34. Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
Alex
Lina is curled beside me, breathing slow and even, hair fanned across the pillow. For an instant, I lie still and listen. I expect it to fade. Instead, it blooms—hotter, heavier, impossible to ignore.
That’s my answer.
I slide out of bed carefully, pulling on my briefs without letting the mattress shift. Every movement intentional.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
I move into the hallway, bare feet silent against the floor, senses stretched thin. The air feels…rotten. Like something has disturbed it. A presence that doesn’t belong.
I reach the kitchen and pause, listening.
There. Just enough to confirm it. Someone is inside the house.
I open a drawer and wrap my fingers around a knife, familiar weight in my palm. It’s not panic that steadies me; it’s pure focus. Years of listening to this exact instinct, never ignoring it.
I don’t search the house. I don’t chase shadows; I am the fucking shadow.
I position myself, blending into the dark, becoming part of it. Just like I do as The Wraith.
Whoever is here isn’t here for me. They’re moving with intent. Toward her. Lina.
I slow my breathing, every muscle coiled and ready.
No one touches my Lina.
When the intruder makes their move, believing they’re unseen, I’m already there. Waiting.
A shape detaches from the dark at the far end of the hall—black on black, deliberate but not silent enough. He freezes when he sees me; surprise flashes across his face.
The gun comes up, but I’m already moving.
There’s no panic, simply compression. Time narrows, sound dulls, the world snapping into a clean, brutal focus. The gun never gets the chance it wants. The struggle is fast and violent, breath and muscle colliding, the weapon knocked free and skittering across the floor.
The intruder swears, desperate now.
Steel flashes. A knife.
A smirk plays on my mouth.
He lunges with it, sloppy and angry, relying on momentum instead of technique. I meet him head-on, blade to blade, the clash crisp and ringing in the quiet house. He’s strong but not quite as disciplined, swinging too wide, telegraphing every move.
I move with short, precise, relentless swings. Every step calculated, every breath steady. This is what training looks like when it matters. This is what preparation buys you.
He’s losing before he realizes it.
The fight grinds across the room. Furniture scrapes, something shatters against the wall behind the intruder.
He stumbles, overcommits, and that’s all it takes.
I drive him face-first into the floor, strip the weapon from his hand, and trap his arm behind his back.
My forearm pins his wrist while my other hand controls his elbow.
One sharp twist is all it would take to break it.
He thrashes once. Then stops.
“I would relent or I fucking break,” I warn.
That’s when light floods the bedroom to my right.
“Alex?”
Lina’s voice. Soft, confused.
The overhead light snaps on above me.
She stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, taking in the destruction. The overturned chair, the broken glass, the man in black beneath me, restrained and furious and very real.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
My attention never leaves the intruder, but my voice changes instantly.
“Lina, stay where you are, love.”
She doesn’t move. Shock roots her in place as the truth crashes in all at once. Someone was here, inside her home.
The intruder keeps his cheek pressed to the floor, but his eyes cut up to meet mine.
I tighten my grip on his twisted arm to remind him this is over.
Whoever sent this man made a shattering mistake. Because they didn’t only fail—they revealed themselves. And now, this ends.
I throw one knockout punch.
The intruder goes still, his body slackening as consciousness slips away. I breathe through the adrenaline, steadying myself before it has a chance to turn reckless.
I turn to Lina.
“Lina…please stay there,” I say gently but firmly. “Let me secure him and clean up the glass.”
She nods, eyes wide, arms wrapped around herself. Shock has turned her quiet.
I sit across from the intruder and gently pat his face to wake him.
When he does, it’s slow and disoriented. A groan. A shift. His eyes flutter open—and lock onto me. Then widen.
I’m seated facing him, elbows resting on my knees, posture relaxed in a way that tells him how much ground he’s lost.
He tests his restraints once. Fails.
It’s rope from Lina’s garage. Thick, practical. The kind you buy for utility, not imprisonment.
I used it without thinking—muscle memory taking over—looping it tight around his wrists, anchoring him to the dining chair, binding the legs to make movement pointless but circulation intact. No wasted slack.
The chair itself is solid oak. Heavy. Not meant to be moved easily.
“When I get loose you’re fucking dead.” he says, voice hoarse.
I nod my head. Calm. Assessing.
“I highly doubt that,” I say evenly.
His gaze flicks down again, tracking the rope, the chair, the space that lies between us. Understanding arrives in stages—confusion first, then fear.
Good. I don’t rush him.
His gaze flicks past me, then lands on Lina in the corner. Fear. Not for her, but because he understands now that this went very wrong.
Lina swallows. “Alex, we should call the police.”
“Not yet, love,” I say gently.
The intruder lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “You’re making a big fucking mistake.”
I turn my head slightly. “Am I?”
I lean back slightly, giving him room to talk—or hang himself.
“Who sent you?” I ask.
Silence. I wait.
“I don’t care about you,” I continue. “I care about who signed the contract.”
That gets his attention. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick away.
Good.
“That woman,” he says, nodding toward Lina. “She’s worth more dead than alive. How about we split the money?”
Lina sucks in a breath, hand flying to her mouth.
I don’t react.
“How much are they paying you?” I ask.
He hesitates.
I lean forward to remind him I’m not guessing. “This is the part where you decide how the rest of your night goes.”
“Five million,” he mutters.
I feel the confirmation lock into place.
“Who?” I press.
His lips curl into a half smile.
I stand, every movement deliberate. “Say it.”
He swallows. “David Allister.”
Lina’s knees buckle slightly, and she sinks onto the side of the couch, stunned.
“You were supposed to make it appear like an accident,” I say. “Weren’t you?”
He doesn’t answer at first.
“I was supposed to make it look like you two had a…domestic dispute.”
He apparently didn’t do his homework on me.
I straighten, decision made.
“You’re going to sit here quietly,” I tell him, “while I make a call.”
He scoffs weakly.
“Call the cops. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be out within hours.”
I study him.
“Calling the cops would be mercy,” I say, adding, “I don’t do mercy.”
Behind me, Lina watches. Terrified, furious, but alive.