CHAPTER 26
Evren
New Magic Wand - Tyler, The Creator
She's out cold, collapsing without a hint of resistance.
My reflexes have been honed by years of high-speed adrenaline, before her knees can even hit the rain-slick pavement, my arm wraps around her waist, hauling her limp body against my chest.
I curse under my breath, a harsh, guttural sound swallowed by the city's endless hum.
I don't panic—panic is for people who don't know how to survive.
But my jaw tightens, every muscle straining with irritation.
While I was biting her, I slipped a syringe from my pocket and injected her.
Easy peasy.
I just forgot how fucking potent the sleeping drug is.
“For fuck's sake,” I mutter. “Now I have to carry your ass.”
A deadweight.
I scan the immediate area, my eyes sharp and predatory, checking for surveillance drones or prying eyes that might have witnessed the chase or the collapse.
I can’t afford any Enforcers seeing a Below abduction an Upper, much less a Laordie.
The neon lights of the district reflect off my dark pupils as I make a split-second decision.
With effortless, controlled strength, I lift her up. Her head lolls against my shoulder, completely dead to the world.
I stride toward Varek’s car, my boots stomping against the pavement with lethal intent.
Reaching the car, I pop the trunk.
The interior is lined with reinforced carbon fiber and scattered with tools and spare parts.
I lower Riven into the space with surprising precision, making sure she's settled among the gear instead of being tossed around.
I straighten, then reach up and tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
There.
It’s better when she is compliant.
A dark part of me wants to silence her forever, yet the chaos she brings into my life—and the way she refuses to submit—is fucking addictive.
I drag my gaze over her unconscious form until it drops to her chest.
There's a tattoo there, I wonder what the fuck it's for.
My fingers brush lightly over the ink before I even think better of it.
The design is magnificent—gothic, cybernetic, somehow perfectly suited to her and this fucking city. And the placement is... Distracting.
Fucking hot.
The realization hits me a second too late.
I yank my hand back like I've been burned, my jaw clenching.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Then I notice a problem—one that makes reluctantly my cock ache.
One of her breasts is exposed, probably from when I put her in it.
They're fucking beautiful.
Her skin looks smooth, flawless.
“Fuck.”
My mouth goes dry. I lick my lips, my fingers twitching as I fight the urge to put it in my mouth.
I don’t linger—if I do, I’ll fuck her right here, unconscious.
I slam the trunk shut with a metallic thud that echoes off the surrounding buildings, then round the front of the car.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life with a hungry growl. My hands clamp around the wheel, knuckles white with the effort it takes to keep my body under control.
She's making it harder to remember that I'm supposed to fucking hate her.
She thinks I'm the monster. She has no fucking idea that every time she fights back, she only feeds it. And one day, she's going to find out exactly what she's been feeding.
I drive like I live—fast, aggressive, with zero regard for the system’s safety parameters.
I push the engine hard, weaving through congested traffic with lethal precision.
My hands move across the wheel with practiced fluidity, every gear shift sending another jolt of power through the car as it tears through Kairo-9’s neon-lit maze.
My jaw is set tight, muscles jumping in my cheek.
Every time I glance in the rearview mirror, I’m checking two things—the traffic behind for any pursuing security drones.
The city changes as I descend into the Lower Layers.
The clean streets and polished towers slowly fade into the distance, replaced by the real shit.
The buildings are older here.
Dirtier, less pristine.
But they've lived.
Every cracked wall, every patched window, every flickering neon sign has survived more than most people ever will.
The Lower Layers aren't beautiful. They're stubborn. And that's a hell of a lot more honest.
An hour later, I pull into Varek's garage and kill the engine.
The moment I step out, I find everyone already gathered, waiting for me.
One of them breaks away from the group and approaches.
“So?” he asks.
“So what?” I lean back against the hood.
“Did you come back empty-handed?” another calls out.
“Guess.” I let out a dry scoff and cross my arms.
A few smirks falter.
“You really think I'd come all the way back here empty-handed?” I let the question hang before a crooked smile tugs at my lips. “Do you really want to insult me like that?”
Silence.
“I don't fail.” I jerk my thumb toward the trunk. “Go get your fucking prize.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw.
One of them pops the trunk open, revealing Riven to the rest of the gang.
A wave of murmurs ripples through the garage as they crowd closer, eager to get a better look at her.
They're probably wondering how the fuck I managed to get her here.
More importantly, they're probably wondering what I'm going to do to the woman who wrecked my Charger and dared to put my reputation as a leader on the line.
I walk over to the private fridge beside my bay, pull out a Nitro, crack it open, and take a long sip.
That bitch is in my territory now.
She'll learn the hard way.
She'll either obey or she'll stay here for as long as it takes—And for both our sakes, she better choose the first option.
“Fuck,” A man says “That’s full and soft.”
“Yeah,” another rasps. “I wonder how it tastes.”
Every muscles locks in my body.
Taste what? What the fuck is soft and full?
