44. Chapter 44 #2
We step into the bedroom together. Two men in vests flank Victor, and I realize they're the Navy Caps. Victor is much shorter than the towering men. He can't be more than 5'6", dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit.
But his height and clothes are irrelevant.
The evil he radiates fills the room, crowding every corner, sucking the oxygen from the air so it's like I'm suffocating.
His face is angular with only sharp edges and hollows.
And he's pale, like a fucking vampire; I half expect him to have red eyes, but they're black as space.
They're fixed on me in a way that isn't cold or angry, just…
empty. Like looking into a void that stares back.
I'm nothing to him.
But… his left eye twitches. He blinks, slowly, deliberately, the way a predator might study something insignificant crawling across its path.
"You're familiar," he says, causing my stomach to feel like it's emptying its acid into the rest of my body.
He must remember glancing at me when I was at Anthony's. Discovering that he's the type of man who never forgets a face makes this feel worse.
I ignore his statement. "Why are you after Londyn?"
A slight click of his tongue, like a parent disappointed by a child's bad manners.
"You're not in a position to ask questions.
" He gestures to his men with a small flick of his wrist. "Face each other.
My men will shoot you at the same time in the back of the neck.
They'll sever your spinal cords. Instant death. No pain."
The clinical description turns my stomach. He's offering death like it's a fucking courtesy, a service he's providing.
Londyn begins to turn beside me, her hand slipping from mine as she starts to move into position. My chest constricts, every heartbeat a desperate rebellion against what's happening.
This isn't happening.
"I love you," she whispers. "I hope there's an afterlife where we'll see each other again."
Something in me hardens like concrete setting. I continue to face Victor, my feet planted, shoulders squared, refusing to get into position. Refusing to give up until the last fucking second. If this is how it ends, I won't go quietly, won't go obediently. I won't turn my back on the enemy.
I stare directly into those black, empty eyes.
Think.
Think.
Think.
Something clicks.
Pieces suddenly align and I suck in air.
One piece: the party Londyn attended in Hollywood. There were people being sold on stage.
Second piece: Miller texting a Chicago area code. Londyn said he seemed irritated, like someone was keeping him on a leash.
Third piece: Anthony managed weapons in Chicago, all for Victor. Others must manage different operations elsewhere because Victor's reach seems wide.
The last piece: The Navy Caps never fit well with Miller' plan. They're also standing in this room. They're Victor's men.
It all cyclones through my mind in a rush of understanding.
Victor was the one who told Miller to release Londyn, because kidnapping a trending actress would expose Miller's trafficking operations.
Victor sent the Navy Caps to scare Londyn into leaving California.
He also sent the Navy Caps to Manhattan, likely sensing Miller would make a play again for Londyn.
And I'm sure he's the one covering up Miller's other messes, like the raid on that Malibu property.
He doesn't care about Londyn at all. She's just collateral damage.
This entire thing is about fucking Miller.
Victor wants to eliminate a distraction that's pulling one of his men off-task. This is merely business. Cold, efficient business.
"Alan Miller," I say, watching Victor's face carefully.
Those empty eyes narrow. He nods to his men, who raise their weapons. No patience. No humanity.
My heart jumps into my throat and I move to shield Londyn, spinning her so she's between me and a wall. "Teach him a lesson," I say quickly.
Victor's hand pauses mid-air, about to signal his men to shoot.
We lock eyes, and it's like staring into the sun.
Not because of brightness but because of the sheer overwhelming force of his gaze.
It's painful to maintain contact, like something inside me recognizes a fundamental threat to my existence.
But he hasn't given the order to fire.
I still have a chance.
"I used to be a Sergeant," I say. I reach back to take Londyn's hand; she's trembling.
"I understand not wanting to train new recruits.
You invest time and resources getting your soldiers to operate exactly how you need, so naturally you'd prefer to keep them.
If they mess up, it's better to correct the behavior than start from scratch with someone new. That's just sound leadership."
Victor's jaw flexes once, the only indication that he's even listening. I can feel time slipping away, this tiny window of opportunity closing.
I hurry through my words. "You can kill Londyn, but there will always be another woman.
I imagine there have been others, right?
Other distractions that made Miller lose focus and cost you money.
You can keep eliminating those distractions one by one, but for a man like him, it's pointless.
You're wasting time and resources. A better strategy for when your dog misbehaves is to assert dominance and change the behavior permanently. "
Victor's jaw loosens an inch, something slight that most people would miss. But I'm trained to read these micro-expressions. He's giving me a little more time. He's curious.
