Chapter 26 No Air Left
TWENTY-SIX
NO AIR LEFT
DECLAN
The man was bleeding from his nose, and one of his eyes had swollen shut, but he still wouldn't talk.
We had him zip-tied to a metal chair in the back room of an abandoned garage three blocks from Luka's safe house.
The space smelled like oil and rust and fear, all of it mixing with the copper scent of blood that kept dripping onto the concrete floor in a steady rhythm.
Dmitri stood near the door with his arms crossed, watching.
Luka circled the man like a predator deciding where to bite first.
I stood in the corner trying to reconcile what I was about to watch with the man I'd thought I was two weeks ago.
The man who ran a gym and trained fighters and went home alone to an empty house.
That version of me felt like a stranger now.
A ghost of someone who'd never had to choose between his principles and the person he loved bleeding out in some warehouse while the clock kept running.
“I'll ask again,” Luka said quietly. “Where is Rafael keeping Troy?”
The man spat blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”
Dmitri shifted his weight. “That's a bad answer.”
“I don't know anything,” the man said. His voice shook despite the defiance. “I'm just hired muscle. They don't tell me shit.”
“That's a lie.” Luka crouched down in front of him. Eye level. Close enough that the man flinched back even though the chair kept him pinned in place. “You were at the arena. You helped coordinate the extraction after the explosion. You know exactly where they took him.”
“I swear I don't—”
Luka's fist connected with his jaw before he could finish the sentence. The man's head snapped to the side hard enough that I heard teeth crack. Blood sprayed across the floor in a wide arc.
I wanted to look away. But every second we wasted asking nicely was another second Troy spent wherever Rafael had taken him. Another second he could be hurt or scared or dying while we stood here pretending civility still mattered.
So I didn't look away.
Luka worked him over with a methodical brutality that turned my stomach even as I understood why it was necessary.
He broke the man's fingers one by one, the same question asked after each snap while the screams bounced off the concrete walls, and I stood there and watched until the man stopped begging and just answered.
“Warehouse,” he gasped. “South industrial district. Near the old meatpacking plants. Building seven. Basement level.”
Luka stood and wiped the blood off his knuckles with a handkerchief like he'd just finished a business meeting instead of torture. “Was that so difficult?”
The man whimpered.
Dmitri moved forward and checked the information against the maps he pulled up on his phone. Cross-referencing the location with known Rafael properties and shell companies.
“It's legitimate,” Dmitri confirmed. “Matches the pattern of his holdings. Isolated. Good security sightlines. Perfect for holding someone you don't want found.”
“Then we move.” Luka looked at me. “Can you still fight?”
I was barely standing. The concussion from the explosion still made the world tilt at odd angles. My ribs screamed every time I took a full breath. The stitches across my temple pulled tight enough that I could feel them threatening to tear.
But none of that mattered.
“I'll fight until I drop if it gets Troy back.”
“Good.” Luka headed for the door. “We leave in five minutes. Dmitri, call in the backup team. Ash, check the weapons. Declan, get anything you need from the armory.”
We gathered our gear and loaded into the SUV within minutes.
The drive across Chicago felt like the longest thirty minutes of my life.
Dmitri drove while Luka coordinated with the backup team over the encrypted channels.
Laying out the approach vectors and contingencies in calm, measured tones that should have been reassuring but only made the whole thing feel more surreal.
I sat in the back next to Ash and checked the magazine on the handgun Luka had given me from the safe house armory.
I'd fired guns before. Had gone to the range a few times over the years when the paranoia about gym security got loud enough to justify learning.
But I'd never expected to use one like this.
Had never imagined sitting in the back of an SUV heading toward a firefight because the man I loved had been kidnapped by a psychopath with a grudge.
My phone buzzed.
Mara's name flashed across the screen.
I almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail because I didn't know what to say to her right now. Didn't know how to explain where I was or what I was doing or why everything in my life had gone to hell in the span of two weeks.
But the silence from me had clearly started bothering her. And Mara had instincts about when people were lying. If I ignored this call, she'd know it meant trouble.
