Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
SILAS
The moment the line went dead, I knew.
Not just that we were too late.
But that whatever had taken her—wasn’t coming to negotiate.
It was coming to finish what it started.
Blood. Smoke. Silence.
Then the storm broke.
I didn’t need confirmation. I didn’t need coordinates or names or witnesses.
They had her.
Deep down in my gut I knew they had Gabe.
They had to.
A wave of guilt hit me.
It tore through me like shrapnel. Images I didn’t want—Angelica’s face, the look in Gabe’s eyes, blood, the sound of the call—ripped through my skull.
But guilt wasn’t going to get me what I needed.
No.
Rage was.
And we were going to bury them for it.
“Get in the car,” I snapped.
Jude didn’t speak. He moved. Theo was already behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life before the doors even shut.
I barely got the door closed before he peeled out—tires screaming, gravel spraying behind us like gunfire.
The warehouse blurred in the rearview.
So did the blood.
Jude loaded another clip into his gun with steady hands, his jaw tight. “We track them to the safehouse, we hit hard. No questions. No survivors.”
“They went after them, didn’t they?” Theo growled, eyes locked on the road. “They laid a fucking trap, Silas and we?—”
“I know.”
“What are we going to do, Sil? What. Are we…going to do?” His voice cracked as he turned to me, and he was that desperate, pleading kid all over again. The one I fought and the one I protected.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure what would come out.
The headlights cut through the dark, carving a path toward the safehouse. My heart beat in time with the engine—hard, fast, too loud.
Every mile between us and them felt like an insult.
I wanted to be there already. I wanted to pull them from the walls. I wanted to make them bleed.
Theo’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “What if we’re too late?”
“We’re not.”
“But if we are?—”
“We’re not,” I snapped.
The silence that followed was sharp. Heavy.
Jude looked back at me. “And if they hurt her?”
I looked out the window. My reflection stared back. Hollow. Vicious.
“Then we burn the world down.”
We didn’t slow when we reached the perimeter.
Didn’t wait.
Theo skidded the car as he punched the brakes. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as we skidded to a halt.
Doors slammed. Boots hit dirt.
Rage hit harder.
Jude was already moving.
His coat flared behind him, knife gleaming in one hand, gun heavy in the other.
There was no hesitation in him. No fear.
Just that calm, coiled rage that lived in his bones—a kind of quiet, righteous fury carved out of blood and purpose.
His face looked carved from stone. Cold. Beautiful. Biblical.
Like a weapon forged in silence.
Theo was fire beside him. No finesse. No subtlety. Just rage and raw muscle.
He moved to the side of the building where we’d seen one of the cartel bastards run. Boots pounding over gravel, shoulder slamming into the door hard enough to split the frame.
It exploded inward.
The scream that followed didn’t belong to him.
It was high. Sharp.
Wet .
The sound of someone learning, too late, that they’d chosen the wrong side.
Theo didn’t stop.
The gunfire that followed wasn’t even frantic—it was methodical. Angry. Precise.
By the time I reached the threshold, the blood was already on the walls.
I kicked the first bastard I saw straight in the throat. He dropped, choking, and I didn’t wait. My gun barked twice—once into his leg, once into the floor beside his head.
“Where is she?”
He muttered something in Spanish. I grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into the wall.
“Wrong answer.”
The next man came out swinging. I caught the blade with my forearm—white fire across my skin. It didn’t slow me. I hit him with the butt of my gun, teeth flying, blood spraying.
Jude covered the back. Theo had the stairwell.
The house was screaming now—men shouting, gunfire echoing off cement walls, the sound of bones breaking like percussion.
We fought like men with nothing left to lose.
Because we didn’t.
Gabe was gone.
Our baby brother.
The one we raised. The one we bled for. The one I swore—*I swore*—I’d protect with every breath in my body.
Angelica—
No .
I couldn’t think about her.
If I thought about her, I’d break.
I couldn’t afford to break.
We cleared the building room by room. Blood on the walls. Blood on our boots.
And still no sign of them.
I found a phone. Drove my heel through the goddamn thing. Smashing it.
I found a radio. Interference only.
Then I found a man hiding in a supply closet, praying in rapid Spanish. I yanked him out by the collar and slammed him into the concrete.
“Who took them?”
“I don’t know!”
“Wrong answer.”
I pressed the muzzle against his kneecap.
“I’ll ask one more time.”
His voice cracked. “They weren’t cartel! They weren’t ours! They came in separate. Black suits. Clean. Quiet. They weren’t supposed to take the girl. They just… did.”
“Who gave the order?”
His eyes flicked toward the door. “He left. Right before the attack. Said he was going to ‘finish it.’”
I dragged him to his feet. “Give me a name.”
He didn’t.
Not fast enough.
Theo was already behind him. One shot to the head. Blood sprayed.
The body hit the ground like punctuation.
I turned to Jude. “Status.”
“Back’s clear. No signs of either vehicle. They’re gone, Silas.”
No.
They couldn’t be.
I clenched my fists until blood welled around the cuts in my palms.
Theo was breathing hard. Jude’s eyes were glassy. They looked to me. Always to me.
But for once, I had nothing to give.
Just the fury.
Just the fire.
They’d taken our blood.
They’d broken their last vow.
Now we were going to break them.
All of them.