Chapter Thirteen #2
“What?”
Bass screams through the speaker loud enough to distort her voice completely. Then panic hits through the line hard enough my pulse spikes instantly.
“Dagger—”
Gunshots crack somewhere through the phone.
People screaming.
Mina crying.
Everything inside me locks instantly.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“We’re at the rave in the industrial district—oh my god—”
Another shot explodes somewhere nearby through the call. Blair yells something in the background before Mina screams hard enough the sound tears through my chest.
The warehouse atmosphere changes immediately.
Noir goes still beside me, like a predator scenting blood.
“What the fuck is going on?” I bark.
“They found us!” Mina screams over the bass and chaos. “We’re by the loading docks, but they’re—”
The line cuts dead.
My pulse slams violently behind my ribs.
The warehouse explodes into movement instantly afterward.
“Gear up!” I snap.
Crates slam open around us. Weapons dragged out. Ammo shoved into jackets while Saint racks a shotgun loud enough to echo through the warehouse. Reaper starts barking orders while Knox loads magazines with terrifying calm beside the workbench.
War mode.
Fast and fucking efficient.
Noir strips his rings off one by one before pulling black gloves over his hands slowly.
Tiny movements, but still enough to make something cold crawl beneath my skin again.
Too calm.
Way too fucking calm.
I yank another handgun from the crate and call Blair immediately.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
A horrible image flashes through my head instantly.
Blair bleeding on concrete beneath neon lights.
Dead because I let her out of my fucking sight and fucking trusted Mina with her.
Rage detonates hard enough my vision almost whites out.
Noir notices immediately.
“She’s alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She is.”
Too fucking certain.
The answer sticks uncomfortably inside my ribs while engines roar alive outside one after another.
Then we move.
Downtown Severance Point glows black and electric beyond wet pavement and flickering signs while my bike screams through traffic hard enough cars scatter from the road. Noir’s car stays close behind me, headlights cutting sharp through the street haze every time I check the mirror.
Sirens echo somewhere deeper in the city while bass from the rave still rattles through the industrial district ahead.
The whole ride, my chest feels tighter.
Like instinct’s trying to claw through my ribs, warning me something’s already gone wrong.
Noir follows the entire way. Steady and focused.
Every time I glance back, his car is still there, riding my ass through every turn. By the time we arrive, the rave’s collapsing into chaos.
People pour screaming as they pour out from the warehouse.
Some covered glitter, and blood beneath flashing neon lights.
Music still pounds violently somewhere inside while smoke rolls through the loading docks and emergency sirens echo through downtown.
Then I see Blair.
Standing near the loading docks beside Mina in tiny black mesh and platform boots with panic written all over her face.
Alive.
Thank fucking god.
Relief barely lasts half a second before bullets start flying.
Gunfire erupts across the docks instantly while black SUVs swing around near the shipping containers. Dante’s men pour out armed with rifles and body armor while people scatter screaming between parked cars.
“Down!” I roar.
Noir grabs Blair hard around the waist and physically throws her behind one of the concrete barriers while bullets rip through the side of a nearby car hard enough to explode glass across the pavement.
Mina screams.
Reaper opens fire immediately from behind the truck while Knox swings around the opposite side and blows somebody backward over the hood of an SUV with a shotgun blast.
Bodies drop fast after that.
Concrete explodes beneath bullets.
Blood sprays across loading docks beneath neon floodlights.
The whole pier becomes a fucking warzone in seconds.
I catch movement near the shipping crates and fire twice instinctively. One guy collapses instantly while another disappears behind cover.
“Move!” I bark toward Noir, “Get them the fuck out of here,”
Blair immediately fights him.
“Dagger—”
“Go!”
Another shot cracks dangerously close to her head.
Too fucking close.
Something inside me snaps violently.
I unload half the magazine toward the shooter and watch him collapse hard against the guardrail.
Noir shoves Blair and Mina toward his car, while she keeps trying to look back at me. Then he hesitates.
Like he’s thinking.
Calculating. Then he grabs Blair hard by the back of her neck and forces her into the car before peeling out of the parking lot.
Gone. Good.
Now I can fucking focus.
The fight turns brutal immediately afterward.
Close-range and fucking messy.
Saint catches one through the stomach and keeps firing anyway while Reaper laughs like a complete fucking psychopath unloading rounds through somebody’s windshield.
Knox buries a knife in one guy’s throat hard enough blood sprays across the side of a shipping container.
The air stinks like gunpowder, blood, and seawater.
Then I finally see Dante.
Standing near the far edge of the loading dock beneath the floodlights like none of this surprises him.
Like he expected us.
Expected me.
I start toward him immediately.
One of his men moves into my path and catches a bullet through the mouth before he can even raise his gun properly.
Another appears from behind a crate and fires.
Pain explodes through my arm instantly.
Hot and fucking violent.
The impact spins me sideways while blood immediately starts soaking through my sleeve.
Fuck.
The shooter fires again.
Misses.
I put two bullets through his chest hard enough he flies backward over the dock railing and disappears into the black water below.
Then I keep walking.
My arm burns like hell, blood running hot down my wrist, sliding over my knuckles, dripping from my fingers onto the pavement.
