Chapter 15 Tension Unraveled
Nick Malone
Nick gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as the SUV tore through the city streets, weaving between late-night traffic like a shark cutting through open water.
The glow of streetlights flashed across the windshield in rapid bursts, painting Celeste’s face in alternating streaks of light and shadow.
She sat stiff beside him, her fingers curled tightly around her phone, but she wasn’t looking at the screen.
She was staring straight ahead.
At Juliette’s address.
Nick could feel the tension radiating from her—sharp, restrained, coiled so tight it was a wonder she hadn’t snapped yet.
He understood.
This wasn’t just another lead. This wasn’t just another step in the investigation.
This was personal.
But for Nick, this had nothing to do with Juliette.
It was the text. The betrayal. The cold, undeniable fact that someone inside his own circle had sold them out.
And it wasn’t the first time.
***
Ten Years Ago
The docks had been quiet that night. Too quiet.
Nick remembered the way the mist had rolled in from the river, thick and clinging, curling around the metal containers stacked like tombstones in the moonlight.
He’d been joined by his partner, Carmine Caruso —a man he’d trusted with his life—waiting for the signal.
The bust was airtight. The intel was solid.
They were supposed to take down a drug trafficking ring that had been operating under the radar for months.
But something had felt wrong.
A gut feeling, the kind that had saved Nick’s ass more times than he could count.
And then the first shot rang out.
The air had exploded with gunfire, bullets sparking off metal, bodies dropping in the chaos. But it wasn’t the Cartel that had fired first. It had come from their own side.
From Carmine.
Nick had barely made it behind cover before he saw him—his own damn partner, standing shoulder to shoulder with the men they were supposed to take down. And in that moment, everything had clicked. The missed calls. The strange delays in their surveillance. The last-minute change in route.
Carmine had been playing them from the start.
Nick had been a fool.
By the time the smoke cleared, five officers were dead. Nick had barely made it out himself.
And Carmine?
Gone. Disappeared. Erased from the system.
Nick had hunted him for years after that. Tracked every whisper, every shadow, every lead that hinted at where he might have gone. And when he finally caught up with him—when he finally had his former partner at the end of his gun—he had been one pull away from ending it.
But he hadn’t.
Because death was too easy.
Nick had made sure Carmine was dragged back in chains, made sure he spent the rest of his miserable life rotting in a cell, watching every goddamn thing he had worked for crumble to dust.
And now, a decade later, history was repeating itself.
Someone else was playing him.
And Nick was done being played.
***
Nick’s grip tightening on the wheel as the memory faded.
Celeste finally broke the silence. “Nick?”
His fingers flexed. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
He glanced at her. “What thing?”
Her blue eyes were sharp, searching. “Thinking yourself into a black hole.”
Nick exhaled through his nose, focusing on the road. “Just making sure I don’t miss something.”
Celeste studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
He didn’t answer.
Because deep down, he wasn’t sure if that was true.
Trust had cost him before.
And he wasn’t sure he could afford to pay the price again.
***
They arrived at Juliette’s penthouse. The building was high-end, sleek glass and steel, the kind of place that screamed old money and zero consequences. Nick parked two blocks away, not wanting to tip anyone off, and killed the engine.
“We go in quiet,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “If she’s there, we don’t spook her.”
Celeste gave a stiff nod. “And if she’s not?”
Nick’s eyes darkened. “Then we find out why.”
They moved fast, weaving through side streets until they reached the service entrance of the building. Nick bypassed the security system in seconds, his hands working with methodical efficiency. A lifetime of breaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be had its advantages.
Inside, the elevator ride to Juliette’s penthouse was silent.
Celeste was coiled tight, her hands pressed into fists at her sides. Nick reached for her wrist, giving it a firm squeeze. “Breathe.”
She did. Barely.
The doors slid open, revealing a long, dimly lit hallway. They moved swiftly, reaching Juliette’s door.
Nick didn’t bother knocking.
He picked the lock in under five seconds and pushed inside—
Only to find the place empty.
Not just empty.
Ransacked.
Celeste inhaled sharply. “Nick…”
Furniture was overturned, papers scattered across the floor, drawers pulled from their cabinets. It wasn’t just a mess. It was a disaster.
Someone had gotten here first.
Nick’s gut twisted as he scanned the destruction. “Check the bedrooms.”
Celeste didn’t argue. She moved deeper inside, disappearing into the back while Nick approached the kitchen. He scanned the counters, the open cabinets—then stilled.
There.
A single glass of wine, half-empty, sitting beside an overturned chair.
His pulse ticked up. Someone had been here recently.
Then he heard it.
A thud from the bedroom.
Nick was already moving before Celeste could scream.
Nick moved fast. Too fast.
His instincts had already screamed at him before he even reached the hallway, but when he burst through the door—his world narrowed.
Celeste. Standing near the window. Frozen.
And she wasn’t alone.
A man had his grip tight on her wrist. The guy was lean, wiry, but his grip was solid, practiced. His free hand held a needle, poised for her neck.
Nick didn’t hesitate.
Gun up. Finger on the trigger.
"Let. Her. Go."
The tension in the air snapped like a live wire.
Celeste’s wide eyes snapped to his. The man didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But Nick saw the calculation. The slight shift in his stance.
He's not scared of me.
The second?
The sound of footsteps behind him.
Too late.
A sharp, brutal sting exploded in his neck. Fast. Precise.
Nick’s breath hitched. His gun wobbled. His pulse roared in his ears.
Shit.
He swung around, gun still up—but his arms felt heavy. His vision blurred.
And that’s when he saw her.
Juliette.
Standing just behind him. The empty syringe still in her grip. Her expression? Cold. Apathetic.
No hesitation. No regret.
His pulse staggered. His world tilted.
"Sorry, Malone," she murmured. Her voice silky smooth, casual—like she hadn’t just fucking betrayed them. She tilted her head, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips.
"But you're in the way."
Nick tried to move. He tried to reach for her.
But his legs buckled.
His gun slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a deadened thud.
He saw Celeste fight—a sharp, desperate struggle.
She clawed at her captor’s arm, her nails raking deep. The man grunted—cursed—but held firm.
Nick’s entire body rebelled against him.
He fought against the pull of the sedative flooding his bloodstream, but his muscles were locking up, his chest tightening.
He was going under.
His last sight?
Celeste.
Screaming. Fighting like hell.
Being dragged out the door.
His world caved in.
Then, nothing but total darkness overtook him.