Chapter Fourteen #2
I see it coming a second before it happens.
I duck, her hand swiping through the air where my face had been, and without hesitation, I strike.
My fist slams into her throat, a perfect, brutal hit to her windpipe.
She chokes, stumbling back, her hands flying up to clutch at her neck as she gasps for air.
“You bitch!” she wheezes, eyes watering as she staggers.
Before I can react again, a guard rushes into the room, moving fast. Too fast. His fist collides with my ribs before I can fully dodge, and a sharp burst of pain explodes through my side as I hit the ground, gasping.
I try to push up, but he’s already pulling Marline toward the door, his other hand hovering over his weapon.
Marline coughs, struggling to speak but managing a raspy, hateful laugh as she leans into him for support. “Enjoy your last moments, Fallon,” she sneers, voice raw but venomous. “I’ll make sure to deliver your remains to them when I’m done personally.”
With a final smirk, she stumbles out the door, the heavy slam of metal ringing in my ears.
Violet is beside me a second later, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Shit, Fallon, are you okay?”
I spit out a mouthful of blood, grinning despite the pain. “Yeah,” I rasp. “But I can’t wait to get out of here so I can kill that bitch myself.”
Violet stares at me for a second before letting out a breathless, slightly hysterical laugh. “Goddamn, Fallon.”
A voice breaks through the tense silence.
“Holy shit” Elias speaks up at last, his voice still shaky but holding the slightest flicker of something… admiration?
I glance up at him, then at the others who are staring at me with something close to awe.
He gives a tired, knowing laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think we have to worry about your pack finding us,” he murmurs. “Because if they don’t, you’ll get us out of here yourself.”
Violet squeezes my shoulder gently, leaning in close. “Did you mean it? The carving-her-heart-out part?”
I snort weakly, exhaustion and pain mingling with my lingering rage. “Mostly, yeah. I figure she’s not using it.”
Violet grins sharply. “That’s my girl.”
Voss
April 17th
2:04 A.M
From my position concealed by the shadows, I glare at the building ahead, every muscle in my body coiled tight with barely restrained violence.
It’s a fucking insult—this place. Unlike the crumbling, piss-stained hellholes we’ve ripped apart before, this one still stands strong.
Lived-in. The walls aren’t rotting. The structure isn’t sagging under the weight of filth and decay.
No, this place is solid. Secure. And right now, it holds the one thing keeping what’s left of my fucking soul tethered to this earth.
Fallon.
Fury rages inside me, dark and unrelenting, twisting through my veins until my vision pulses red.
The moment she walked out of our front door, I lost whatever good there was inside me.
Now, I’m just this—feral, unhinged, a monster with only one purpose.
Get her back. And every single motherfucker inside this building is going to bleed for daring to take what’s mine.
Kingston kneels beside me, his face carved from stone, green eyes scanning the entrance with a calculating sharpness. His fury isn’t loud or messy—it’s the kind that strikes when you least expect it, a slow-brewing storm that will tear everything apart when it finally unleashes.
Jace stands on the other side, his massive frame a wall of barely contained rage, fingers flexing at his sides, itching to wrap around the throat of whoever took her. His blue eyes are dark and cold, the kind of dead-eyed calm that means something awful is about to happen.
Romano is silent, his usual energy replaced by something sharper and deadlier. The man who laughs, who fills a room with warmth, is nowhere to be found. In his place is a predator—a quiet, calculating killer who will smile while he cuts them down.
And then there’s our backup—Fox’s pack.
Fox is crouched low, blond hair barely visible beneath his tactical hood, lean frame tense but utterly still. The man moves like a fucking ghost, silent and deadly, his presence more of a shadow than flesh.
Dare stands beside him, all muscle and restrained chaos, his sharp features twisted into something almost gleeful. The bastard enjoys this. Enjoys the hunt. And right now, that thrill is aimed at the same target as ours.
Jex stands behind them, massive and menacing, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the building with an expression of pure destruction waiting to be unleashed.
He’s like Jace; he's only meaner and more ruthless. And right now, he looks like he’d tear through a fucking wall just to get inside.
I breathe deep, inhaling the night air, the distant scent of cigarette smoke from the guards posted outside, the oil and sweat that cling to this place. But beneath it, beneath all of it, there’s something else.
A whisper of honeyed peaches.
