Chapter 16 Unfettered Resolve
Celeste Bellerose
The world rocked beneath her.
Celeste drifted into consciousness with a disorienting sense of weightlessness, her body shifting with a slow, deliberate motion that tugged at her equilibrium.
The rhythmic sway was subtle at first—almost soothing—lulling her in that fragile space between sleep and wakefulness.
But then her senses sharpened. The steady rise and fall beneath her wasn’t the movement of solid ground. It was something else.
Water.
Her pulse spiked.
Panic set in like a cold blade as her eyes snapped open, pupils dilating against the dim, ambient glow that barely touched the edges of the room.
Shadows stretched along the polished mahogany walls, swaying with the gentle motion beneath her.
A faint hum vibrated through the floor, the sound deep, constant—engines. Powerful ones.
She wasn’t on land.
She was on a yacht.
Her breath hitched as reality slammed into her like a freight train.
She bolted upright, the silk sheets pooling around her waist as her heart pounded against her ribs.
The room around her was opulent—too opulent.
Gold accents gleamed against the dark wood, the furniture handcrafted and refined, a billionaire’s playground masquerading as a prison.
Everything was designed for indulgence, from the full bar stocked with crystal decanters to the sheer size of the bed she’d woken up in.
But this wasn’t luxury.
This was a carefully curated illusion.
A nightmare in satin.
Her gaze darted to the doors—tinted glass leading to an exterior deck. Beyond them, she could see nothing but endless black water stretching toward the horizon, the moon casting silver reflections along the rolling surface. No land. No escape.
Trapped.
Her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts as her mind raced. How the hell did she get here? The last thing she remembered—Nick. The sharp sting of the needle in his neck. Juliette’s smirk as the world had gone dark. Celeste was drugged, like Nick.
Nick.
Oh, God.
Where was he?
Was he alive?
Her hands clenched into fists against the sheets as terror warred with determination. If she was here, it meant Juliette had plans for her. And if Juliette had plans, that meant Celeste had time.
She just had to figure out how much.
And how to use every goddamn second of it.
The door handle turned.
Celeste bolted upright, her body going rigid as the door swung open and in stepped her captor.
He wasn’t masked.
That meant two things: Either they planned to kill her, or they thought they had her under control.
He was tall, mid-forties, with the build of a man who had once been formidable—broad shoulders that had softened with time, a frame that still carried strength but was no longer honed for battle.
The slight paunch at his waist hinted at years spent wasting way in prison, but there was still something dangerous about him.
His movements were controlled, deliberate.
A man who hadn’t forgotten what he was capable of, even if the sharp edges had dulled.
His sharp blue eyes cut through the room like a blade, assessing her with a detached scrutiny that sent a chill down Celeste’s spine.
But beneath the calculation, she saw something else.
Not the cold confidence of a captor in complete control.
Not the dead-eyed indifference of a man who had lost his soul to his now keeper.
No.
This was different.
Regret.
Reluctance.
A man caught in the undertow of his own choices.
The hesitation in his stance. The subtle tension in his fingers. The way his gaze dropped to the floor—just for a second—before locking back onto her like he was forcing himself to play the role he had been commanded to carry out.
Celeste’s stomach twisted.
This man wasn’t just here to do a job.
He was here because he had no other choice.
And that made him unpredictable.
Celeste swallowed. “Who the hell are you?”
The man exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he had a headache. “My name’s Carmine Caruso.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Nick had mentioned him. His former partner. The one who betrayed him.
Bile rose in her throat. “You—you’re the one who sold Nick out. I thought you were put away for a very long time.”
A muscle in Carmine’s jaw ticked. He looked away for a moment before shifting, stepping further into the room.
“You are correct, but Juliette used her connections and bribed a judge to let me out early. It was a deal she struck with the corrupt judge that I was to never be scene in his courtroom again and I had to stay out of the public eye. She needed me to help her with her dirty work and if I refused, she threatened to put me away for the rest of my life, I’d never see daylight again… or worse, death.”
Carmine sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “You’re here because I don’t have a choice.”
Bullshit.
Carmine hesitated. He didn’t want to be here. That much was clear. He was following orders, but there was doubt creeping into his expression, into the way his fingers twitched by his side.
She could use that.
Celeste’s stomach churned. If Juliette could control a man like Carmine—someone trained, someone capable—what else was she capable of?
