Chapter Forty-Three
Rylan
Day Four
It’s been the longest, most agonizing four days of my life. Time feels like a cruel joke, dragging out each second, reminding me of how little time Savannah might have left. My mind is a battlefield, torn between hope and despair, every passing moment another knife twisting in my chest. I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten. All I can do is focus on the mission, on the slim chance that we’ll find her before it’s too late.
Declan calls me. His voice is steady, but I can hear the tension beneath it.
“We found her.”
The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. Relief and dread collide in my chest, leaving me breathless. “Where?” I demand.
“An old canning plant on the outskirts of the city. The Castillos sent me a video. She’s alive, Rylan. There was enough in the background for my source to pinpoint the location. We’re meeting at the warehouse now.”
I grab my gear. My hands tremble with a mixture of rage and urgency. “I'm on my way.”
Every second feels like an eternity as I ride to the warehouse. My grip tightens on the handlebars, my knuckles white as my mind races with thoughts of Savannah. The video Declan mentioned looms over me like a dark cloud, a weight pressing against my chest. I push the bike faster, ignoring the speed limits, the traffic lights, and the outside world. Nothing else matters.
The wind howls around me, but it does nothing to drown out the storm in my head. My imagination runs wild, painting vivid pictures of what they might have done to her. Each image is worse than the last, and each one fuels the fire roaring inside me. It’s not fear anymore—it’s rage, pure and unrelenting. They think they’ve broken her, but they don’t know Savannah. They don’t know me. And they sure as hell don’t know what’s coming for them.
Every turn brings me closer to the warehouse, closer to the team, closer to saving her. But it also brings me closer to seeing whatever horrors the Castillos have inflicted on her. My heart pounds as I pull into the lot, parking with a screech of tires. Declan is already there, his expression grim as he waits by the door.
"Show me the video."
Declan hesitates. “Rylan, you don’t need to see it. The only thing that matters is she’s alive as of an hour ago. Focus on that.”
“I need to see her,” I snap. “Show me the damn video.”
Declan exhales sharply. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Declan hands me a tablet with the video cued, and my stomach knots as I press play. Savannah appears on the screen, tied to a metal chair in nothing but her underwear. Her body is marred with cuts and bruises, her head hanging as though she’s barely conscious. The voices of her captors echo through the recording, demanding answers about Vinny and my family. Every time she says she doesn’t know, they slice into her skin. Her screams fill the small room and cut through my soul.
My hands shake as I watch. Her pain is palpable, each cry a dagger in my chest. I barely make it through the video before I throw the tablet against the wall. The sound of it shattering echoes in the warehouse. My knees hit the floor as a guttural scream rips from my throat, the agony inside me threatening to tear me apart.
Declan kneels beside me, his hand firm on my shoulder. “We have a plan,” he says quietly. “We’re going to get her out and take the Castillos down for good.”
I force myself to nod, wiping at my face. “Let’s finish this.”
We arm ourselves amid the warehouse buzzing with grim determination. I check my weapon twice, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches. We load into vehicles and head toward the location. I’m driving, my thoughts racing as fast as the tires screeching against the pavement. The video replays on a loop in my mind. Every scream, every wound fuels the fire inside me.
This is what they wanted, isn’t it? To dangle her pain in front of me like a taunt, like some sick invitation. They thought I’d break, thought I’d crumble under the weight of it. But instead, they’ve done the opposite—they’ve lit the match. I’m coming, and I’m bringing hell with me.
I push the accelerator of the SUV harder, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. The weight of every second that ticks by presses on my chest, each one a reminder of how close I am to losing her—or saving her. Each second is a fresh reminder of the stakes, of what’s waiting for us at the end of this road.
Hold on, Savannah. I’m coming for you.
Savannah
I’m back in my cell and the cold seeps into my bones. My body is barely functioning, every movement an effort. I’ve stopped trying to fight—what’s the point? All I can do now is wait. But not for my body to give out. No, I’m holding on for him. For Rylan. Because if anyone can find me, it’s him.
My mind clings to that thought like a lifeline, even as sarcasm sneaks in to keep me sane. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, I think bitterly. Damsel in distress in a filthy cell? What a cliché. But even through the bleakness, the idea of Rylan keeps me going. If there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he’s relentless. And if I can just hold on a little longer, he’ll save me. He has to.
The silence is shattered by a deafening explosion. The walls shake, dust falling from the ceiling. Shouts and gunfire follow, the chaos growing louder with each passing second. My heart races, fear and hope battling for dominance.
I retreat to the farthest corner of my cell, curling into myself as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The door bursts open, and one of my torturers storms in, a gun in his hand. His face is twisted in fury as he shouts at me, his words venomous.
“This is all your fucking fault, you dirty whore! Signor Castillo is dead because of you! If you hadn’t let just anyone into that nasty cunt of yours, you wouldn’t even be in this mess!”
He points the gun at me. The firearm shakes in his quaking hands. “Stand up!” he barks.
Trembling, I force myself to my feet, then raise my hands in surrender. Tears stream down my face as I beg for my life. “Please, don’t,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the chaos behind him.
He steps closer, his rage boiling over. “You’re going to pay for this,” he snarls.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of movement. Rylan. No—it can’t be. My mind must be playing tricks on me. I blink hard, trying to shake off the hallucination. The cold, the exhaustion, the relentless fear—they must be conjuring him up, a cruel mirage of hope my shattered mind has decided to throw at me. But then he moves again, deliberate and precise, stepping just behind the goon with his weapon raised. My heart stops, a painful mix of disbelief and cautious hope crashing through me. He catches my eye, his piercing green gaze as steady as ever, and shakes his head, bringing a finger to his lips.
The goon notices my gaze shifting and begins to turn, but before he can react, Rylan pulls the trigger. The sound of the gunshot is deafening in the small space. The man collapses to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
I scream, the shock and relief overwhelming me. The last thing I see before the darkness overtakes me is Rylan rushing toward me, his face etched with anguish.