Chapter 4 Ozzy
FOUR
OZZY
The girl beside me doesn’t look like someone who just outran hell. She looks like someone who memorized every circle of it, catalogued the demons by name, and is already planning how to burn the place down the second she gets the chance.
Arrow’s got the blacked-out Escalade humming low through the sleeping veins of Saint Pierce, headlights carving pale tunnels out of the dark.
Streetlights strobe across her face in slow, rhythmic pulses like the city itself is trying to get a good look at what we just stole from the tower. Salem Bloom.
I’m studying her. Can’t help it. My brain’s doing that thing again. It’s filing details like evidence I’ll need later, like I’m building a case against myself for caring too much.
Her hair is a dark spill over her shoulders, the kind of black that drinks light instead of reflecting it.
It’s tangled in places, still carrying the faint scent of the lavender shit they used to “prepare” her for the auction.
Strands stick to the damp skin at her temples.
She hasn’t bothered to push them away. Too proud, maybe. Or too tired.
Her eyes are open and unblinking. They track everything: the red blink of the traffic cam we just rolled under, the silhouette of Arrow’s shoulders as he drives, the way my knuckles are white around the grip of the seat.
No wide-eyed panic. No trembling lip. Just cold, steady calculation.
Like she’s already running escape routes in her head, weighing me against the monsters she left behind, deciding whether I’m the lesser evil or just a different flavor of predator.
That’s not a victim staring back at me.
That’s a survivor.
Her posture is ramrod straight even though the leather seat is swallowing her small frame. Chin tipped up, shoulders squared like she’s daring the universe to try breaking her again.
Her hands rest in her lap, fingers laced so tight the knuckles bleach.
Every few seconds one of them twitches, taps out a silent rhythm against her knee.
Maybe just a nervous tic she doesn’t even know she has.
Either way, it’s the only outward sign she’s holding herself together with nothing but sheer goddamn will.
There’s a bruise blooming along the inside of her left wrist, purple-yellow at the edges, finger-shaped.
Someone grabbed her hard. Held on. I can picture it too clearly—the meaty hand of some handler, the way her skin would’ve given under the pressure, the way she probably didn’t cry out because crying would’ve given them satisfaction.
My jaw locks so tight I taste blood from where I bite the inside of my cheek.
I want to break something.
Instead, I keep my voice light. Because dark humor is what I do when the world makes me want to commit arson. “So,” I murmur, leaning back with my arm on the seat, “you always take down guards with office supplies, or is that a special occasion thing?”
Salem’s gaze flicks to me, unimpressed. “It was a clipboard.”
“A weaponized clipboard.”
“It was the closest thing I could reach.”
“Sounds like skill.”
Her mouth twitches. “Sounds like desperation.”
Arrow’s eyes meet mine. He doesn’t say anything, but the look says: Keep her talking. Keep her here.
Juno’s voice crackles through comms. “ETA five.”
“Copy,” Arrow says.
I glance out the window. We’re heading toward Maddox Security HQ—an ugly beautiful beast of glass and steel tucked into Saint Pierce’s industrial edge like it belongs there. It’s the kind of building that looks calm and clean on the outside and absolutely lethal on the inside.
Salem shifts. “Where are we going?” she asks, voice steady, but her shoulders are tight.
“Headquarters,” I say. “Safe place. Lots of people. Walls that don’t let monsters in.”
She gives me a side-eye. “You say that like you’ve tested it.”
I smile. “We have.”
Arrow’s tires whisper over wet pavement as we pull into the underground access. The gate opens automatically. Cameras swivel to track us. The whole place feels like a machine waking up, recognizing our presence.
Salem leans forward slightly, eyes scanning. “Wow,” she murmurs. “This is… real.”
“It’s real,” I agree.
She just blinks like she’s letting the word sink in. The SUV stops. Arrow kills the engine, and for a second, all we hear is the quiet hum of ventilation and Salem’s breathing—still a little fast, still controlled.
I turn toward her. “Okay. Here’s what happens next. We go inside. There are a lot of people. They’re safe. Some of them are… intense.”
Her brows lift. “Intense how?”
“Like,” I say carefully, “if you trip, three men will try to catch you and fight each other for the honor.”
She snorts, then looks like she surprises herself by doing it. Good. I like that sound. “Do I need a code word?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s ‘Ozzy, shut up.’”
Her eyes narrow. “I think I’ll be great at this.”
Arrow opens his door. “Let’s go.”
Salem steps out and winces as she steps forward. “Oww.”
My heart trips. “Are you okay?”
“My knee. Maybe I hurt it while running. Not sure.” She tries walking faster, but limps again.
