Chapter 25
NEVER AGAIN
The difference between 'victim' and 'victor' is a defiant choice
Dorian
The SUV screeches to a stop, scattering gravel and bits of broken pavement. For a second, everything goes dead quiet. David kills the engine, flicks off the headlights, and now we’re swallowed up in darkness. The only light is the single, pulsing red dot on my phone screen.
It’s not moving. We’re here. She’s here.
"No lookouts," David murmurs, his eyes scanning the building's perimeter. "Sloppy. Or overconfident."
"It's Leah," I snap, anger grinding every word down to the bone. “She’s arrogant. That’s all.”
The warehouse is a massive, lightless box of corrugated metal, smelling of salt, rust. My entire being is thrumming, a live wire of lethal intent. The man who sat helpless in a jet for four hours is gone, replaced by the predator.
"Cops are on the way," David says, glancing at his phone. "I sent Silvia the address. Wanna wait for backup?"
"No. We’re going in."
I’m already out, keeping low, moving fast, my footsteps barely making a sound over the busted pavement. David’s right behind me. The plan is simple. Get Della.
I slide along the side of the building, my fingers finding the cold, rusted sheet metal. There—a window, filthy with decades of grime. I wipe enough away to see inside.
My heart stops.
The scene inside is a snapshot from hell. A single, bare lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, casting a weak, sickly yellow glow. I see the two men, their backs to me and Leah, pacing.
And then I see Della.
She's tied to a steel chair. Her head is down, her beautiful hair a tangled mess, obscuring her face. She's slumped forward, completely still. My vision narrows, the blood pounding in my ears.
Is she breathing? Is she hurt? Is she—
A cold, sharp, inhuman rage cuts through the panic. I feel my blood freeze in my veins—quick and deep, like a river hit by the Arctic winter. That second, a promise takes shape.
If Della is hurt, Leah will pay, in full. I don't care about her reasons. I just care that she laid hand on the woman I love beyond reason.
David sees the look on my face and his own hardens. "Dorian..."
"She's in the chair," I interrupt, my voice flat steel. "She's not moving."
He takes a peek inside and his own tactical mind kicks in.
"Two men plus Leah. Two access points."
A sound from inside cuts through the night—the metallic groan and rumble of a large loading door beginning to open.
The time for waiting, for plans, for anything but action, is over.
"They're taking her," I say, my voice a lethal whisper. "You take the side door. Handle the men. I'm taking the front."
"Dorian—be careful! We don't know if they're armed."
But I'm already moving. "Leah’s mine."
* * *
I move in, barely more than a shadow—nothing but purpose, cold and steady. I scan the darkness and spot her. She’s slumped over, tied to a chair, head hanging down. There’s a dark stain spreading on the concrete under her. My chest tightens.
A guttural roar rips from my chest. "LEAH!"
Leah spins, panic and fury warring on her face. "Dorian. How did you—?"
I register movement to my left. David, a blur of tactical grace, breaches the side door. I hear a thud and a wet crack. One man down. Good.
She sees the second man engage David. Her plan, her control is evaporating. Her eyes dart wildly and land on the bottle of vodka.
She smashes it against a rusted barrel.
Before I can cross the distance, she’s on Della. She yanks her head back by her hair, and a sharp, jagged edge of glass presses hard against her throat.
I freeze.
Every instinct, every fiber of my being, screams at me to tear Leah apart, but I am paralyzed. The glass is at her neck.
"STAY BACK!" Leah shrieks, her voice a shrill, ugly thing. She's using Della as a shield, holding her flush against her body.
I watch, my vision narrowing to a single point, as a small, hot drop of red blood trickles from where the glass presses tracing a line down her pale skin until it hits the ruby at her throat. My ruby.
The rage I felt vanishes, replaced by an ice so cold it burns.
"Leah," I say, my voice a low, dangerous growl as I look straight her in the eyes. "Let. Her. Go."
"You came," she pants, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "You actually came. For her?" She presses the glass even harder.
Della flinches, and for a second, I swear something shatters inside me. My hands curl into fists, nails digging hard into my skin.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
"Don't you see, Dorian?" Leah’s voice goes wild, almost desperate. "She's a mistake! She doesn’t deserve you. I made you what you are. When I married you, you were a passionate, insecure boy."
Somewhere behind us, I catch the sound—someone hits the ground hard. David’s loose now. But right now, it doesn’t change a thing. The glass is still pressed against Della’s throat.
