Chapter 150 Damian
Damian
Bloody reckless.
The woman sat opposite me in the back of the van, hair mussed, wrists red from the ties, her eyes blazing with more fire than sense. She should have been shaking. Most people did after a near miss like that. Instead, she looked like she was already planning her next move.
And that was the problem.
I’d seen her type before—civilians with more heart than training, the kind who thought courage could outrun bullets. They didn’t last long. But there was something in the way she held my stare, chin high even though her hands trembled in her lap, that told me Morgan Tate was no ordinary civilian.
“Stop glaring at me,” she snapped, voice raw but steady. “It’s not my fault they took her.”
Her. Ruby. The name had been in the file, a sixteen-year-old girl snatched off the street. The reason Morgan had walked into the trap instead of calling for help.
I leaned forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, my voice low and sharp. “You walked straight into their hands without backup. That’s not brave, love. That’s suicide.”
Her eyes narrowed, gray-blue flashing like stormlight. “And what was I supposed to do? Sit around while they threatened my sister? Wait for some man with a gun to swoop in?”
My mouth tightened. That’s exactly what you did. And lucky for you, I showed up.
But I didn’t say it. Instead, I let out a slow breath, forcing my temper back under control. Anger wouldn’t get her sister back. And Ruby was leverage now, bait on a hook Graves would keep dangling.
The name burned in my head like a brand: Graves.
I hadn’t expected to hear it tonight, not this soon. But the moment I’d seen the man in the suit scuttle back, muttering about his employer, I’d known. The bastard’s reach stretched farther than I’d thought. And now this woman—this bloody stubborn writer—had stumbled straight into his line of fire.
She shifted on the bench, rubbing her wrists, her chin still tilted like she refused to let me see her cracks. “You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.”
I almost smiled at that. Sharp tongue. Fire under the fear. Most people begged when I dragged them out of a cell. She challenged.
I sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re right. I don’t know you. But I do know Graves. And if he’s marked you, love, you’re not just in over your head—you’re swimming in bloody shark water.”
For the first time, her bravado flickered. A crease formed between her brows, quick but real. Then she straightened, meeting my stare with stubborn defiance. “Then teach me to swim.”
Hell.
I scrubbed a hand down my jaw, biting back the curse that rose in my throat. She had no idea what she was asking. No idea what it cost. But as her words hung between us, something shifted in my chest—a flicker I hadn’t felt in years.
It wasn’t just reckless courage. It was loyalty. Fierce, blinding, unbreakable.
And God help me, I was already in trouble.
The van rattled over broken pavement, the engine growling low. Cyclone was at the wheel, River beside him, both quiet but alert. Professionals. Good men to have at your back.
I kept my eyes on Morgan. She sat stiff-backed on the bench, clutching her wrists like the sting of the ties was only just sinking in. But her chin was still high, defiant, like she refused to give me the satisfaction of seeing her welt.
“Start talking,” I said finally. My tone came out sharper than intended, but I didn’t soften it. “What exactly did you write that got Graves’ attention?”
She flinched at the name. Good—she should. “I don’t know. I was writing a book—just a story. I dug into articles, interviews, case files. I pieced things together.”
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, staring her down. “You pieced too well. Graves doesn’t take kindly to people shining light where he operates. You drew a bloody target on your back and didn’t even know it.”
Her eyes sparked. “So what—you’re saying this is my fault?”
“Not your fault,” I allowed, voice low. “But your problem now. And ours.”
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the hum of the tyres. She shifted, finally dropping her gaze to her hands. That fire of hers—dangerous, reckless—was dimmed by a flicker of something raw. Guilt.
I knew it too well.
“Listen, love.” I let out a slow breath, trying for calm. “You’re not trained for this world. Graves isn’t a villain from your bloody books. He’s worse. He’s careful, patient, and he’ll use Ruby to keep you running until you break.”
Her head snapped up, fire back. “Then I won’t break.”
Hell. Stubborn to the bone. We had a message about what was coming down and who it involved. We all thought she wouldn’t go, but she did. She went to rescue her sister. I would have done the same.
