9. Flynn
FLYNN
The gravel groans beneath my tires, a gritty protest as I roll to a stop in front of the estate.
Headlights slice through the deepening twilight, painting the old stone facade in stark gold before fading into shadow.
The house looms… dark, still, too damn quiet.
Not even the usual hum of the refrigerator leaks through the windows.
My gut twists before I've even killed the engine.
Faye's car sits exactly where she always leaves it, tucked under the old oak like it's part of the scenery.
The driver's door isn't fully shut, the dome light long since drained the battery.
My shoes hit the ground with a sharp crunch, and I'm moving before the dust settles.
The front door isn't just unlocked, it's cracked open, the deadbolt hanging useless against the frame.
I don't call out at first. Just step inside, my shoulders brushing the doorframe, the weight of the house pressing down like it's holding its breath. "Faye?"
Silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that hums with something wrong.
The kitchen's empty, a half-empty mug still sweating on the counter.
The living room is just as still—throw pillows askew, a blanket pooled on the couch like she stood up in a hurry.
I check the study, the cellar, even the damn greenhouse where she spends half her nights talking to the vines like they're old friends. Nothing.
My pulse hammers in my throat, thick and uneven.
I yank my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over her name. The call connects with a click, the ringing loud in my ear—once, twice, three times. No answer. Just the hollow echo of voicemail picking up, her voice bright and warm, telling me to leave a message like this is any other night.
I hang up. Dial again.
Same damn thing.
A cold weight settles behind my ribs, heavy as a stone.
I stride to the security room, flipping on the monitors with a sharp flick of my wrist. The feeds flicker to life—front gate, driveway, back patio, the endless rows of the vineyard.
I rewind, fast-forward, my jaw clenched so tight my molars ache. The timestamp blurs past until?—
There.
A black town car glides up to the gate, sleek and predatory. The timestamp reads two hours ago.
I know that car. I know the way it hugs the road, the tinted windows hiding whoever's inside. And I know the driver—Richard Voss, the smug bastard who's been circling Faye like a vulture for months.
My fist slams into the desk, the monitors rattling. The sound cracks through the silence, sharp as a gunshot.
But where the hell is she?
I fast-forward again, my thumb pressing hard enough to whiten the skin. The next hour ticks by in jerky frames until?—
Faye.
She walks out the front door, her posture stiff, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag like she's trying to strangle it. Her hair's pulled back, but a few strands have escaped, curling against her neck. She doesn't look back. Doesn't hesitate.
My blood turns to ice.
The phone's in my hand before I even realize I've dialed. One of my men picks up on the second ring. "I need eyes on Richard Voss. Now."
A pause. Then, cautious, "Any other details?"
"She's with him. Black town car, left the estate almost two hours ago. Find out where he is."
I don't wait for an answer. I'm already moving.
I peel out of the driveway, gravel spraying behind me like shrapnel. My knuckles are white on the wheel, my foot heavy on the gas. Every second she's with that bastard is a second too long.
The phone rings. I answer without looking. "Talk to me."
"He's at The Grand Meridian's penthouse." His voice is tight, clipped. "You want backup?"
"No." I don't need backup. I need her.
I hang up. The city lights blur past, a streak of neon and steel. My jaw aches from clenching, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears.
Richard Voss has no idea what's coming.
The Grand Meridian looms over the city like a blade of glass, all razor edges and icy arrogance.
My car's tires screech against the curb as I kill the engine, leaving it half on the sidewalk, half in the loading zone.
The valet's mouth opens—probably to tell me I can't park there—but I'm already out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.
The cameras mounted above the entrance whir, their red lights blinking like judgmental little eyes. I don't give a damn.
Inside, the lobby is a shrine to wealth and pretense. Polished marble floors reflect the chandeliers' cold glow, and the air smells like money and desperation. A concierge with a pasted-on smile steps forward, his hand raised like he's about to direct traffic. "Sir, you can't just?—"
I don't slow down.
The private elevator waits, its doors sliding open with a whisper.
I step inside, the mirrored walls throwing my reflection back at me—a man with a face carved from stone, his amber eyes burning like embers.
