Chapter 32 Cloe
CLOE
The first thing I felt was pressure.
Not pain. Not even weight.
Just the hum of something tight around my wrists, the ache in my ankles where the rope pulled skin raw. A thread of fire where circulation had stopped. The pulse in my temple beat slow and heavy, like my body was counting down from something I couldn’t name.
The second thing was the smell. Not blood—not yet. But everything else.
The stench of mold crawling through concrete. Rust in the air. Old sweat soaked into fabric. A damp, sour rot I couldn’t place until I breathed too deep and nearly choked.
Urine.
Not fresh.
The kind that lingered.
The kind that clung to walls and skin. I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer. Tried to piece myself back together one breath at a time.
Where was I?
Where was he?
Wolfe.
Flickers came back to me. I saw him before the dark. His back turned. His coat catching in the wind. The moment he stepped into the building, and the light swallowed him.
I had screamed his name. And he hadn’t heard me. That was the sound still echoing in my ribs. Not the scream—the silence that followed it.
I opened my eyes. It was hard to tell what was real.
The room was dim, the only light a low orange coil from a bulb hanging half-dead above my head. It swung slightly, casting long shadows that bent the corners of the room into things they weren’t.
The walls were concrete. Stained. No windows. No clock. Just a single metal door to my left, rust bleeding down its hinges.
I tried to move. Tried to lift my arm. The rope bit deeper. They’d tied me to a chair.
Metal legs. One wobbled. My back screamed against the posture. My thighs were cold, sticky with dried sweat. My mouth was stuffed with a rag so tight I couldn’t even close my lips around it.
I breathed through my nose. The air was sharp. Rank. I swallowed around the gag. My tongue scraped cotton. My jaw ached.
I turned my head slowly. Pain bloomed at the base of my skull. The bastard had hit me harder than I thought. My scalp pulsed where it met the chair.
The door stayed closed. But I wasn’t alone. I could feel it. Someone watching.
I tested my bindings. Quietly. My left wrist was raw, but the knot wasn’t perfect. Too low. If I bent my hand just right, I might get enough leverage to loosen it. But not yet. Not while I was being watched.
I let my eyes fall half-shut. Tried to make my body go slack. Let them think I was still out.
My heart beat louder than it should have. Not fast. But hard. Like it was trying to stay loud enough for someone to find.
Wolfe.
He would come. He would be tearing apart the city already. But even knowing that didn’t make the silence safer.
The door creaked. Just slightly. Then footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Like the man attached to them had never once needed to run.
I didn’t move. Not yet. A chair scraped across the floor. Closer. Boots. Steel-toed. Scuffed.
He sat down in front of me. I could feel the air shift when he leaned forward. I opened my eyes. He wasn’t the one from before. This one was worse. Neater. Buttoned shirt. Sleeves rolled. A leather watch too clean for the rest of him.
He smiled when I looked up. Not kind. Not cruel. Just—curious.
Like he was trying to understand how someone like me ended up here. Like I was a new puzzle and he already had the first piece.
He leaned forward.
“You awake, sweetheart?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
But the way I held his gaze made something shift in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or interest. He reached into his jacket. Pulled out a small knife.
I flinched. He didn’t open it. Just set it on the ground beside him, like a promise.
“I’m not here to hurt you. Not yet.”
His voice was soft. Clean. Too clean.
He reached up and untied the gag. Slow. Careful. It fell from my mouth like a curse. My lips were cracked. Blood dried in the corners.
He held out a bottle of water. The kind you get from a vending machine.
I didn’t take it. So he did it for me. Tilted the bottle. Held it to my mouth. Water sluiced down my chin.
I drank. Because I had to. Because my throat was fire. He pulled it back before I got more than a mouthful. I wanted to spit in his face. But I needed the next sip.
He chuckled.
“See? Cooperation.”
I stared at the knife.
He followed my gaze.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s not for you. Not unless you make it for you.”
He stood. Walked around the chair slowly.
“You made a lot of noise on the street, Cloe.”
The way he said my name made my stomach twist. Like he owned it. Like it was something bought. He stopped behind me. His hands ghosted above my shoulders. Not touching. Just hovering.
I went still.
"Men like me don't get second chances. But you gave me one. Your debts became my profit."
His breath hit my neck. I bit the inside of my cheek.
“You should feel proud,” he said. “You’re worth more now than you were on your back. That’s rare. That’s something.”
