Chapter 37
The SUV screeches to a stop half a block from the address Mattis provided, tires smoking against the asphalt.
I open my door before the vehicle fully settles.
Hawk and Jagger flank me, weapons drawn, with Damon covering the rear.
We move with the precision of men who’ve done this a thousand times in far worse places than an industrial street in Los Angeles.
The building, a converted textile factory made of brick and rusted metal, looms before us.
It’s exactly as Mattis described, down to the Marshall Manufacturing sign across the street, partially obscured by a tarp that flutters in the evening breeze.
Every instinct I possess screams that she’s inside.
She’s close, and I’m seconds away from either salvation or devastation.
We enter silently. The interior is cavernous, the space divided into makeshift rooms. I sweep left, Hawk right, Jagger center, our movements synchronized, lethal, and practiced as Damon stands sentry at the exit.
I hear Devyn’s voice, and my heart lurches into my throat. She is not screaming or crying. She’s talking in a low, intimate tone that makes my blood run cold. I hear Jake, too, responding with the delusional affection of a man who believes his fantasies have finally become real.
Lifting my hand, I gesture to Hawk and Jagger, alerting them to the room a few feet from me.
They make their way to me stealthily, their boots silent on the concrete floor.
When they flank me, I raise my gun and use my free hand on the door handle, finding it locked.
I lift my hand with three fingers in the air before taking a small step backward and lowering it.
Three.
Two.
One.
I breach the door with a kick that splinters the frame, the sound like a gunshot in the otherwise quiet building. Hawk and Jagger are on my heels, entering the room a second behind me with their guns drawn.
Devyn is sitting on the bed, chained to the floor like an animal. She’s wearing a dress that isn’t her style, looking like she was dressed up for his pleasure, and seemingly unharmed.
Jake stands a few feet from her, his hands animated as he rambles excitedly.
His face turns toward the door with an expression that shifts from adoration to shock and then rage in the space of a heartbeat.
He lunges toward Devyn, his hands scrambling to grab any part of her, the coward looking to use her as a hostage or a shield.
I flex my finger on the trigger and squeeze.
The shot is placed with the type of precision that comes from years of training—and the desperation that comes from love—hitting him in the shoulder.
It spins him around, sending him stumbling backward.
He crashes into the wall and slides down, leaving a smear of blood on the concrete as his arm hangs useless at his side.
He tries to rise and reach for Devyn again with his good hand.
When his fingers dust against the fabric of her skirt, Jagger steps between them.
Looming over him and shoving the silencer of his gun to Jake’s forehead, he booms, “Move and I’ll paint the wall with all your fucked-up thoughts.”
Hawk rushes past me, frisking Jake and searching his pockets for keys and weapons. I cross to the bed in a few quick strides, holstering my weapon. My hands find her face, her shoulders, and her arms. I touch her everywhere, ensuring she’s okay. “Did he hurt you?” I demand. “Did he touch you?”
Devyn stares at me, her eyes wide and shocked. She shakes her head, the movement small and tentative, like she’s afraid this is a dream she’ll wake from. “No,” she whispers. “No, he didn’t touch me. Not like that. He just… He wanted to talk. He wanted—”
Before she can finish. I pull her into my arms and hug her so tightly I’m afraid I might crush her. But I can’t bring myself to let go or loosen my grip. I can’t do anything but hold her and breathe her in as her heart beats against my chest.
“Gunnar,” Hawk says softly, resting his hand on my shoulder. “I need to get the cuff off.”
I force myself to release her and step back enough for Hawk to work.
He kneels at Devyn’s ankle with the key he pulled from Jake’s pocket.
The cuff falls away with a click, and Hawk rubs the skin beneath it, checking for damage or anything that requires immediate attention.
“You’re okay,” Hawk murmurs, more to himself than to her. “You’re okay.”
Helping her from the bed, I urge her into Hawk’s awaiting arms. “I need you to go with Hawk, baby girl. Now. I want you to get into the car with him.
“Gunnar, no. I want—”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I insist gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I promise. Go. Please.”
Hawk slips a boxcutter into my hand before guiding her to the door.
She looks back at me once, her eyes wide and pleading as he ushers her into the hallway.
Their footsteps become distant, allowing the monster I’ve been holding back to roar to life.
The rage I’ve barely been containing courses through my veins with a force that makes my vision blur at the edges.
I cross the room to where Jake is lying, Jagger still looming over him with his gun trained on his face.
When I wave my brother away, he retreats a few steps, watching silently, with an unreadable expression.
I straddle Jake, my knees on either side of his hips, extending the razor and watching it catch in the light.
He’s pale and sweating from blood loss, and his eyes wide with the dawning understanding that this isn’t over. That bullet was just the beginning.
“This is going to hurt,” I tell him, my voice so conversational it’s almost friendly.
