29. Liam
29
LIAM
T he warehouse is damp with the scents of rust, dust, and something more acidic, more bitter, like the lingering trace of bad decisions.
Footsteps echo against the concrete as I step inside gingerly. The space is cavernous, yawning with hollow darkness, broken only by the streaks of moonlight slipping through the broken slats in the walls.
The place looks like it's been abandoned for years. Graffiti stains the metal beams, wooden crates are stacked haphazardly in the corners, and the faint hum of wind whistles through the shattered windows high above.
But I'm not alone.
Vanessa stands near the center of the warehouse, a picture of poised confidence in the middle of decay, her pristine navy-blue coat buttoned up, her hands encased in black leather gloves. Like she's here to attend a business meeting, not settle a war. And, of course, she's not alone.
Cliff Reyes stands just to her right, his broad-shouldered frame practically radiating violence, his dark eyes scanning the warehouse with predatory focus. Beside him, another man lingers in the shadows, hired muscle, waiting for a reason to prove their worth.
Vanessa smiles, slow and indulgent. "Liam," she purrs, tilting her head just slightly. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your nerve."
I keep my hands loose at my sides, my stance relaxed. Calculated. "And yet, here I am."
She sighs, feigning disappointment. "Alone, too. That's unlike you."
I take a few measured steps forward, ignoring the way Cliff subtly shifts in response. "You wanted me alone. I obliged."
Her lips curve, but her eyes remain cold. "How very considerate."
I don't stop moving. Not close enough to be reckless, but enough to make my presence known, to let them feel the weight of what's coming. "This is over, Vanessa."
She arches a brow. "Is it?"
"You've been playing your games for months—sabotaging Carter Holdings, threatening Ava, trying to turn her against me. But you made a mistake."
"Oh?" She folds her arms. "Do tell."
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make her uneasy. Then, I take another step forward, voice even, lethal. "You got desperate."
A hint of surprise crosses her face—too quick to catch, but it's there. I press forward.
"Vanessa Chase doesn't panic. She doesn't make mistakes. And yet, here you are, standing in a condemned warehouse with hired muscle, waiting for me to come alone. That doesn't scream control. That screams desperation."
A muscle jumps in her jaw.
I smile. "So tell me, Vanessa—what changed?"
She shakes her head. "Oh, Liam. Still so determined to be the one in control." She clicks her tongue. "You really don't see it, do you?"
"See what?"
Her smile returns, cold and sharp. "That you've already lost."
I hold her gaze, reading between the lines, dissecting the angles, looking for the trap before it's sprung. The problem with Vanessa is that she never plays one game at a time—there's always another move, another layer, another threat lying in wait. And if she's still smiling, it means I haven't found it yet.
I shift my weight, glance at Cliff. "That why you brought backup?"
Cliff doesn't react, just stares me down like he's waiting for an excuse to put me through a wall.
Vanessa hums. "Consider it… insurance."
I scoff. "That's not insurance. That's a last resort."
She lets out a soft laugh, the sound like glass shattering in an empty room. "Oh, darling. You think I'm the one who's desperate?" She leans forward, lowering her voice. "You're the one who walked into my game."
The words are meant to unnerve me. But I've played too many rounds of this with her before.
I shake my head. "This isn't your game anymore."
Her eyes flash.
She exhales through her nose, tilting her head. "Cute."
She studies me for a moment, then clicks her tongue. "You know, Liam, you were always so predictable. So… noble." She lifts a gloved hand, inspecting her nails. "It's exhausting, really."
I don't move. I just watch. Wait.
Then, as if she's finally grown bored, she drops her hand and turns to Cliff. "Kill him."
I did not expect that.
And just like that, the night detonates.
Cliff moves fast—faster than a man his size should. I dodge left just as his fist swings through the space where my face had been a second ago. The force behind it is enough to make the air snap. I recover quickly, planting my feet just in time for the second guy to lunge.
I pivot, redirecting his momentum. He stumbles forward, cursing, but I don't get a second to breathe before Cliff is on me again. A strike to the ribs—I block it, barely. Then another—this one lands.