I don’t even think about it. I lift her in one swift motion.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Carrying you. Can’t very well have you limping around and causing yourself to get hurt even more.”
She laughs lightly, so lightly I barely hear her. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”
“Just hold onto me.”
Her arms wrap around my neck as I carry her bride-style through the lot. “Good girl,” I whisper, and my heart pounds.
She licks her lips, and I try to ignore the way my entire body lights up at the sight.
I clear my throat and walk. “Anyway—HQ.”
Arrow’s shoulders shake like he’s suppressing a laugh.
“Don’t,” I mutter to him.
He doesn’t respond. Just leads the way.
We enter through the secure door and the world shifts from garage-cold to building-warm. Lights are bright but not harsh. The hall smells faintly like coffee and clean wood and whatever expensive cologne Sawyer Maddox probably bathes in.
Footsteps approach. And suddenly the hallway fills with people. I set Salem down, but keep her close.
Dean Maddox is first—tall, solid, eyes like a man who’s seen war and decided the world doesn’t get to take anything else from him.
Sawyer is beside him, posture relaxed but lethal.
Sawyer lurks a half-step back like he exists mostly to scare criminals into confessing through sheer presence.
Riggs stands off to the side, arms crossed, expression bored, like this is just another Tuesday. Which at Maddox Security, it is.
Then there’s the crew I actually know.
Arrow walks in with us, and Juno moves in fast. She offers him a quick hug and then turns her direction to Salem like she’s assessing damage and offering warmth at the same time.
River is there, leaning against a counter with Gage at her side, the two of them looking like they stepped out of a “power couple who breaks your firewall” magazine spread.
Knight stands near the back with Lark, who’s trying to look casual and failing because her eyes are on Salem with immediate, fierce interest.
And Rae is at a computer station behind glass, headset on, fingers flying over keys like she’s playing a piano in a war movie.
Salem stops short. Her shoulders tense like she’s expecting to be judged. To be treated like a problem. Like an object. I feel something in me go hard and sharp. Not today.
Dean’s gaze locks on Salem. “Salem Bloom,” Dean says. His voice is calm. “You’re safe here.”
Salem’s throat bobs. “I keep hearing that.”
Dean nods slowly like he understands. “You don’t have to believe it yet. Just stand in it for a while.”
Salem’s eyes flick over the group again, wary.
Juno steps forward first, softer. “Hey. I’m Juno. I’m not going to touch you unless you want me to, but I am going to offer you a hug like a normal person.”
Salem blinks. “A normal person.”
Juno smiles. “Normal-ish. I own a taser.”
Salem’s mouth twitches. “Okay,” she says quietly. “That helps.”
Lark pops her chin toward Salem. “I’m Lark. If anyone tries to mess with you again, I volunteer as tribute to ruin their life.”
Knight mutters, “Lark.”
“What?” Lark says. “I’m being welcoming.”
Salem’s eyes flick to Knight. “He always sound like that?”
“Like a grumpy audiobook?” Lark asks. “Yes.”
Knight exhales like he’s regretting every decision that led him here. Salem lets out a small sound that might be a laugh. Good.
River steps closer next, voice gentle. “River Quinn. I… get it. Not the exact same situation. But the aftermath. The fear. The—” She gestures vaguely at the air around her. “—living inside your body like it’s a place you don’t recognize.”
Salem’s gaze softens for half a second.
Gage’s eyes stay on Salem like he’s already mapping threats. “You did good getting out,” he says. Short. Solid. No pity.
Salem nods once, as if she accepts that more easily than comfort.
Rae doesn’t look up from her monitors but speaks into her mic. “Salem, I’m Rae. I’m pulling everything I can from the comms chain. If there’s a name, a location, a payment ledger—anything—I’ll find it.”
Salem’s attention snaps toward the glass. “You can do that?”
Rae’s fingers keep moving. “I already am.”
Dean shifts his stance, taking control of the room without raising his voice. “Here’s where we are. The ring moved Salem through a private channel. The holding location you were in is one of several. We don’t know yet who ordered her specifically or why.”
Salem’s fingers curl slightly at her sides. “Because I’m… valuable.”
Dean’s jaw tightens. “Because they’re predators. That’s the only reason.”
Salem swallows hard. I feel her body tense beside me, and my hand twitches like it wants to touch her shoulder. I don’t. I keep my distance. Because the last thing she needs is a man thinking he’s entitled to her space.
Dean continues. “We need you out of sight while we dig. And we need you safe.”
Sawyer’s gaze slides to me. “Ozzy.”
I straighten slightly. “Yeah.”