Chapter 11
eleven
Elijah
The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.
It doesn’t burn out the way anger is supposed to. It doesn’t peak and drop. It just sits there, constant, tightening under my skin, pressing in on everything else until there’s no space left for anything that isn’t her.
We still don’t have her.
That thought doesn’t come and go anymore. It’s just there. Under everything.
Christian ends a call and I know from the way he doesn’t look at me straight away that whatever he’s about to say is going to make this worse.
“They hit one of ours,” he says. “Bellandi docks.”
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “How bad.”
“They killed him.”
It lands flat. Heavy.
“They dumped him where we’d find him.”
A message.
My hands curl slightly at my sides, tension pulling through my fingers as something darker settles in my chest, something colder than the rage that’s been sitting there since this started.
“They’ve tightened security across their territory,” Christian continues. “We’re not getting near anything easily now.”
Lucian shifts beside him, quiet but present. “They’re forcing escalation.”
Christian nods once. “This is war now. There’s no way around it.”
War.
The word doesn’t shock me. It fits too easily.
“There’s more,” Christian says, checking his phone again. “Update on Alex Vargas.”
I don’t care about Vargas.
I don’t care if he’s breathing.
“He made it through surgery. Broken jaw. Skull fractures. He’ll live.”
A flicker of something sharp moves through me.
“He shouldn’t,” I say.
Christian ignores that.
“The Vegas team is still pushing for an assault charge,” he adds. “They’re not backing off it.”
“I don’t care.”
The words come out harder this time, immediate, because none of that matters.
Not compared to...
“You should care.”
Christian’s voice snaps back, sharper than it has been since this started, and it cuts through everything else just enough to make me focus on him instead of the constant noise in my head.
“Because you’re no good to her in jail,” he says, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “And I’m trying to keep you out of it, so don’t make that harder for me.”
I step into him without thinking.
“She’s out there—”
“And you getting arrested doesn’t bring her back,” he cuts in, not backing down. “It takes you out of this completely.”
The space between us tightens.
I can feel the pressure building again, the need to hit something, to move, to do something instead of standing here listening to plans that aren’t getting her back fast enough.
“Another message came through.”
Jackson’s voice cuts through everything.
Everything stops.
I turn.
He’s already holding the phone.
Zach walks in at the same time, and the first thing I notice is how wrong he looks. Not just tired. Not just stressed. He looks like something in him has already cracked, like he’s been holding it together just enough to function and that’s it.
“Play it,” I say.
Jackson presses it. The video loads.
Lia is on her knees.
For a second, my brain doesn’t process it properly.
Then it does.
The gag.
The tears.
The blood on her lip.
His hand comes into frame slowly, dragging through her hair, down her cheek like he has time, like he’s not worried about anything except making sure I see it.
The caption sits across the screen.
Where she is meant to be. On her knees for me.
Something in my chest twists so violently it almost feels like it stops everything else.
And then it hits properly.
She’s hurt.
That’s fresh blood. That’s from him.
Her eyes, she’s terrified.
Not angry. Not fighting.
Terrified.
My jaw locks so hard it aches.
And she’s on her knees.
The image burns into me, sharp and wrong in a way that feels like it’s cutting through everything else, because that was never supposed to be taken from her, never supposed to be something forced out of her like this.
I told her that.
Clear.
Unshakeable.
You don’t kneel for anyone but me.
The memory hits at the same time as the image in front of me, the two colliding so hard it feels like something fractures under the impact of it.
And now she is.
For him.
Forced.
Held there.
Displayed like that.
My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms hard enough that I should feel it, but I don’t, because there’s too much else pushing through me all at once.
I should be there.
That thought lands with brutal clarity.
I should be there.
Stopping it.
Pulling him off her.
Dragging him away from her.
But I’m not.
I’m standing here. Watching it.
While he touches her. While she looks like that.
The helplessness hits underneath the rage, quieter but worse, something that settles deeper, heavier, because I don’t know where she is.
I don’t know how to get to her.
And he does.
Lucian swears under his breath. “Fuck.”
Zach turns away immediately, like he can’t look at it, and stumbles toward the sink before he throws up, the sound of it sharp and ugly in the quiet of the room.
Jackson doesn’t move.
He just stares at the screen, his face going pale, his jaw tightening like he’s trying to hold something in.
I don’t look away.
I force myself to watch it.
Every second.
Every detail.
Because this is all I have of her right now.
And it isn’t enough.
My hands flex at my sides, tension pulling through them hard enough that I can feel it in my arms, my chest tight, breathing shallow without me meaning it to be.
I can’t touch her.
I can’t get to her.
I don’t know where she is.
And he...He’s touching her like that.
I drag my gaze to Christian.
“He’s toying with us.”
My voice is low, but there’s nothing steady under it.
“I need something to work with,” I say, stepping forward, the pressure building again. “I need a target. I need something I can break to get her back.”
“You’ll get one,” Christian says.
Jackson takes the phone back straight away, already replaying the video, already pulling it apart, zooming in, rewinding, going frame by frame like if he looks at it enough something will slip.
I stand there.
And for the first time since this started...I don’t know where to put this.
There’s nothing in front of me.
Nothing to hit.
Nothing to tear apart.
Just, waiting.
“I’m going to Vargas territory.”
The words come out before I’ve fully thought them through, but the second they’re there, they feel right.
“I’ll knock on their fucking door.”
“That’s not happening,” Christian snaps.
Zach straightens at the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his breathing uneven before he turns and heads for the door.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Out,” he says, not looking at me. “I can’t be in here right now.”
He leaves. The door shuts behind him.
Christian looks back at me.
“You walk into their territory right now, you’ll get shot before you make it past the entrance,” he says. “I’ve got someone working inside. Give them time to pull one of their guys out where we can get to him.”
Time.
The word lands wrong.
Because I can still see her.
On her knees. Blood on her mouth. His hand on her. Something shifts in me.
Not calmer.
Not controlled.
Darker.
Because I can feel it now.
The edge of something I haven’t stepped into yet.
Helplessness.
I don’t know where she is.
I don’t know how to get to her.
And that...that’s worse than anything else.
My jaw tightens.
My hands curl into fists.
She doesn’t have time.
And I’m running out of patience pretending that waiting is going to save her.