Pain lances through my side, but I push through, driving my elbow into his sternum. He grunts, but he's not down. Not even close.
The second guy charges again, swinging wide. I duck, grab his arm, twist. A sharp snap. He howls, dropping to his knees.
One down.
Cliff doesn't hesitate. He swings again, aiming for my head. I dodge, barely, the knuckles grazing my temple. Stars explode in my vision.
Then I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.
Everything halts.
Vanessa stands a few feet away, her arm extended, a sleek pistol aimed directly at my chest.
She sighs. "Now, Liam." Her voice is smooth, unhurried. "Be a dear and stay down, would you?"
My pulse pounds in my ears, but I force myself to stay still.
Teeth bared like a rabid wolf, Cliff steps back.
I meet Vanessa's gaze. "You're not walking out of this."
She smirks. "Oh, darling." She cocks her head. "I think I already have."
Her voice drips with the kind of arrogance that's gotten her this far in life—the belief that she's untouchable, untouchable enough to hold a gun to my chest and still smirk like this is a goddamn cocktail party.
I exhale slowly, forcing my heartbeat to steady, to drown out the pulsing adrenaline flooding my system. Cliff Reyes looms beside her, broad and still, waiting for his next command like a well-trained attack dog. The other guy is still on the floor, groaning in pain, his arm bent at an unnatural angle from where I snapped it.
But Vanessa? She hasn't even broken a sweat.
Instead, she steps closer, her boots clicking against the cracked concrete, each step deliberate, unhurried. The gun stays steady in her grip, pointed right at my ribs.
"Let's not be dramatic, Liam," she muses. "You didn't seriously think you'd win this one, did you?"
I tilt my head. "Considering the fact that you're holding a gun instead of making another empty threat, I'd say I've already won."
Her eyes flash, but she keeps her expression schooled, her amusement intact. "Ah, there it is. That Carter arrogance." She sighs theatrically. "Always so convinced that you're untouchable. That you can outmaneuver me."
I stay silent.
She clicks her tongue, feigning disappointment. "You know, that's always been your problem. You play the long game, but you never know when to fold." She leans in just slightly, lowering her voice. "It's why you lost the first time. Why Carter Holdings was so easy to dismantle."
My heart thuds painfully, but I don't react.
"Tell me, darling," she muses, voice mock-sympathetic. "Did it sting? Watching your investors turn on you one by one? Seeing the lawsuits pile up? Having your own board members whisper about whether you had the nerve to run a company?" Her lips curve. "I wonder what your father would have thought, knowing his son wasn't quite the prodigy he was promised to be."
My fists clench at my sides, but I stay rooted. Vanessa sees it, the lack of response, and it irks her.
So, of course, she pivots.
"And then, of course, there's Ava," she says, examining her nails like this is a casual discussion. "The way you look at her—God, it's almost tragic. Like you actually think this is real."
I exhale slowly.
She grins. "Oh, Liam. You're fooling yourself if you think this is anything more than a phase for her. A rebellion." She shrugs, eyes gleaming. "She spent her whole life under her brothers' control. It's cute, really. Of course, she'd latch onto the one man who doesn't have his shit together."
Still, I don't rise to the bait.
But inside? Inside, I want to tear this entire place down brick by brick.
Because Vanessa? She doesn't believe a damn word she's saying. She's just trying to sink her claws into the one thing she can't stand losing control over me.
I roll my shoulders, leveling my gaze with hers. "Are you done?"
She tips her head. "Not quite."
She reaches into her coat pocket with her free hand, pulling out her phone. With a single swipe, she turns the screen toward me, revealing a photo—grainy, but clear enough. A storage unit. The kind that's monitored, locked down, inaccessible without the right codes.
"This," she says, tapping the image, "is where I keep my insurance policy."
My jaw tightens, but I stay still.