I take the opening, diving straight through it.
"You're busy, so why don't I help?"
The room goes still. Even Victor's men seem to hold their breath, uncertain what this deviation means for them. Shoot? Don't shoot?
Finally, Victor speaks. "And what exactly would you do?"
"Threaten his control. He's a director for a reason. He needs constant attention and praise, so threaten his career. I guarantee you it's more important to him than his obsession with women."
Victor's hands slide into his pockets; now he's engaged instead of simply tolerating me. "Your plan?"
"Get him arrested for something minor. I'll plant evidence in his home.
Heroine. An amount that will be enough for possession charges but not enough to trigger a major investigation.
Once he's arrested, I'm sure you can make sure he goes to jail for eight months.
The media will be vultures. It'll tarnish his reputation enough to keep him in line, because you'll threaten to get him arrested again for something worse unless he behaves.
Something that would completely destroy his career, like rape charges.
" I pause, giving space for my offer to sink in.
"I know you could do this yourself; you don't need me.
But I also think you're tired of using your own men to deal with Miller.
His behavior forced you to come here personally, to this apartment, when I'm sure you have better things to do. Let me deal with him."
The density of the air thickens as Victor considers what I've said. His eyes never leave mine and I can tell he's doing exactly what my brain does: calculating risks. Running pros and cons.
With a small hand flick, he motions for his men to lower their weapons. Londyn sways into me, almost collapsing, so I turn and wrap an arm around her shoulder. The relief almost collapses me too, but I force myself to remain steady and expressionless.
"One chance," Victor says. "I'll allow your little operation. But I keep the woman as collateral."
My stomach drops but I don't flinch. I shake my head, keeping my movement slow and non-threatening. "If you do that, Miller could find out. He's part of your world, right? He has buddies who might leak intel. If he knows you have Londyn, he'd be suspicious. She has to come with me."
Victor's gaze shifts between us, calculating something behind those empty eyes. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't simply disappear?"
"I'm not an idiot. I know you'd find us if we tried to run."
"That's not good enough." He glances down at my boots and clicks his tongue. "Your colleague across the hallway has a family." My stomach bottoms out as Victor flicks his gaze at one of his men. "Is he alive?"
"Yes, boss."
Alive .
Mike is alive.
Thank God.
Victor nods at the man. "Take him to the car. He'll be collateral. Along with his family." His dark gaze slides back to me. "Mateo. Noah. That pregnant wife. Understood?"
The casual way he drops those names, like he's reciting a fucking grocery list, makes a dread snake up my spine. I struggle to process how Victor already knows so much about Mike's family—probably has files on me too. It only takes an instant to calculate how thoroughly fucked we all are.
Before I can organize my thoughts, Londyn steps forward. "Wait. I'll go," she says. "Take me as collateral. Please, I'll go."
Victor doesn't even acknowledge her existence. Just keeps those dead eyes fixed on me, waiting for my response like she's not even in the room. Like she's not even worth dismissing.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Every muscle in my body screams to lunge at him, to tear that impassive look from his face with my bare hands.
But I know the aftermath. I'd get three steps before his men put a bullet in my skull. Then Londyn. Then Mike and his family shortly after.
Instead, I swallow down the rage burning in my throat and force out through gritted teeth: "Understood." I take Londyn's arm, gently pulling her closer to me, needing her warmth against the cold spreading through my chest. "When I'm done, you forget Londyn exists. You forget all of us exist."
"Complete your task, and then you'll be in a position to bargain." He nods at his men and they lift their fallen comrade. They all move toward the bedroom door.
"You have two weeks," Victor adds. "Don't disappoint me."
He walks out without another word, his men following like shadows pulled by gravity. I hear their heavy boots cross the apartment, then the front door slams.
Silence.
Londyn collapses into my arms like her strings have been cut. Her body shakes violently against mine as I hold her, both of us clinging to each other like we might dissolve if we let go.
"Mike?" she chokes out, her voice muffled against my chest. "What—"
"He was shot, but he's alive. He's alive."
The image of him sprawled on the floor, surrounded by blood, burns behind my eyes. Now he's in the hands of pure darkness. Another friend I couldn't protect. Another person paying the price for my failure to see what was right in front of me.
Still alive.
Not gone. Not yet.
We sink to the floor together, holding each other as the tears come. Relief and grief and terror all mix into something that feels like drowning while also gasping for air.
We're here, breathing, for now, but at what cost?