My knuckles are split, blood welling in the cracks, but the pain is distant, drowned out by the roar in my ears.
The penthouse button glows under my thumb, and the doors seal shut, trapping me in this gilded cage with my own fury.
The elevator ascends, the numbers ticking upward with agonizing slowness.
My pulse hammers in my throat, each beat a drum of war.
I flex my fingers, the skin stretched tight over my knuckles, and imagine wrapping them around Richard's throat.
The thought settles something inside me, a dark calm spreading through my chest like ink in water.
The doors open.
The penthouse is all dim lighting and the cloying scent of expensive whiskey.
Richard stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to me, a glass dangling from his fingers like he hasn't got a care in the world.
The city sprawls beneath him, a glittering mess of lights and lives he's never had to fight for.
He turns, that smug smirk already curling his lips. "Donovan. I was wondering when you'd?—"
I cross the room in three strides. My hand closes around his throat before he can finish, and I slam him against the glass so hard the entire wall shudders.
His drink slips from his fingers, shattering on the floor in a spray of amber and ice.
His eyes bulge, his polished nails scraping uselessly at my wrist, his breath coming in wet, choking gasps.
"Where is she?" My voice is a growl, low and lethal.
His lips move, but no sound comes out. His face is turning purple, his feet kicking against the glass like a man dangling over a cliff. I don't let go.
A whimper cuts through the haze of my rage.
Faye.
She's curled into the corner of a leather couch, her arms wrapped tight around her knees like she's trying to make herself small. Her eyes are wide, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling too fast. But she's alive. Whole. For now, that's all that matters.
I release Richard. He crumples to the floor, his hands flying to his throat as he coughs and wheezes, his body curling in on itself. I don't spare him another glance. My boots eat up the distance between me and Faye, the plush carpet swallowing the sound of my steps.
"Faye." My voice is rough, scraped raw. I kneel in front of her, my fingers brushing her cheek. Her skin is cold, like she's been sitting in a draft for hours. "You okay?"
She nods, but her hands are shaking, her fingers trembling against her knees.
"Did he touch you?"
She shakes her head, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. "No. He… he just talked. Threatened." Her voice is small, but there's steel underneath it.
I exhale, slow and controlled. Good. That's good. The relief is a physical thing, loosening the knot in my chest just enough to let me breathe. But the rage is still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.
I stand, turning back to Richard. He's on his knees now, his face still flushed, his hands clutching his throat like he's afraid I'll finish the job. His eyes dart to Faye, then back to me, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"You're done," I say, my voice flat. "This city. This business. You're finished."
He laughs, a wet, rasping sound that makes my skin crawl. "You think you can?—"
I step forward, my boot connecting with his ribs.
The impact sends him sprawling, his body curling in on itself as he gasps for air.
I crouch down, my elbows resting on my knees, my voice low and deadly calm.
"Listen carefully. Because I'm only going to say this once.
You come near Faye again, I'll bury you.
You so much as look at Bennett Estate, I'll burn your business to the ground.
And if you ever think about breathing a word of this to anyone, I'll make sure every deal you've ever made collapses.
Every investor. Every partner. Every goddamn friend you've ever had will turn their back on you. "
His face pales, the color draining from his cheeks like water down a drain. His lips part, but no sound comes out. He knows I'm not bluffing.
I stand, my shadow falling over him like a shroud. "Do we understand each other?"
He nods, his breath hitching, his hands trembling where they press against the floor.
"Good."
I turn back to Faye. She's watching me, her eyes wide, her lips parted like she's seeing me for the first time. There's fear there, but something else too—something that makes my heart ache. I hold out my hand.
"Let's go home."
She hesitates for half a second before her fingers slide into mine. They're cold, but they cling to me like I'm the only solid thing in the world. I pull her to her feet, my arm wrapping around her waist as I lead her to the elevator. The doors slide shut behind us, sealing us in silence.
She sags against me, her breath hitching in her throat. I pull her closer, my chin resting on the top of her head, her hair soft against my skin. "You're safe," I murmur into the dark. "I've got you."