Cyclone glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, his brow lifting in a way that said she’s not going to make this easy. I ignored him.
River shifted in his seat. “We’re running her through the safehouse first, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, though my gaze never left Morgan. “She’ll stay put until we have a lead on Ruby.”
Her laugh was short and humorless. “Stay put? You think I’m going to sit in some bunker while my sister—”
“You’ll do exactly that,” I cut in, my voice steel. “Because charging back in unprepared already got you caught once. Next time you won’t walk out.”
Her glare could’ve burned through Kevlar. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
I almost smiled despite myself, a sharp tug at the corner of my mouth. God help me, she had spirit. And spirit was going to get her killed if I didn’t keep her on a short leash.
I sat back, arms crossed, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Then we make a deal, love. You stay alive long enough for us to find Ruby. After that…” I let the words hang. “You can hate me all you like.”
For a moment she just stared at me, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like she was holding back a scream. Then, finally, she looked away. But not in surrender—no, that was strategy.
She was already planning how to defy me.
And God help me, I already knew I wasn’t going to stop her.
Damian reassembled his rifle with the same patience most people used on jigsaw puzzles, every click and snap a quiet reminder of what he was built for. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t rush. He simply existed in sharp lines and hard control.
But when I asked, “Why Graves?” the silence between us thickened.
His hands stilled for just a beat—long enough for me to know I’d struck something raw. Then he slid the last piece into place, setting the weapon aside with calm precision.
“Because he’s cost me,” Damian said, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “Men I trusted. People who didn’t deserve to die. Graves made sure their blood never reached his hands, but it was his game all the same.”
The scar along his jaw caught the light, a pale line against his skin. I wondered if that was Graves too.
“I thought I had him once,” he went on, eyes fixed on some point beyond me.
“We raided a compound in Libya. Found nothing but corpses and burned files. He was already gone, like he’d known we were coming.
I buried a good man that night. And I promised myself Graves wouldn’t bury another of my mates. ”
The words hit heavy, like stones in my chest. Damian wasn’t just fighting to keep me alive. This was war to him.
I swallowed hard, leaning forward. “Then Ruby’s not just my fight anymore.”
His gaze cut to mine, sharp as a blade. “No. It’s ours. But understand this, love—Graves will use you. Your sister. Your fear. He’ll twist it all until you can’t tell which way’s up. If you’re coming into this, you don’t get to break.”
My heart thudded hard enough to hurt, but I kept my chin high. “Then you’d better teach me how not to.”
For the first time, something like surprise flickered in his eyes. Not much—just a crack in the steel. But enough.
Damian Cross had lost to Graves once. And now he’d dragged me into the middle of his unfinished war.
Only one of us was going to bend.
And I had no intention of it being me.
Keep reading for more of The Golden Team
Damian Prologue
Ruby
The street was nearly empty, just the faint hum of traffic a few blocks over and the sound of my sneakers tapping the cracked sidewalk. I tugged my hoodie tighter around me and kept humming with my earbuds in, scrolling through the text Morgan had sent not ten minutes ago.
Home in twenty, kiddo. Don’t eat all the cookies before I get there.
I smiled, tucking the phone back in my pocket. She always called me kiddo, even though I’d been insisting I was sixteen—basically an adult—since my birthday last month.
A van rolled past, slow, its headlights washing me in white. I glanced up, annoyed. When it braked at the corner, a prickle of unease slid down my spine.
Don’t be paranoid, Ruby. It’s just a van.
But then it backed up.
I froze.
The side door screeched open, and two men spilled out, moving with sharp purpose. Not drunk. Not lost. Not safe.
“Hey!” I shouted, yanking my earbuds free. My phone slipped from my pocket and clattered against the pavement, Morgan’s name glowing on the cracked screen.
A hand clamped around my arm, yanking me off balance. I kicked, screamed, and clawed at him, but he was huge, his grip iron. The second man shoved a cloth against my mouth. Bitter chemical fumes rushed into my nose, down my throat, and my scream faltered.
No. Morgan. Please—
The world tilted, blurring. My phone’s glow was the last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole.