travis's temple. One squeeze and this ends. But Ivy's presence complicates things. Can't risk her getting caught in the crossfire or somehow hurt in the process.
Travis's hand slides down to Ivy's neck, and something dark and primal rises in my chest. The rifle's metal creaks under my tightening grip. No one touches her. No one.
I force myself to breathe, to think past the red haze clouding my vision. Clean. Clinical. That's how this needs to happen. But watching his hands on her, seeing her trapped there... Professional distance slips away with each passing second.
It's time I get inside with them.
Striding away from my car, I slip through a rusted side door, leaving the rifle behind. It's not great for close quarters anyway. The concrete floor muffles my footsteps as I navigate through the dark first level, following the echo of voices from above.
"You're insane if you think I'd ever come back to you." Ivy's voice rings out, sharp and clear. "Let me go, Travis."
"Baby, come on. We both know Julian's just some phase-"
"Don't you dare say his name."
Pride swells in my chest at the venom in her tone. My girl. Fighting back even when cornered. I love knowing that I am the only one she bends to, the only one she wants to please.
I reach the metal stairs, taking them two at a time while staying close to the wall where they're least likely to creak. The idiot didn't pick a very secure location but it's working in my favor.
"You think he actually cares about you?" Travis's voice turns nasty. "Men like that don't do relationships, Ivy. You're just a pretty toy until he gets bored."
"Funny. That sounds more like you."
The crack of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the warehouse. My vision goes white for a split second, hands curling into fists. But Ivy's laugh - cold and cutting - stops me from charging in.
"That the best you got? Julian's given me worse marks kissing me than your pathetic little slap."
I pause at the top of the stairs, a savage smile spreading across my face. She's not just fighting back - she's deliberately provoking him. I wonder if she's remembering all the times that I said anger makes a person sloppy. Smart girl. My brilliant, fierce woman.
I'd been worried, for a moment, when Xander first tracked her here. Wondered if I'd misread everything between us, if she'd actually gone running back to this piece of shit. But I should have known better. Should have trusted her more.
The sound of glass shattering pulls me back to the present. Time to end this. I pull my gun from its holster, clicking off the safety.
I step into the room, gun trained on Travis's chest. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. Perfect - an unstable cokehead is exactly what I need right now.
"Get on your knees." My voice cuts through the tension.
Travis whirls around, fumbling for something in his waistband. Amateur. I cross the space in three strides, sweeping his legs and driving him face-first into the concrete. His gun skitters across the floor.
"Ivy." I keep my knee pressed into Travis's spine while he thrashes. "Come here. I want you to watch this carefully."
She steps closer, rubbing her reddened cheek. The mark on her face makes my blood boil, but I keep my voice steady. "This is what happens when someone touches what's mine."
Travis bucks underneath me, spitting curses. "Fuck you! She was mine first-"
I slam his head against the floor, silencing him. "See how he leads with his right? Classic mistake." My hands move efficiently, disarming him of a small pistol and switchblade. "Always check for secondary weapons."
Travis writhes harder, cocaine-fueled strength making him unpredictable. His elbow catches my ribs. I shift my weight, pinning his arm behind his back until something pops.
His scream echoes off the walls.
"Notice how I maintain control of his dominant side?" I press harder, making him whimper. "The shoulder joint is particularly vulnerable. Easy to dislocate with the right pressure."
"You fucking psycho!" Travis's voice cracks. "I'll kill you both!"
I pull my ceramic blade from its sheath. "The thing about cocaine, Travis, is it makes people reckless. Sloppy." The blade catches the light. "Makes them think they're stronger than they are."
Ivy watches intently, her amber eyes dark with something between fascination and hunger. No fear. No hesitation. Just raw appreciation for the violence unfolding before her.
"What do you think, sweetheart?" I trace the blade along Travis's throat, not breaking skin. Yet. "Want to test how much violence really turns you on?"
Her eyes light up - probably remembering the promise I made when I first saw that speck of darkness in her. "Yes," she breathes.
With a grin, I step back from Travis, my eyes flicking over him in disgust. I'll give my girl a show if that's what she wants. "Get up."
"What?" He rolls to his side, cradling his dislocated shoulder.
"You heard me. Stand up and face me like a man." I slide the ceramic blade back into its sheath. "No weapons. Just you and me." I give him a grin. "I'll let you fight for your life."
Travis's eyes dart between me and the door, calculating his odds. The cocaine makes him twitchy, overconfident. "You're gonna regret this."
"Am I?" I shrug off my suit jacket, handing it to Ivy. The fabric whispers as she takes it, her fingers brushing mine. "Show me."
Travis scrambles to his feet, bouncing on his toes like a second-rate boxer. His good arm comes up in a defensive stance. "I was Golden Gloves in college-"
I let him throw the first punch. It's sloppy, telegraphed from a mile away. His fist whooshes past my ear as I step inside his guard. "Boxing rules?" My elbow connects with his solar plexus. "Or street rules?"
He doubles over, gasping. I give him space to recover, circling slowly. "Come on, Travis. Show Ivy what a real man looks like."
Rage flashes across his face. He charges forward, trying to tackle me. I sidestep, driving my knee into his ribs. The crack is satisfying.
"That all you got?" Blood trickles from his split lip. "Fucking cheap shots-"
"No such thing as cheap shots in a real fight." I gesture for him to come at me again. "But please, show me your proper form."
His next punch has better technique, but the cocaine makes him wild, uncontrolled. I catch his wrist, twisting until tendons strain. "See, Travis, the problem isn't your form." My free hand grabs his throat. "It's that you think rules matter in a fight for your life."
He claws at my grip, face turning red. I release him just before he passes out.
"Again." I step back, hands loose at my sides. "Show me what those Golden Gloves taught you."
And I can’t wait to show him what growing up on these streets taught me.