Chapter 31
Icollapse backward, legs giving out as the last surge of adrenaline drains from my system. My chest heaves, each labored breath burning past my raw throat. The room spins around me, colors and shapes blurring into a nauseating swirl of light and shadow.
Blood pounds in my ears, the rhythm easing from frantic to merely urgent. My hands sting where the power cord cut into my palms, thin lines of red welling up across my skin. The blue satin clings to my body, wet with sweat and torn at the shoulder, a reminder of what almost happened.
Travis lies motionless beside the bed, his chest rising and falling shallowly. The power cord rests across his chest, and blood mats his hair where the lamp connected, spreading in a small puddle beneath his head. The sight should horrify me, but all I feel is a cold, distant satisfaction.
I stare at my hands, expecting them to be transformed by what they’ve done, but they look the same, smaller than they should be, considering the damage they’ve caused. The trembling starts in my fingertips, spreading up my arms and through my chest until my whole body shakes with delayed shock.
The taste of copper fills my mouth where I bit my cheek during the struggle. My ribs throb where Travis’s knee drove into them, each breath sending fresh pain radiating across my torso. Tomorrow, my body will be a map of bruises that I’ll happily accept, because they mean I survived.
I fought back.
I won.
The victory tastes bitter and sweet, triumph mixed with the knowledge that violence changes you, marks you in ways that can never be erased.
A red glow catches my attention, pulling me from my thoughts. The camera’s light still burns, recording everything.
Rage flares hot and sudden in my chest, burning through the fog of exhaustion. They’re still watching. Still consuming my trauma for their entertainment and profit.
My muscles scream in protest as I push myself to my feet, legs trembling beneath my weight. Pain flares across my body, each movement awakening fresh injuries. Blood trickles down my chin from a cut on my lip, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand, leaving a crimson streak across my skin.
Three steps bring me into frame, my battered body filling the screen that someone, somewhere, still monitors.
“Did you enjoy the show?” The words scrape past my swollen throat, and my voice grows stronger with each syllable. “Am I quality goods?”
On the desk, the laptop screen shows my image, small and distorted by the streaming software. Comments scroll up one side in confirmation that people are indeed watching.
“You think you can buy people? Sell them? Trade them like baseball cards? You think Omegas exist for your consumption?”
I lean closer to the lens, letting them see every detail of what their market has created, the split lip, the bruises forming on my neck, and the rage burning behind my eyes.
“Remember my face,” I whisper, the words carrying a promise of retribution. “Because I will find you. All of you. And when we burn your operation to the ground, I’ll be there watching.”
My foot connects with the tripod, a swift kick that sends the camera crashing to the floor. The lens shatters, glass scattering across the floor. The image on the laptop screen goes dark, but the comments keep pouring in.
Tears well up without warning, blurring my vision as the last of my strength dissolves. They spill hot down my cheeks, cutting clean tracks through the blood and sweat that mark my skin.
I sink to my knees among the broken glass, uncaring of the sharp edges biting into my already abraded skin. Darkness edges in as exhaustion threatens to pull me under. Then a crash of splintering wood breaks the silence from somewhere beyond the partitioned walls.
At the same time, porcelain shatters from my right, and multiple impacts follow, one after another, as if the building itself is under attack.
My head snaps up, heart lurching as adrenaline surges through my depleted body. I search the stage for the fallen gun, but I can’t find it.
More crashes, closer now, the floor vibrating beneath my feet.
The bathroom door bursts inward first, hinges tearing free from the frame. Saint staggers through the opening, blood crusted along his hairline, duct tape dangling from one cheek. He searches the room with his one good eye, freezing when he finds me kneeling amid the wreckage.
Before either of us can speak, the wall of the partition explodes outward, fragments of wood scattering across the concrete.
Sebastian charges through the debris, gun raised, face twisted with a fury I’ve never seen.
The left side of his face bears a purple bruise from the crash, dried blood tracking from his temple to his jaw.
Jade follows a step behind him, gun sweeping the wreckage for a threat that isn’t there.
Everyone freezes as they register the scene before them. Travis unconscious on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. The camera in pieces. Me in torn lingerie, blood smeared across my skin, somehow still standing.
“Micah!” Sebastian’s voice breaks on my name, raw emotion stripping away his usual control. He surges forward, weapon lowering as he reaches for me.
But if he touches me now, I’ll collapse into his arms, and we’re not done yet.
I stumble backward, arms raised to ward him off. “Wait! The feed is still live!” I point toward the laptop on the desk, where the comments have slowed. “They were watching. The buyers. We can track the connection!”
Jade moves without hesitation, crossing to the computer setup in three long strides. His fingers fly across the keyboard, face hardening as he reads whatever appears on screen. “Encrypted connection. Multiple recipients.”
He kills the monitors with a quick flick of his wrist. “Fucking animals. We’ll get our techs to dig through the data later. For now, this show’s over.”
I lurch forward a step. “I can—”
“No.” Jade’s eyes meet mine, and something haunted flickers there before he looks away. “You need a doctor. So do Sebastian and Saint.”
Sebastian remains frozen several feet away, hands raised in a placating gesture. Blood crusts in his eyebrow, splitting the arch. His clothes are torn and dirty from the crash, but his eyes burn with clear purpose.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, low and gentle as if speaking to a wounded animal. He searches my body, cataloging each visible injury with growing darkness in his expression.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, the words catching on my raw throat. “Better than him.” I point a shaky hand toward Travis.