She swipes again, bringing up another photo. This one shows the inside of the unit—rows of metal filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, a secured safe bolted into the concrete floor. And in the foreground, a sleek, encrypted hard drive resting on a steel desk.
"Everything is in there," she continues smoothly. "Every deal I've ever made, every name I've ever covered for, every cent I've ever funneled through Carter Holdings. Proof that I" —she gestures delicately to herself— "was never the only one playing dirty." Her smile turns razor-sharp. "I imagine the SEC would have a field day. As would the Feds. And, of course, your beloved investors."
My blood runs cold.
Because she's right. If that hard drive contains what I think it does, it's not just her insurance—it's a nuclear weapon. One that could destroy not only her but the remnants of Carter Holdings, the company I've spent the last year trying to rebuild from the ashes she left behind.
"I never did anything wrong," I retort, but the slight tremor in my voice is enough.
"Oh, sweetheart." She tilts her head, mock-sympathy dripping from every syllable. "You really think that matters?"
I grind my teeth, but she continues before I can cut in.
"Tell me, do you think your clients will care that you never touched a cent of my dirty money?" She lets out a low, musical chuckle. "Do you think the SEC will take your word for it? Or, better yet, the press? Because when that hard drive leaks—and trust me, it will—it won't matter that the discrepancies are all mine. Your name is Carter. Your firm still bears your father's legacy. Do you really think anyone will stop to sort through the fine print before they rip it all apart?"
My fists clench.
I rebuilt Carter Holdings from the ground up after she nearly burned it to the ground. After she funneled money through shell contracts, inflated projections, and used our projects as leverage for her backroom deals. I spent months severing ties, reassuring investors, proving—to the board, to the city, to myself—that Carter Holdings could still stand.
And now she's dangling a noose in front of me, daring me to pretend it's not there.
"I erased every trace of you from my firm," I say, voice low, measured. "You have nothing."
Vanessa swipes at the screen, then turns it toward me.
I go still.
Blueprints. Construction bids. Approval requests, all stamped with Carter Holdings’ insignia. It's all legitimate work, but beneath it, in the fine print, are contract codes I don't recognize—buried beneath layers of legalese, hidden in the margins of multi-million-dollar deals.
Vanessa watches my expression shift and laughs, soft and sweet. "You're adorable when you try to pretend you're not screwed."
I school my features, refusing to let her see how deeply she's cut. "If you had anything truly damning, you wouldn't be standing here playing show-and-tell. You'd have used it already."
Her smile falters—just slightly—but then she recovers, swiping to the next image.
"I have enough," she says. "Enough to make them look twice. Enough to raise questions. And you, Liam—you don't get the benefit of doubt." She tuts, shaking her head. "The golden boy turned fraud? Oh, it'll sell." She leans in, voice lowering to something silkier, more dangerous. "And that's all I need."
A chill runs down my spine.
Because she's right about that, too.
The truth doesn't matter. The story does.
And Vanessa? She's always known how to tell a damn good one.
I take a slow breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. "Even if I believed you," I say, keeping my voice steady, "what's your endgame here? You're not stupid enough to think I'd walk away just because you asked nicely."
She sighs, long-suffering. "I was hoping you'd be reasonable, darling." Then she smirks. "But fine. If I can't make you see sense, I'll just make you regret it."
She slips the phone back into her pocket, smoothing her coat like this is all just an unfortunate inconvenience.
Then…
A sharp shift in the air.
Cliff Reyes, standing just to her right, stiffens.
His eyes flick toward the warehouse doors. His fingers tighten around the grip of his pistol.
He's noticed something.
Vanessa follows his gaze, her expression turning sharp. "What?"
Cliff's voice is low, edged with warning. "We've got company."
Vanessa's smile vanishes, her body snapping to attention. Her eyes cut back to me, dark with realization.
"Find who they are and kill them," she barks at Cliff. And then she looks at me. "You didn't come alone."
"No, you stupid woman. I didn't."
The shock of being called stupid lands as it was meant to. There's a slight hesitation and it is enough. I lunge, shoving the gun out of her hand.