Chapter 11
Silas
I don’t leave the monitors.
Not really.
Even when I’m standing at the window, even when I’m watching her through the glass like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded—I’m still tracking everything. The feeds. The movement. The patterns.
Jace is behind me, running through footage, pulling faces, logging everything that matters. My men are quiet, locked in, waiting for direction.
But I’m not here for them.
I’m here for her.
Becca hasn’t moved in hours.
Too still.
Too quiet.
It’s wrong.
I’ve seen too many rooms like this. Too many bodies laid out under white lights, machines doing the work their bodies should be doing. I know what it looks like when someone doesn’t come back.
And I’m not letting that be her.
“She should’ve come to by now,” one of the doctors said earlier.
Should’ve.
I hate that word.
I lean closer to the glass, my hand resting against the frame, my eyes locked on her face like I can force her back just by watching.
“Come on…” I mutter under my breath. “Fight.”
Movement.
Small.
Barely there.
But I see it.
My entire body goes still.
Her fingers twitch.
Then her head shifts slightly against the pillow.
“Jace,” I say, sharp.
“I see it,” he responds immediately, already stepping closer to the monitors.
Inside the room, everything changes.
The doctor straightens fast. The nurse moves in closer, adjusting something on the IV.
Then—
A tray hits the floor.
Loud.
Metal clattering, breaking the quiet in a way that spikes something violent in my chest.
“She’s coming up too fast,” the doctor says.
Too fast?
I don’t wait.
I’m already moving.
The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall, but I don’t care.
All I see is her.
She’s awake—
But not calm.
Not even close.
Her body jerks against the bed, panic hitting her full force like she came back straight into hell. Her hands are pulling at the lines, her breathing sharp, uneven, eyes wide and unfocused.
“Get off me—!” she’s screaming, her voice raw, breaking. “Let me go—where is she—INEZ—!”
It hits me like a punch to the chest.
She’s not here.
Not really.
She’s still in it.
“Becca—” the nurse tries, but Becca fights harder, twisting, trying to sit up despite the pain.
“Christina—where is she—?!” Her voice cracks, desperate, frantic. “Don’t touch me—!”
I’m across the room in seconds.
“Becs.”
My voice cuts through it.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Focused.
I grab her hand—not forceful, not restraining—just enough to ground her.
“I’m here,” I tell her, firm, steady. “Becs—look at me. You’re safe.”
She doesn’t hear me at first.
Her breathing is too fast, her body still fighting something that isn’t in this room anymore.
“No—no, they took her—Inez—!” she gasps, trying to pull away, panic surging all over again.
Her heart rate spikes on the monitor.
“BP’s climbing,” the doctor says quickly. “She’s alert but panicking—”
I don’t take my eyes off her.
“Becs,” I say again, stronger this time, tightening my grip just slightly. “You’re not there anymore. You hear me? You’re out. You’re safe.”
Her head turns slightly—just enough.
Not fully focused.
But searching.
Good.
“Stay with me,” I tell her, leaning closer. “Right here. You’re not alone.”
Behind me, I hear Jace move in.
Quiet.
Observing.
He’s already pulling names.
I don’t have to look to know it.
I hear her say them again.
“Inez… Christina…” Her voice breaks, softer now but still shaking. “We have to go back—”
That hits something dark in me.
Something cold.
They’re not getting away with this.
Not one of them.
“Give her something,” I snap, my voice cutting sharp without even looking at the doctor.
“Her pressure is already—”
“Give. Her. Something.” I don’t raise my voice—but there’s no room for argument in it.
I won’t watch her tear herself apart like this.
Not after what they did to her.
Not after I got her out.
The doctor doesn’t argue again.
I feel her hand in mine—tense, shaking, trying to hold onto something that isn’t there.
“Becs,” I say, lower now, controlled again. “Look at me.”
Slowly—
She does.
Her eyes finally lock onto mine.
And I feel it.
That shift.
Recognition.
Not full.
Not clear.
But something.
Something familiar.
Something that steadies her just enough to break through the panic.
“That’s it,” I murmur, not letting her slip away from it. “Stay with me. You’re okay.”
Her breathing stutters, still uneven—but slowing.
Not fighting as hard.
The medication hits her system a second later.
I see it.
The way her body starts to lose that sharp edge, the way the tension begins to ease just enough for her to stop pulling away.
“Inez…” she whispers again, weaker this time.
“I know,” I tell her quietly. “I’ve got it. I’m handling it.”
And I will.
Every name.
Every face.
Every person who touched her—
They’re done.
She keeps looking at me.
Even as the medication pulls her under again, her focus stays there—like something in her trusts what she sees.
That nearly breaks me.
Because she has no idea how far this goes.
How much I already know.
How much I’m about to burn down for her.
Her grip loosens in my hand as her body relaxes, her breathing finally evening out under the sedation.
The room settles.
But I don’t.
A tear slips before I can stop it.
Not weakness.
Not grief.
Rage.
Pure, controlled rage.
I wipe it away before anyone says a word.
“Talk,” I snap, turning slightly toward the doctor.
“She’s stabilizing,” he says quickly. “The bleeding has stopped. She’s concussed—her blood pressure’s still elevated, but that’s expected given the trauma. We’ll keep monitoring—”
“Expected?” I cut in, my jaw tightening. “She was just fighting like her life was still on the line.”
“It was,” the doctor replies carefully. “Her body is reacting to that.”