Saint rips off the last of the duct tape as he circles the unconscious man, prodding him with the toe of his boot.
“What did you do to him?” Admiration softens the bruises on his face.
“Lamp. Power cord.” The explanation comes out clipped, each word an effort. “He was going to sell me. This was a live auction.”
Sebastian sucks in a shaky breath, his control fraying. “Can I come closer?”
“Wait,” I say again, something niggling at the back of my mind. “There was another man. A driver. He left once we arrived here.”
“Okay, that’s good info.” Saint rolls a groaning Travis onto his stomach and yanks his hands behind his back. “But you can tell us everything once we get back.”
“No, there’s something…” I rub the side of my head, then wince when I bump a bruise. But with the pain comes clarity. “He said he was helping Travis to get back at the Rockfords.”
“That’s great, baby.” Sebastian takes another step toward me, movements slow and telegraphed. “Can I come closer now? Please?”
The request undoes me, and fresh tears rise, turning the world to a blur.
I nod, unable to form words through the tightness in my throat.
Sebastian closes the distance between us, favoring one side as he moves, but it doesn’t slow him. His familiar pheromones wash over me as his hands hover near my shoulders, waiting for permission to touch.
“I thought you were dead,” I confess, voice cracking. “The crash. There was so much blood.”
“Takes more than that to kill a Rockford,” Jade reassures from where he helps Saint secure Travis with zip ties. “Though not for lack of trying.”
Sebastian’s fingers brush my cheek with impossible gentleness. “We followed your tracker.”
I blink in confusion. “But he took the earpiece.”
“We had a backup plan.” Sebastian’s fingers move to my temple, and he peels something from my hair. He holds his finger in front of my face, where a tiny tracker sits on the tip of his finger. “Gabriel put it there when he fit you for the earbud. Just in case.”
“Sneaky,” I breathe.
His thumb traces the outline of a bruise forming on my jaw. “Always have a backup plan.”
I sway on my feet, the events of the night catching up to me all at once. Sebastian’s arms open in silent invitation, and I fall into them, my body recognizing home.
His embrace envelops me, careful of my injuries. The steady thump of his heart beneath my ear confirms he’s alive, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that’s settled in my bones. His scent surrounds me, washing away the lingering stench of Travis’s touch.
I clutch the torn fabric of his shirt. “You rescued me.”
“You rescued yourself,” Sebastian corrects, chest rumbling beneath my ear. “By the time we got here, you already had things handled.”
The words penetrate the fog of exhaustion and pain, reshaping my understanding of what’s happened.
Sebastian didn’t save me from Travis.
I saved myself.
“We need to move,” Saint announces, finishing with Travis’s restraints. “This place could have security. And we don’t know if his friend is coming back.”
Sebastian’s arms tighten around me before he pulls back to look at my face. “Can you walk? Or should I carry you?”
“I can walk.” I straighten despite the protests from my battered body. “But I want different clothes first.”
Saint approaches, shrugging out of his jacket to drape it over my shoulders. The leather envelops me, warm from his body and smelling of pheromones and cheap cologne, familiar scents from a lifetime of friendship.
“Always said you had more fight in you than you thought,” Saint murmurs, squeezing my shoulder.
His eyes hold a new respect, acknowledging something that’s shifted between us. Not protector and protected anymore, but equals who face danger together.
Jade locates Travis’s gun, checks the chamber, and tucks it into his waistband. “We need to call this in. The trafficking connection makes it Rockford business.”
I turn to stare at Travis’s unconscious form. He represents more than personal vengeance. He’s a lead to the organization that has haunted the Rockfords, the same one that captured Jade and Phoenix, that hurt Milo, that destroyed lives across the city.
I pull Saint’s jacket tighter around my shoulders. “Will they come after us?”
“Let them try,” Saint growls.
“They’ll have to go through all of us first.” Sebastian gestures toward the door, where shadows move in the main warehouse space. “The cavalry has arrived.”
Footsteps approach from beyond the partition, multiple sets moving with military precision. Gabriel calls out, followed by Ezra’s calm commands, organizing the response team.
The Rockford machine has fully activated, bringing resources and power to bear against those who dared target one of their own.
Jade returns to Travis and kicks him before turning to Saint. “Help me put him in the trunk. I have some questions to ask him.”
Saint hauls the unconscious Alpha up and over his shoulder. “Mind if I join you? I’m curious to hear what this asshole has to say for himself.”
Jade’s eyes narrow in consideration. “You should see a doctor, too.”
“My hard head can take a few knocks, no problem.”
“He threatened to cut off your fingers,” I tell my best friend, shuddering at the memory. “Maybe start there with him.”
“Noted.” With a grin, Saint strides off through the wreckage. “I trust you to look after our boy, Sebastian.”
“Always.” Turning to me, Sebastian offers his hand. “Ready?”
The nightmare isn’t over as long as the trafficking ring remains. Travis’s buyers are still out there, and my body aches with the memory of violence. But for the first time, I feel strong enough to be my own protector, and if I falter, my chosen family will be there to catch me.
I look up at Sebastian. We’re not victim and rescuer, not cam boy and patron, but true partners who will face whatever comes next together.
My fingers lace through his. “Ready.”
“Let’s go home,” Sebastian says, and the word no longer carries question or conflict.
Home isn’t a place, it’s the people who fight beside you, even after you’ve proven you can fight for yourself.