Adrien
Present
The sun is disappearing behind the horizon, bleeding into a dull orange haze that stretches low across the sky.
Kas, Dorian and I are scattered around the two cars, parked far enough from the airport to remain invisible, but close enough to get there fast if the situation shifts and suddenly demands movement, or if getting there appears as a good idea.
Kasien’s gaze is glued to the phone screen, the faint reflection of surveillance footage flickering in his eyes as he watches the airport through hijacked cameras, waiting with that infuriating stillness he slips into when everything inside him is calculating.
I can’t match it.
I pace around the SUV, restless, the gravel crunching under my shoes as if it’s echoing the impatience in me. I want this finished. I want Devereaux and the suffocating web of power he built to finally collapse. I want this curse broken.
The silence stretches too long, so I cut through it.
“Does Kiara know where we went?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, like I’m just filling air instead of fishing for information.
“Unfortunately, yeah.” Kas doesn’t lift his eyes from the screen. Then he scoffs lightly. “We have this stupid rule.”
“Let me guess,” I say, stepping closer. “No lying?”
That earns me a look. He glances up at me with an expression so hopelessly whipped it almost feels illegal to witness, then gives a small, resigned nod.
I laugh under my breath.
My dear Kas, pussy-whipped. I genuinely thought I’d die before seeing that. It’s disturbingly adorable and precious.
“Been there,” I mutter. “Hate that rule.”
“She wanted to come with me.”
“Are you sure she’s not following you?”
“No,” he replies easily, then lets out a short laugh. “That’s why there are a few guys at the manor with them.”
I tilt my head. “They can both be really crafty.”
“I know.”
His jaw tightens just a fraction, the only visible crack in his composure.
I resume pacing, each turn sharper than the last, the dying sunlight stretching our shadows long and distorted across the asphalt, like even they’re preparing for something to go wrong.
“Are you sure we don’t want to scrap him right at the airport?” I try again, because the idea of waiting any longer makes my skin itch.
“Definitely not,” Kas says without hesitation. “He could expect something like that.”
“Right,” I mumble, though I don’t like it.
Then suddenly his hand clamps around my shoulder and he pulls me toward him, snapping my attention to the phone. “He just landed.”
“Okay,” I breathe, my pulse sharpening instantly.
We both go still, eyes locked on the grainy camera feeds.
Long minutes pass by as we stare at it, watching the usual routine of dealing with baggage, papers, and a few people shuffling in that bored, small private airport rhythm. It drags on. And then he appears.
The old fatty finally steps into frame, flanked by two men who move like they’ve been trained to watch corners before they blink.
“He’s getting into a car,” I mutter, my focus absolute now, everything else falling away.
“Let’s wait how many cars he’ll take,” Kas murmurs beside me, his voice low and measured.
“Two, it seems. Just two,” I say quickly. “That’s totally doable. Let’s go.” I say more firmly, too eager.
“No.”
His grip tightens on my shoulder, keeping me rooted in place. “If he takes the busy road, we can’t do anything. There’s too much traffic.”
We keep staring at the screen as both cars roll out of the airport’s camera range. Dorian is already on the phone with Kaden, waiting for him to tell us where he’s going.
All of us stay silent, waiting for him to give us the last information we need. No one speaks until Kaden’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“He’s taking the main road. Traffic isn’t heavy, but it’s there.”
We all exchange looks. Kasien’s expression shifts from hesitation to just disappointment.
“Okay,” he says after a beat, nodding once. “We do nothing. We wait to see where he’s going, then we come up with a new plan.” His tone makes it sound final.
“No.” The word leaves me sharper than intended. “If we give him this much time, he could make the first move.”
“It’s too risky to go now.”
“No,” I counter, stepping closer to him. “It’s the opposite, actually. He won’t expect anything now. Not on the road.”
Kas studies me, weighing it. I can see the gears turning behind his eyes, allowing the idea to exist for a second. Then he exhales and shakes his head.
“No. There’s traffic.”
He turns away, already pacing, already abandoning it.
“I can work with that,” I say, walking straight toward one of the SUVs, pulling the driver’s door open before I can overthink it.
“Can you stop making impulsive decisions for once?” he snaps, stepping after me, trying to catch my arm.