"I broke you to forge you into a king!" Leah continues, her monologue desperate and manic. "I am the woman you need, Dorian! We are a power together; we can have everything. Let’s get rid of her... and we can—"
"You're right." My voice cuts through her rant, flat and dead. I drop my hands to my sides, relaxing my posture, forcing the predator inside me to hold.
Leah blinks, confused. "What?"
"You're right about one thing," I say, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. The ice in my eyes is absolute. "I was a boy. A fool. Because I never saw who you really are."
"Dorian, I'm offering you—"
"You're a sickness, Leah," I state, as if discussing the weather. "You're a poison. You didn't mold me. You only ever cared about yourself, you betrayed and you manipulated. And now, you're done."
"I'll kill her!" she shrieks, her hand shaking so hard the glass rattles. "I'll do it, Dorian, I swear I will!"
"No, you won't," I say, taking another step. I don’t look away. My eyes lock on hers—hunting for that split second, she’ll crumble.
I push every ounce of control I have at her, all the anger too, but my entire universe is focused on the periphery: the hand that's shaking, the jagged glass, the frantic pulse I can see beating in Della's throat.
"Because you're a coward," I continue. "You only attack the weak. The unarmed. The ones who can't fight back."
Leah’s voice is changing to a sweeter manipulative note. A small, knowing, vile laugh escapes her. “Oh, Dorian. You have no idea... the things I did for you, for us—”
"You are DEAD to me, Leah."
The words echo in the vast, dead air, cutting her off before she can finish her poison. That hint—that dark, all-knowing tone—it's the last mistake she'll ever make.
I take another step. I'm close now. Dangerously close.
"And I will end you in every possible way," I promise, my voice dropping lower. "I will tear down everything you've ever built. I will make you pay for every tear she shed, for every second you terrified her, for that single drop of blood on her throat."
My entire universe has narrowed to her, to the glass, to her eyes looking for the split second to put her down without hurting Della.
"Now. LET. HER. GO."
I see the shift in her gaze, the realization that she's lost. The manipulative mask falls and a look of pure, nihilistic rage take its place. Her hand tenses on the glass.
“No, Dorian!” she hisses, her voice a venomous promise. "I will end her. Now she dies."
And in that instant, all hell breaks loose.
* * *
Della
Dorian’s voice. Not the voice that whispered my name at the lake house, but a cold, ruthless, and utterly terrifying voice. He came for me. That thought alone slices through the alcohol fog.
Leah’s arm clamps around my chest, the glass biting sharp into my skin. She’s shaking. I can actually feel her losing her control under the weight of his icy calm.
Then, the world shatters.
"POLICE! HANDS UP! DROP THE WEAPON! DROP IT NOW!"
Floodlights blaze through the open warehouse doors, blinding all of us. I see three, no, four figures in dark uniforms, weapons raised.
"DROP THE WEAPON!"
"HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
The cops are yelling at everyone—Leah, Dorian, David. The beams from their flashlights cut through the haze, darting all over, and I can barely tell what’s happening.
Leah’s scream rips through the chaos, pure frustration. She tightens her grip on me, but she keeps glancing at the cops, torn in two. The glass wavers, just a millimeter.
And my mind goes clear.
The memory of Andy flashes behind my eyes. Pinned down. Helpless. Waiting for someone to save me.
A new thought, hot and clean, cuts through the vodka and the fear.
Not again. I will not be that girl again.
This is my fight.
I gather up every bit of anger and panic and drive my heel straight down onto her foot. Hard.
Something snaps under me—bone, probably.
She lets out this awful scream and her grip loosens as her whole body jerks away.
That’s my shot.
I slam my head back into her jaw, and in the same breath, twist and sink my teeth into her hand—the one holding the broken glass. I bite down with all the force in my body, tasting blood and vodka.
She shrieks again, raw pain this time, and her fingers spring open. The bottle hits the concrete and skitters away.
But Leah isn't done. She's a cornered animal.
“Die, you bitch. Die!” Screaming in pure, wordless rage, she lunges at me again, her hands shaped like claws, her eyes promising murder.
This is the only movement the police need to see.
"FREEZE!" a cop roars.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The sound of gunshots is deafening, echoing in the vast metal space. The world goes silent, my ears ringing and all I see is Dorian falling as he roars my name.
Oh God, he's hit. He's falling.
The thought shatters my mind. My legs buckle, and I'm falling, shoving myself backward, away from the chaos, my throat raw from a scream that makes no sound.
A blur of motion.
"DELLA!"