She needed to get out of here.
“Where are we?” she demanded.
Carmine’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Far enough from shore that no one’s coming for you.”
Wrong.
Nick was coming.
Celeste lifted her chin. “Nick will find me.”
Carmine let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You really think that?”
“I know that,” she snapped.
Carmine sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “I’ll bring you food later. Don’t do anything stupid.”
As if she had a choice.
He turned to leave, but Celeste’s voice cut through the air. “Carmine.”
He paused.
She squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”
Real hesitation shot across his face. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was fighting an internal war. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulled the door shut.
The lock clicked into place.
Celeste let out a shaky breath, her mind whirling.
She had to act now.
If she stayed put, she was dead.
Step One: Find a way to contact Nick.
She scanned the room. No phone, no intercom. But there—a security camera, tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
They were watching her.
Good.
Let them.
Celeste strode toward the bedside table, picking up the crystal water glass sitting neatly on a silver tray. She stared at it for a beat before launching it full force at the camera.
The glass shattered on impact. Sparks flew.
Let them come running.
She’d be ready.
***
Pain. Nick’s head pounded as he came to.
It started as a dull, throbbing ache in the back of his skull, pulsing in time with the sluggish, drugged beat of his heart. His limbs felt weighted, his muscles locked in a slow, suffocating grip—like his own body had turned against him.
Nick’s mind fought against the haze, clawing through the lingering fog of whatever the hell Juliette had pumped into his system. He forced his eyelids open, and the room swam in and out of focus.
Dim light. Cold floor.
His cheek was pressed against the unforgiving hardwood, the chill biting into his skin. The air was still—too still. The silence wasn’t just emptiness; it was deafening.
His instincts roared back online in a single, gut-wrenching realization.
Celeste.
His muscles rebelled against him, the last traces of the sedative clinging like thick molasses to his veins.
He shoved against the floor, pushing himself up onto his forearms, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
The world tilted and spun, his body sluggish, but one thing slammed into him with brutal clarity.
Celeste, She was gone.
Nick forced himself upright. His hand shot out, gripping the nearby table for balance as his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. His pulse pounded, hammering against his ribs like a war drum.
Sabre’s low, guttural growl cut through the quiet.
The dog stood rigid, ears pinned back, muscles coiled, his gaze locked on the doorway as if ready to tear through it. The air was thick with the scent of adrenaline and something more bitter—the stench of betrayal.
Nick’s gaze shot to the floor.
His gun.
Still there. Untouched.
That meant one thing.
They hadn’t killed him because they hadn’t needed to.
They just needed him out of the way.
A slow vibration buzzed against the wood.
Nick’s stomach turned to stone.
His phone.
He grabbed it, flipping it over with a sharp flick of his wrist. The screen glowed against the darkness, illuminating the words that sent his blood into a boiling, murderous rage.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: "You weren’t fast enough, Malone. She belongs to me now."
Nick’s vision blurred—not from the drug, but from pure, unrelenting fury.
Juliette’s face seared into his mind.
The syringe. The smirk. The way she’d looked him dead in the eye before ripping everything away from him.
His fingers curled around the phone, his knuckles going white. The plastic casing groaned under the pressure, threatening to shatter.
His pulse was fire in his veins. His breath came slow. Controlled.
They wanted to play games?
Nick planned on giving them a whole goddam war.
Nick shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his gun, and staggered toward the door. His muscles were stiff, the drug still trying to drag him under, but he fought through it with sheer force of will.
Sabre let out another low growl, pacing at his side like he could feel the storm brewing in Nick’s chest.
Nick reached for the doorframe, steadying himself. His head was still swimming, his vision still edged with static. But none of it mattered.
Because Celeste was gone.
And he knew exactly where to start hunting.
His phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER :"See you around."
Nick’s lips curled back into a slow, menacing snarl.
He flexed his fingers once, then twice. His body was still sluggish, but his mind, his mind was becoming increasingly sharp.
They thought they could take her.
They thought they could fucking win.
Nick Malone never lost.
Not a case. Not a fight. And sure as hell not the woman who belonged to him.
The bastards had no idea what kind of hell they had just unleashed.
With lethal purpose burning in his veins, Nick shoved the door open, stepped into the night—
And went hunting.