Every pulse sends pain tearing up toward my shoulder, sharp enough it should slow me down, but it doesn’t.
Not when Dante’s standing twenty feet away beneath the dock lights, watching me through the smoke and gunfire like he’s been waiting for this.
Bodies drop around us while the rest of the dock tears itself apart.
Reaper’s still firing somewhere behind me, Knox is shouting from the other side of the SUVs, and Saint curses loud enough to cut through the chaos when another round hits the truck beside him.
The whole place smells like gunpowder, seawater, burned rubber, and blood.
But Dante doesn’t move.
He just stands there in his dark coat, mouth curved faintly, blood streaked across one side of his face.
The sight of him alive pisses me off more than the bullet in my arm.
“You should’ve stayed the fuck away from her,” I call out.
Dante’s smile widens.
“Which one?”
That snaps whatever restraint I had left.
I lunge.
Dante moves faster than I expect, fist catching me across the jaw before I can get a clean shot. Pain bursts through my mouth, metallic and sharp, but I slam into him anyway. My shoulder clips the side of a parked SUV, denting the door beneath our weight as I drive him back.
He grabs my wounded arm and digs his fingers straight into the torn muscle.
White-hot pain explodes up my shoulder.
“Fuck.”
My gun slips in my grip for half a second, and Dante uses it. He twists my wrist, trying to force the barrel away while his other hand goes for the knife at his belt.
I drive my knee into his stomach once, then again, hard enough to feel the air punch out of him. He grunts, but he doesn’t fold.
Old bastard still has fight in him.
Good.
I want him to feel every fucking second of this.
I slam my forehead into his face hard enough his nose cracks. Blood sprays hot across my cheek, and Dante staggers back, laughing through it like pain is funny to him.
Like all of this is still a game.
“You always were predictable,” he spits.
I swing again.
He ducks and catches me in the ribs with a brutal punch that knocks air from my lungs. I stumble half a step, boots skidding across slick pavement, and he comes in fast with the knife flashing beneath the dock lights.
I catch his wrist before the blade hits my stomach.
For one second, we’re locked there, breathing hard, blood everywhere, gunfire ripping around us while his eyes stay fixed on mine.
Still poisoned with the kind of certainty that tells me he knows something I don’t.
That thought bothers me more than the knife.
I twist his wrist until something pops.
Dante snarls.
The knife clatters to the pavement.
I hit him again, and this one lands clean. His head snaps sideways, and I don’t let him recover. I grab the front of his coat and drive him backward into a stack of crates hard enough the whole pile shifts behind him.
He tries to swing, but I catch him by the throat first.
Then I tackle him down.
We hit the pavement hard, sliding through dirty water, broken glass, and blood. Dante claws at my face, thumb dragging dangerously close to my eye, so I slam my elbow into his jaw.
Again. Again and again.
Until his grip loosens and his body stops fighting for half a second.
That’s all I need.
I drag him up by the collar and force him onto his knees. He sways there, blood pouring from his mouth, one eye already swelling, breath rattling wet through his broken nose.
The king of Severance Point.
On his fucking knees.
I stand over him with my gun pressed to the center of his forehead.
Finally.
Dante looks up at me through blood and dock light.
Then smiles.
Of course he fucking smiles.
“You should’ve left them both alone,” I snarl. “Brynn. Blair. You should’ve never touched either one of them.”
Dante laughs, wet and ruined, but still too amused. “Still trying to save dead girls, Dagger?”
I press the barrel harder into his skull.
“Careful.”
His smile widens.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He coughs blood onto the pavement between my boots. “Bit late for threats, isn’t it?”
My finger tightens against the trigger.
“Say hi to your little rat for me when you get to hell,” I mutter. “Mikey got there first tonight, but I’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”
Dante goes still.
Only for half a second.
Then he laughs like I’ve just told him the funniest thing he’s heard all night.
My stomach twists.
“Oh, Dagger,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine, bright with cruel amusement. “You stupid fucking boy.”
I shove the barrel harder against his forehead.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
Dante coughs out another wet laugh, blood slicking his teeth. “You really think one of your little junkies was worth my time?”
Cold moves through me.
Sharp.
Wrong.
For half a second, Mikey’s face flashes through my head.
Terrified and confused.
Swearing he didn’t know anything.
Swearing his phone was stolen.
I shove the thought down hard.
No.
Fuck that.
Dante’s dying on his knees and still trying to crawl inside my head. That’s all this is. One last little mind game from a man who’s spent years turning people into weapons and calling it power.
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.” His bloody mouth curves. “Maybe not.”
My grip tightens so hard my injured arm screams.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Dante tilts his head slightly, eyes bright with ruined amusement. “Funny thing about rats, Dagger. By the time you see one, there are already more in the walls.”
Something ugly twists in my chest, but rage burns hotter.
Louder.
Easier.
“Yeah?” I press the barrel harder to his skull. “Then you should fit right in.”
Dante laughs again, weaker this time, but still smug enough to make my blood boil.
“You always were predictable.”
“Good,” I mutter. “Then you should’ve seen this coming.”
His smile lingers.
Like he still thinks he wins if I hesitate.
I don’t.
I pull the fucking trigger.