I didn’t flinch. Because I refused. Because the one thing Wolfe taught me was how to bleed without fear.
He stepped back around the chair. Crouched. Met my eyes.
“Now we wait,” he said. “They’ll come. They always come.”
He stood again. Grabbed the knife. Slipped it back into his pocket.
“You be good, and I’ll keep you pretty.”
Then he left. And the lock clicked behind him. And I started planning how to kill him.
Wolfe
I didn't take the stairs two at a time. I didn't run.
I walked. Every step was deliberate. Every breath a calculation.
My boots hit the tile of the apartment hallway like they had something to prove.
If I let myself run—if I let myself feel—I wouldn't make it to the war room.
I'd rip the city in half before I knew where she was.
The door was open. Someone had left it that way. Loyal, maybe. Royal. Didn’t matter.
I stepped inside. Barron looked up from the floor plans. Loyal sat on the edge of the sofa, laptop balanced on his knees. Royal leaned against the kitchen island, eating something from a tin like we weren’t all seconds from setting the world on fire.
No one spoke. Not until I closed the door. It clicked. Louder than it should have. Louder than anything else had sounded since I’d walked into that apartment and found the vent open.
My coat hit the ground before I was even across the room. Barron’s eyes tracked me. Loyal paused the video feed on his screen. Royal stopped chewing.
I walked to the cabinet. Pulled out the scotch. Poured a glass.
My hand didn’t shake. I wanted it to. I wanted something to break the stillness. But I wasn’t allowed that. Not yet.
I drank half the glass in one pull. The burn hit the back of my throat. Sharp. Clean. It didn’t help.
“They took her,” I said.
No one moved. Loyal was the first to exhale. Royal dropped his fork into the tin.
Barron stood.
“How?” he asked.
I looked at him. Not with fury. With certainty.
“I let her go.”
I watched the words land. Watched Royal flinch, barely. Watched Loyal go cold. Watched Barron take one step toward me like he might try to stop what was coming next. He didn’t. Because he knew better.
I walked to the table. Set down the glass. Flattened my palms against the wood.
“She said one minute.”
The phrase cracked something in me.
I said it again.
“One fucking minute.”
Loyal closed the laptop. Royal pushed off the counter. I didn’t look at them.
“They were watching us,” I said. “They knew the second I left her alone. They waited for her to say it. One minute. Like it was a countdown.”
I closed my eyes. And saw her. The last glimpse I had. Her back disappearing up the stairs. The shape of her hand waving me off.
Trust.
It had tasted like mercy at the time. Now it tasted like blood.
I opened my eyes. Royal stood across from me now. Quiet. Focused.
“What do we know?”
Loyal spoke.
“The burner that called you last pinged twice. Once near her building. Once outside the old train depot in the southern sector.”
Barron pulled a folded map from his coat pocket. Unrolled it across the table. The ink was already smudged from his hands. Mine added more.
“She’s not in a safehouse,” he said. “Not cartel. Not Selene’s people. This is older. Dirtier. The kind of men who don’t need her alive to make their point.”
I smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the surface. The kind that lived in bone. I turned. Walked down the hall.
My room was dark. The way I left it. The closet door hung open. I stepped inside. Pulled the blade from the box under my bed. Matte black. Handle worn to the shape of my grip. I strapped it to my thigh. Then I opened the drawer beside the nightstand.
Cloe’s collar still sat inside. I looked at it for a long time. I didn’t touch it. Not yet.
When I stepped back into the room, Loyal was already loading gear. Barron on the phone. Royal pressing something into a duffel bag. They didn’t ask. They didn’t wait. They just moved. I poured another drink. Held it up.
“They think she’s alone,” I said.
I looked at each of them.
“They think she’s something they can keep.”
I finished the drink. Set the glass down.
“We make sure they never forget who she belongs to.”
No one toasted. No one smiled. Barron nodded once. Loyal zipped the duffel. Royal rolled his sleeves. And I turned to the door.
Because the next breath I took would be on the road. And the next time I spoke her name—
It would be the last thing they heard before they died.
Cloe
I counted the seconds.
Not because I thought it would help. Not because I believed Wolfe would come bursting through the door like he did in my nightmares—too late to stop the bleeding, always too late. No, I counted because it was the only thing I had.
The ache in my wrists had turned sharp. My ankles throbbed with each shallow breath. My skin felt too tight. My thoughts, too loud.
And still—
I waited.
Because there was nothing else to do.
Because I had nothing else to give.