I answered. “Hey.”
“Don't 'hey' me like everything's fine.” Her voice cut through the tension in the car like a blade. “You haven't been to the gym in three days. You're not answering the texts. And when I called the house, you didn't pick up. What the hell is going on?”
“I'm handling something.”
“What kind of something requires you to go dark for seventy-two hours?”
I looked at Luka. At Dmitri. At the guns and tactical gear scattered across the seats. At the maps showing the warehouse where Troy was being held.
“I can't explain right now.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to know I'm okay and I'm handling it.”
There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then, quieter: “This is about Troy, isn't it?”
“Yeah.”
“Is he in trouble?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Are you going to do something stupid trying to fix it?”
“Probably.”
“Declan—”
“I have to go.” I cut her off before she could argue. Before the sound of her voice made me second-guess what I was about to do. “I'll call you when this is over. I promise.”
“You better.” The worry bled through despite her attempt to sound tough. “And Declan? Whatever you're about to do, don't get yourself killed. That gym needs you. I need you. So does Troy, probably more than he's willing to admit.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a long moment. Felt the weight of normal life pressing against the reality of what I'd become. Mara represented everything stable. Everything good and uncomplicated about the world I'd built before Troy came back and turned it all sideways.
But Troy was the center now. Troy was the reason I was sitting in this car with a loaded gun in my hand, heading toward violence I couldn't begin to justify to anyone who hadn't lived through the past two weeks.
“We're close,” Dmitri said from the front seat.
I looked up. The industrial district sprawled around us in shades of gray and rust. Abandoned factories. Empty lots.
Luka pulled out a tablet showing the thermal imaging of the warehouse. “Seven guards on the perimeter. Maybe more inside. Rafael's not taking chances.”
“Neither are we.” Ash checked his weapon and chambered a round with practiced ease. “We go in hard and fast. No warning shots. No mercy for anyone who gets between us and Troy.”
Dmitri parked three blocks away in an alley that gave us cover while still maintaining the sightlines on the target. We geared up in silence.
“Declan.” Luka looked at me. “You don't have to do this. You can wait in the car. Let us handle the extraction.”
“No.”
“You're injured. Concussed. You haven't slept in two days. You're a liability in a firefight.”
“I don't give a fuck.” I met his eyes and held them. “Troy's in there and I'm not waiting in the fucking car while you handle this.”
Luka studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Stay behind Dmitri. Follow his lead. And if you go down, stay down. We can't afford to split resources protecting you.”
“Understood.”
We moved toward the warehouse in formation. Dmitri took point. Ash covered the rear. Luka and I stayed in the middle, moving through the shadows and debris with practiced silence that spoke to years of experience I didn't have.
The first guard never saw us coming.
Dmitri dropped him with a knife to the throat. So fast and quiet that the man didn't even have time to cry out. He just collapsed in a heap while blood pooled dark beneath him.
The second guard was smarter. He saw us approaching and went for his radio. Ash put two rounds in his chest before his thumb hit the transmit button.
Then all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted from three different positions. The muzzle flashes lit up the darkness in strobing patterns that turned the world into fractured snapshots of violence. Bullets chewed through concrete and metal, sent shrapnel flying in every direction while we dove for cover behind a rusted loader.
“More than seven,” Dmitri shouted over the chaos. “Rafael prepared for an assault.”
“Then we give him one.” Luka returned fire with controlled bursts that forced the shooters back into defensive positions. “Ash, flank left. Dmitri, suppressing fire. Declan, stay low and follow me.”
We pushed forward through the hail of bullets that felt like walking through a storm made of lead and death.
My body screamed at me to stop. To find cover and wait for the professionals to handle this.
But I kept moving because stopping meant giving up, and I'd rather die than leave Troy in Rafael's hands one second longer than necessary.
A man stepped out from behind a shipping container ten feet ahead and raised his weapon. I pulled the trigger three times before conscious thought caught up with instinct. I watched him go down in a spray of red that painted the concrete behind him.
I'd just killed a man.
The thought should have horrified me. Instead I just kept moving.