“But not nearly as much as I’d like it to.
” I bury the knife into his shoulder, right in the bullet hole I created, and he screams. The sound is high and broken as I use the blade to broaden the wound before fishing around for the slug.
I’m not gentle, because I want to inflict as much pain as possible before I find what I’m looking for.
“I wouldn’t want the police to be able to tie your death to me,” I explain, my voice calm despite the violence and blood coating my hands.
I find the bullet and pull it free with a twist that makes him scream again.
I hold it up, showing him, before tucking it into my pocket.
“Ballistics are so very traceable. But a knife? A knife could belong to anyone.”
“You won’t kill me,” Jake gasps, spittle flying from his lips. “You don’t have it in you. You’re a protector, not a murderer. You won’t—”
I laugh, and the sound surprises even me.
It’s dark, completely devoid of humor. “You have no idea what kind of monster I am,” I whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel the warmth of my breath and see the truth in my eyes.
“Or the hells I would go through for the people I love. You think you know obsession? You think you know devotion? You don’t know the first fucking thing. ”
I drag the knife up his torso, the tip grazing from navel to sternum, making him understand exactly who’s in control. Blood wells in the scratch, a thin red line that I follow with my eyes, watching it pool in the hollow of his throat.
“What you planned for her,” I continue, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.
“The things you wrote… The things you fantasized about doing to her… They’re fucking child’s play in comparison to the things running through my mind.
Do you know what I want to do to you? Do you have any idea of the days of suffering I could inflict? ”
He stares at me, the fear flooding his once-dark pool, as realization falls over him. He’s not dealing with a rational man or someone bound by laws and morality. He’s dealing with a monster in human form.
“She’s waiting for me in the car,” I tell him, and his expression crumbles. “Which means you’re going to get off far easier than you deserve. I don’t have time to make you suffer properly, because I’m a gentleman and don’t want to make my girl wait.”
I plunge the knife into his gut, aiming for the soft tissue.
His eyes blow wide, a silent scream tearing from his throat as his body arches beneath me.
I lean over him with my lips close to his ear.
“She’s mine.” My voice drops to a dark, dangerous whisper as I slowly notch the knife toward his sternum, feeling the resistance of muscle and tissue.
“While you lie here dying a slow, painful death, I want you to know that I’m taking her home.
I’m going to bathe her and feed her. And then I’m going fuck her, burying myself so far inside her that she doesn’t know where I end and she begins. ”
Twisting the knife slightly, his body spasms, and I hear the wet gurgle of him choking on his own blood.
“And as death knocks on your door,” I continue, “I want your last thoughts to be knowing that she’s with me.
That I’m going to love and cherish her in ways you could never understand.
That I’m going to wake up every morning with her in my arms and go to sleep every night with her wrapped around me.
And I’m going to have that pleasure long after she’s forgotten you even existed. ”
I pull the knife from his gut with a gross, wet sound, the blade dripping with his life.
I toss it onto the mattress before grabbing the cuff Hawk removed from Devyn’s ankle.
I secure it around him, securing him to the same destiny he planned for her.
“Enjoy your final breaths.” I stand, wiping my hands on my pants. “I know I will.”
I walk to the door, my movements steady despite the adrenaline and the rage still coursing through my veins. Jagger falls into step beside me. As we emerge into the cool evening air, he lets out a low whistle. “Fuck, Dad. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
I glance at him, and the corners of my mouth twitch, the first hint of something other than rage. “You’re always on my bad side. I just happen to like you.”
He laughs as we make our way toward the SUV, where Damon waits behind the wheel, engine running, ready to take us home.
I climb into the back seat, finding Devyn wrapped in a blanket that Hawk must have found in the back.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are full of questions.
When I slide into the vehicle, I pull her into my lap and let out a heavy breath as she settles against my chest, into the space that was made for her.
My hand finds her hair, stroking through the tangled waves, and I press my lips to her temple, breathing her in.
Damon pulls from the curb, and the factory recedes behind us, leaving Devyn’s monster to die in a hell of his own making.
She is quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest through my shirt. When she speaks, her voice is small and tentative, as if she’s afraid of the honest answer. “Did you kill him?”
I consider the question. The truth: That he’s dying a slow, agonizing death because I needed to know that he suffered.
The lie: That I’m a good man, and I spared his life.
In the end, I give her something in between.
“I did what I needed to,” I whisper against her hair.
“To keep you safe. To make sure he’s never a threat to you again. ”
She’s quiet for a moment longer. Without pressing further, she nods before nuzzling tighter to me.
The SUV carries us through the city, toward home and the life we’re going to build from the ashes of this nightmare. And as I hold her, I swear to whatever gods might be listening that I’ll never fail her again. Darkness like this will never touch her as long as I’m still breathing.