My entire body locks up. It’s faint—so fucking faint—but it’s there. Fallon is here.
And she’s alive.
The coil of rage inside me winds tighter, snapping and baring its fangs.
“We go in silent,” Kingston murmurs, low and controlled, but there’s a lethal promise in his tone. “Guards first. Take them out before they can make a sound.”
“Then we gut the rest,” Jace adds, his voice flat, as if we’re discussing nothing more than the weather.
Fox smirks. “We’ll sweep the perimeter first. If there’s an escape route, we need to block it.”
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders, feeling the shift in my muscles, the need for violence clawing at my skin.
My mate is in that fucking building.
And I will kill every last one of them to get her back.
Kingston lifts his hand, signaling silence as we watch the guard rotation. These bastards think they’re untouchable—think their walls, their locked doors, and their pathetic little security system make them safe. Arrogance is a fatal disease, and tonight, we’re the cure.
I count their movements, track their habits, watching how they shift lazily in place, oblivious to the predators lurking just beyond the shadows. They’ve gotten comfortable. Cocky. They won’t even see it coming.
Kingston’s fist closes.
Move.
We surge forward in perfect sync, a deadly force swallowing the night. Footsteps silent. No whispers. No unnecessary breaths. We don’t exist in this moment—we are ghosts, reapers slipping through the dark with vengeance laced in our bones.
Dare strikes first, his knife flashing in the dim light before the first guard crumbles, a lifeless heap dragged swiftly into the bushes.
Fox neutralizes another in a seamless, practiced movement—silent, efficient, leaving nothing but a corpse cooling on the pavement.
Jex and Jace dismantle the team guarding the perimeter, not a single sound escaping as bodies drop one after the other, their deaths fast, methodical.
I don’t even register the lives I take along the way. They’re insignificant. Background noise. Nothing but obstacles between me and what’s mine.
I slip inside first, blade in hand, my vision honed on nothing but destruction.
The interior is a strange contrast—part warehouse, part opulent estate.
The walls are lined with sleek, modern furnishings and expensive art that doesn’t belong in a place like this.
But the polished floors and curated décor don’t matter.
What matters is that she’s here.
That she’s breathing.
That I can find her before these bastards get the chance to realize their mistake.
The scent of blood clings to the air, mixing with the faintest trace of something sweeter—honeyed peaches. It’s distant, diluted by filth and fear, but it’s enough to tighten every muscle in my body.
They took her.
They’ll suffer.
We slip through the corridors like death itself, the silence only broken by the occasional grunt as another body collapses under our hands.
My blade sings, dipping in and out of flesh, slicing through tendons, spilling warm blood against my gloves, my arms, and my chest. I don’t flinch. I don’t slow. I don’t blink.
I barely even fucking breathe.
The blood pools around my boots, slick and warm, but I don’t stop.
Jace and Kingston move beside me like phantoms—quiet, lethal, a promise of carnage in their every movement.
Romano’s usual lightness has been swallowed by the same thing that’s consuming all of us—rage, fury, the kind of cold, calculated violence that doesn’t end until there’s nothing left standing.
The men in this building made the mistake of taking what belonged to us.
Now they get to die for it.
Kingston’s raised fist halts us instantly, and the group stills as one.
Every muscle in my body locks, my focus tunneling to the large guard standing in the open doorway ahead.
His broad back blocks my view, but I can see the heavy metal door propped wide open, leading into whatever hell Fallon has been trapped in.
My grip tightens around the knife in my hand, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Every part of me is screaming to move—kill, reclaim, destroy—but I force myself to wait, to listen.
A laugh rings out from inside the room, sharp, fearless, and dripping in mockery. My breath catches, something in my chest snapping loose. Fallon. My omega. She’s alive. And from the sound of it, she’s pissed as hell.
“I feel so bad for you,” she drawls, voice rich with amusement and not a damn ounce of fear.
The guard stiffens, his boots scraping slightly against the floor. “What the fuck are you talking about, omega?” His tone is gruff and agitated.
“You know I’m married to the Rosetti pack, right?” She lets the words hang, and my lips curl at the cocky edge in her voice. That’s my girl.
A beat of silence. Then, ever so slightly, the guard tenses.
Fallon chuckles darkly. “Or did your bitch of a boss forget to mention that?”