Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
I’m packing the Jeep with everything we could possibly need—rope, duct tape, zip ties, and a bottle of chloroform Dean managed to score off the dark web.
We are wearing our bulletproof vests under our clothes, except for Ayla, who wouldn’t have been able to hide it.
There’s a stun gun I picked up at an army surplus store, latex gloves, and even a first-aid kit packed with all sorts of medicine.
I don't know what most of it is. Dean scares me sometimes with what he can find, but I love him for it—he thinks of every angle, every contingency, even if some of it might feel like overkill.
Each item I shove into the duffel is a reminder of how far we’ve come, how much darker we’re willing to go to end this nightmare once and for all.
My hands shake as I check the gear—counting out zip ties, double-checking the length of rope, feeling the cold, hard weight of the knife I’ll keep in my boot.
Adrenaline buzzes under my skin, a steady electric hum.
Every piece of gear is a promise: we’re not backing down, not this time.
Not until Ayla is truly safe and those bastards are where they belong—in the ground. Prison is too good for them.
Alex and Ayla pull into the drive, headlights sweeping over the gravel.
Ayla climbs out, cheeks flushed, hair wild from the wind, but it’s her eyes that stop me—sharp, clear, burning with a resolve I haven’t seen before.
There’s a new steadiness in her, a strength etched in the set of her jaw and the way she stands taller, shoulders squared, like she’s daring the world to try and break her again.
Even with the scars along her neck and arms, she looks formidable—untouchable.
Alex is grinning like a man who just got away with something dangerous, but the real fire is in Ayla’s gaze.
She looks at me, and I see it: she’s ready to fight for herself this time.
“Okay, Ayla, you’re riding with me,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “Alex and Dean are taking the bikes. We stick to the plan—no improvising unless we have to.”
Ayla nods, her jaw set, eyes burning with purpose.
“Okay, let me change,” she says quietly.
Dean gives her a reassuring nod, and together they disappear down the hall, both slipping away to get ready.
I don’t ask what they’ll wear—I trust them to know what this night calls for.
When they return, there’s a new energy humming between them: a shared resolve, steel bright in their eyes.
She meets my gaze again, the fear still there but buried under something harder—vengeance, and the need to claw her way to real freedom.
As we load up the Jeep and the bikes rev to life, the air is thick with nerves and grim purpose.
Every movement, every check of the gear, every glint of metal is a reminder: tonight, we’re not running. Tonight, we’re hunting.
On the road, the sun is sinking, the world cast in shadows as we pull away from the loft.
I glance over at Ayla. She sits upright in the passenger seat, shoulders squared, hands clenched tight in her lap, her breath steady and controlled.
There’s a fire in her eyes—something wild and unbreakable.
I almost don’t recognize her, this version of Ayla who has survived hell and come out the other side with teeth.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask, my voice low.
She turns to me, the answer burning in her voice. “More than you fucking know.”
A chill runs through me—awe, pride, fear, all tangled together. She’s ready to end the man who has haunted her nightmares all those years, the one who was supposed to love and protect her, who instead sold her like a piece of meat. She wants to end it all, to finally take back her story.
As we drive, the city lights flicker past, and I glance at her again. “You know, Alex wants to leave what happens to them up to you,” I say, the gravity of it hanging between us.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, he does. And I’ve never been more fucking ready. I have been controlled my entire life. These men, I am ready to see the life leave their worthless eyes.”
I grip the wheel tighter, adrenaline flooding my veins. Well, shit. Let’s fucking end this—once and for all.
We reach the club just as the sun dips below the horizon.
Nathan’s car is already there, parked in the shadows—a good sign.
Dean and Ayla are on point: they’ll go inside, draw Nathan’s attention, let him see Ayla, and lure him out.
Alex and I will be waiting in the alley, ready to take him down the second he steps outside.
“Alright, gorgeous,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady as I tuck a loose strand of hair behind Ayla’s ear. “Dean’s right by your side, and Alex and I are just outside. You’re not alone for a second. Keep your head up—you look like a fucking warrior tonight.”
She absolutely does. Ayla’s dressed to kill: a black dress that clings to every curve, the hem scandalously short, the neckline plunging.
Her makeup is fierce—smoky liner, lashes thick and bold, lips painted a sharp, dangerous red.
Her hair is wild and glossy, falling in waves around her shoulders.
Black strappy heels make her legs look endless and lethal.
Even her jewelry looks like armor—silver hoops, a cuff at her wrist. There’s a fire in her eyes—a boldness that makes her look untouchable, stronger than I’ve ever seen her.
And Dean? He’s her shadow and her shield tonight.
Head-to-toe in black, tailored slacks hugging his long legs, a crisp-collared shirt, a slim black tie, and a fitted jacket that clings to his broad shoulders.
His shoes are polished to a mirror shine, his hair artfully tousled to cover his scar, his silver eyebrow ring catching the neon lights.
He looks expensive as hell—dangerous and magnetic, confidence and mystery in every line of his body.
I can’t help but stare for a second, thinking how fucking sexy he looks, how the club is about to get a show it doesn't deserve.
Together, Ayla and Dean are a force—unbreakable, untouchable, and so beautiful it hurts to look at them.
I cup Ayla’s face and kiss her, letting it say everything—protection, pride, faith. She kisses me back, fierce and fiery, pouring all her strength into that one moment. “I’ve got this,” she whispers, and I truly believe it. She is out for blood, and it shows in every move she makes.
She steps out of the Jeep, head high, heels clicking like gunshots, Dean at her side like a shadow.
I watch as they walk to the club’s neon-lit entrance, their presence impossible to ignore.
Alex and I circle to the alley, every sense on high alert.
Now, all we can do is wait—praying our plan holds, praying Ayla walks back out into the night with us.