That doesn’t sit right with me.
None of it does.
I look back at her.
Too still again.
But breathing.
Alive.
That’s the only thing keeping this room intact right now.
Behind me, I hear Jace.
“I’ve got the names,” he says quietly.
Good.
Because this—
This isn’t over.
Not even close.
I tighten my grip on her hand again, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin, grounding myself just as much as I grounded her.
“I’m right here,” I say under my breath, even if she can’t hear me now.
And I don’t move.
I won’t.
Because the moment she wakes up again—
I need her to know she didn’t come back to that place.
She came back to me.
And whoever put her through that—
They just started a war they don’t understand.
I don’t like leaving her. Even with the monitors steady. Even with the doctor saying she’s stable. Stable doesn’t mean safe. Not yet. But sitting at her bedside won’t bring the others back, so I step out—and the second that door closes behind me, I lock back in.
“Run it again,” I say as I walk in.
Jace doesn’t question it. The footage is already looping—Becca’s house, low-light exterior cams, the two of them inside earlier that night. Becca and Inez. Laughing. Drinks in their hands. No idea what was coming. I watch it for a second longer than I should, then shut that part of me off.
“We had eyes on both of them before the grab,” Jace says, scrubbing forward. “Confirmed timeline from the house to the vehicle.”
I nod once. “I know. We followed the car.”
I remember every second of that chase—the speed, the coordination, the way it escalated too clean to be random.
“They were targeted,” I say.
Jace nods. “Yeah. That wasn’t opportunity. That was planned.”
My eyes shift to the next screen.
“Christina.”
Jace pulls it up immediately. Different footage. Gas station. Grainy, but clear enough. I step closer.
“There,” Jace says, pausing it.
A man—David—down on the ground. Not dead. Unconscious. Christina struggling, being pulled. Fast. Efficient. No hesitation.
“Time stamp?” I ask.
“Three days ago,” Jace replies. “Before Becca was taken.”
I study the frame—the setup, the angles, the signage in the background. I already know before he says it.
“That station’s Lionetti-controlled,” Jace confirms.
Of course it is.
“Walk me through it.”
Jace rewinds slightly, letting it play.
“They pull in. Normal stop. No flags. Two minutes later, a vehicle pulls alongside them. Driver doesn’t even get out right away.”
Calculated.
“They hit him first. Quick. Clean. He’s down before he knows what’s happening.”
I watch it again. No wasted movement.
“They weren’t there for him,” I say.
“No,” Jace agrees. “They went straight for her.”
Christina.
“Why?” someone asks from the back.
I don’t answer right away.
“Pull the shop footage.”
Jace doesn’t hesitate. Another screen lights up—Becca’s shop earlier that same day. Christina sitting in the chair. Becca working. Focused. Calm. In her element. Alive in a way she hasn’t been since.
My jaw tightens.
“There.”
Jace slows it down. Christina laughs at something Becca says, comfortable and unaware.
“Timestamp matches?” I ask.
“Same day,” Jace confirms.
I lean back slightly, putting it together.
“They followed her from the shop.”
Jace doesn’t respond right away because he sees it too.
“They weren’t grabbing random,” I continue. “They were tracking anyone connected to Becca.”
Silence fills the room, heavy and controlled.
“That means what?” one of my guys asks.
“It means she wasn’t just a target. She was the center. Everything branches from her. Inez—close to her, taken with her. Christina—a client, seen with her, taken after.”
My chest tightens, something darker settling in.
“They’re watching her. Anyone who gets close, anyone who interacts, they become leverage. Product. Collateral.”
Jace nods slowly. “That’s a pattern.”
“It’s a strategy,” I correct. “And it’s personal.”
“Lionetti doesn’t move like that without a reason,” Jace says.
“Or someone pushing it.”
Jenna.
I don’t say her name. I don’t have to.
“And Izzy?” Jace asks.
I look at the screen again. At Becca. At the life she had before this.
“He’s part of it,” I say. Not guessing. Knowing. “He had access. To her, to her space, to her people.”
Jace’s expression hardens.
“You think he fed them information.”
“I think nothing about this is coincidence.”
That’s enough. The room shifts, focus tightening, direction becoming clear.
“David Mercer,” Jace says, pulling the file back up. “Former SEAL. He’s been searching nonstop since it happened.”
I look at the still of him on the ground. Unconscious. Failed in a moment he couldn’t control. That kind of thing doesn’t sit well with men like him.
“He’s going to keep pushing,” Jace adds.
“I know.” Because I would.
“He’s already digging into that gas station,” Jace continues. “Which means he’s getting close to Lionetti territory whether he knows it or not.”
That’s a problem. Or an opportunity.
“Get eyes on him,” I say. “Full profile. Movements. Contacts. I want to know how he thinks before we decide anything.”
Jace nods. “On it.”
Behind us, the board fills in—connections, timelines, faces. Lionetti’s men. Some confirmed dead from the breach. Others still unaccounted for.
“They took losses,” one of my guys says. “More than they planned.”
“Good,” I reply. Pressure creates mistakes.
“What about Lionetti?” I ask.
“Still off grid,” Jace says. “But movement through his network is spiking. Money’s shifting. Routes changing.”
He’s reacting. Not retreating.
“Jenna?”
“Dark. No digital trace since the breach.”
“She’s not hiding,” I say.
“She’s planning,” Jace finishes.
I step closer to the board, eyes scanning everything we have.