I slowly, very slowly turn my head toward the trunk, and see one of my men leaned inside, the other having his arm moving like he is kneading something.
It takes me a few seconds before the realization hits me like a wall during a race.
My blood runs cold, then boils with a white-hot rage threatening to consume me.
I don't know why the fuck I'm reacting like this, but I do.
I stride toward the trunk, and the sight makes me freeze for a split second.
One of those bastards has his mouth on her breast, while the other has his hands on her, both taking advantage of her unconscious state.
I forgot that her top had slipped off.
Something inside me snaps.
She isn't mine to claim, but somehow everyone else touching her feels like a fucking violation.
They just signed their own death warrant.
They have no fucking idea what kind of wrath they've just awakened.
I don't speak. I don't ask what the fuck they're doing.
I already know.
I grab the edge of the trunk's lid and slam it down on the first bastard's arm. The second one barely has time to react before I bring the trunk down across his back.
Sickening cracks echoes through the garage.
Then again.
And again.
Their screams tear through the garage, swallowed by the violent clang of metal against bone.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I don't stop, don't shout. I don't even breathe harder.
The first clutches his shattered arm to his chest as he crumples to the floor, whimpering.
I don't even spare him a glance.
I keep going until the second bastard's back is nothing but a broken, mangled mess, his screams dissolving into breathless, wet gasps.
I settle into a steady rhythm—slam, release, slam.
The trunk lid comes crashing down again and again, each impact echoing through the garage with a sickening metallic thud.
Blood spatters with every blow, painting the trunk lid, my hands, my clothes.
The only thing that spreads across my face is a slow, cold smile.
Under the relentless blows, his spine gives way. The fabric of his jacket tears apart, exposing the mangled flesh beneath. Somewhere along the way, the latch mechanism snaps—I stopped counting the hits long ago—throwing the lid out of alignment. It doesn't matter.
The weight alone is enough.
He stops fighting.
His body folds into a broken heap, pinned beneath the twisted lid like an animal caught in a rusted iron trap.
The hinges shriek as they warp farther with every strike, but I don't stop until the trunk jams against what's left of his torso, while the first bastard continues sobbing on the concrete behind me.
Hands clamp down on my shoulders, forcing me back and finally tearing my grip from the trunk lid.
“Evren!” Neo shouts. “What the fuck was that for?!”
I slowly turn my head to see who's holding me.
Varek. The only one strong enough to stop me.
I don’t answer, why would I fucking explain why I just killed a man for someone I despise?
I can’t even explain why I reacted like that.
The whimpering man scrambles backward while the others rush to help him.
“Clear the bay,” I order, my voice cutting through the garage like a blade. “Now.”
“Man, that's—” Neo exhales sharply. “No. We won't.”
My eyes track Ren as he walks to the trunk, grabs the shattered body, and drags it out onto the concrete.
“Then stay.” I tilt my head to the side. “And watch.”
“Evren...” the injured man whimpers. “Y-you can't do that...”
“Can't I?”
I brush Varek's hands off my shoulders. He doesn't resist.
Neo sighs and pinch the bridge of his nose while Ren continue to drag the body away.
I start to stride unhurried.
“B-But you said,” The man stutters “Get your prize…”
I stop in front of him, the others scatter away.
“I did,” I crouch down “But did I say, violate her?”
My hand shots out to the injured arm and squeeze.
The man screams with raw agony.
“Answer.”
I squeeze harder.
“N-No!” He screams “S-Stop!”
“I took her here to work on my car, didn’t I?”
“Y-Yes!”
“Did I tell she was here for pleasure?”
He doesn't answer.
So I squeeze harder until the remaining unbroken bones in his arm give way beneath my grip.
He convulses in agony.
“No.” I pause. “I didn't. And yet you still took advantage of her while she was unconscious.”
“I-I d-didn't...” he stammers through broken sobs.
“You d-did.” I mock, mimicking his pathetic stutter.
Before anyone can react, I haul him to his feet by his shattered arm and drag him toward the trunk.
He screams, twists, claws at my wrist.
My grip never loosens.
I'm boiling.
I seize a fistful of his hair and slam him over the edge of the trunk, forcing him to look at her.
“You put your hands on something you had no right to touch.”
He opens his mouth to beg again.
He never gets the chance.
I release his arm and drive my knee between his shoulder blades, pinning him against the trunk. One hand slips beneath his chin, the other settles on the back crown of his head.
“N-No!” he cries. “I won't do it anymore!”
“Too late for that.”
I yank the chin upward and sharply sideways while shoving the back of the head forward, using opposing forces.
His plea dies mid-breath, a sharp crack echoes through the garage.
Then silence.
I just killed two of my men for her, I don't regret a single second of it.
I throw the body at Varek's feet.
“Clean it.” I dust my hands together.
I don't wait for an answer, he'll do it.
I return to the trunk and lean inside. One arm slides beneath her knees, the other behind her back before I lift her into my arms.
She's no featherweight.
Doesn't matter, she barely feels heavy against me.
Without another word, I carry her to my office and shut the door behind me.