“I’ve replayed this scenario in my head a thousand different ways. I know exactly what I’m doing,” I reply calmly as I slide into the seat, but he grips my shoulder again.
“Kas,” I cut him off before he can say anything. “This isn’t impulsive at all. I want all of this to end. He ruined the lives of the two only people I care about. I’m doing this now, I don’t care how risky it is. This is a good chance and I’m taking it.”
I push him away from the car doors.
“Don’t follow me right away, two cars would be too suspicious,” I shout just before I slam the door shut and lock it, cutting off his protest before he can drag this back into another argument.
This would be such a waste of potential. It’s the easiest way to get him. Just two cars. Just four men plus one shriveled predator in the back seat as a target. And none of them expecting me.
I merge onto the main road and accelerate just enough to close the distance without drawing attention.
The two black Rovers are impossible to miss, steady and disciplined in the right lane, a few civilian cars buffering them from the rest of traffic.
I keep three vehicles between us at first, watching their spacing, their blind spots, the way they’re driving.
The traffic is moderate. Not empty, not crowded, but predictable.
I signal, shift lanes, and overtake the civilian car that’s lingering behind them, forcing it to slow down so it doesn’t stay in what’s about to become a very unhealthy radius.
I don’t need witnesses boxed in too close.
I slide into the lane beside the second Rover, matching their speed exactly, becoming just another impatient driver trying to get home before dark.
The sign above the highway tells me it’s just two kilometers to the off-ramp. I let my breathing slow and hands steady on the wheel without rushing. Timing matters more than speed right now.
When the sign for the exit appears ahead, I lower the passenger window. The trailing Rover is slightly behind my rear door, which is a perfect angle.
For a millisecond, I can’t decide if it’s more efficient to shoot the driver or just the tires. Tires are safer I think, assurance of the car not following us anymore. A dead driver at highway speed turns into chaos I can’t control and possibly danger to others.
The tires it is. I aim lower and take the shot. Then another.
The tires burst with a sharp snap, rubber shredding instantly. The Rover jerks hard to the side, the driver fighting the wheel. They lose speed, dragged by the rim, forced toward the shoulder.
And they’re out of play, grinding to an uncontrolled but survivable stop.
Okay. One car is gone. Now act fast.
The off-ramp is ahead so I don’t hesitate.
I swerve hard to the right and slam into the Rover’s side, metal exploding against metal with a violent crack that jerks both vehicles sideways.
Before the driver can even process what’s happening, I hit them again, sharper this time, right into the rear door panel, destabilizing their alignment and forcing their nose toward the exit lane.
They try to correct it but I don’t let them. I keep pressing into them, riding their side with calculated aggression, steering them off the main highway and onto the off-ramp whether they want it or not.
Tires scream around me together with sparks spitting out from where our frames grind together. We’re locked in parallel collision, just as I need to get us somewhere more private.
The ramp curves down and I use it. Gravity helps as I shove into them again and again so they don’t have time to fire after me, and I keep pushing at an angle that causes their front wheels to overcorrect.
The Rover finally loses traction, slides off the asphalt and onto the dirt service road running alongside the exit.
Now there’s space and no traffic. No witnesses boxed in.
I pull ahead, then cut left just enough to create room and immediately slam back right into the driver’s side with everything the engine can give me. This hit should be fatal for the driver, I hope.
The impact caves metal inward with a sickening crunch, directly into their driver’s door. The Rover jolts violently, collapsing on one side and glass detonates outward in a storm of fragments.
Silence follows, broken only by the ticking of overheated engines.
I cut my engine and step out, positioning myself behind my door for cover. The driver is slumped over the wheel, stunned or unconscious from the impact, or dead. The passenger door swings open. One of the guards stumbles out, disoriented but armed.
I quickly put a bullet between his eyes and he drops before he understands where the shot came from. I fire another one at the unconscious driver, just to be sure, then I move forward, shift my aim toward the back seat and take a few rounds through the rear window.
The glass fractures inward and a groan follows.
I don’t wait around for a possible return shot.
I approach from the blind side, open the rear door and find him folded awkwardly against the seat, blood running down from his temple where the crash must have thrown him against the interior frame.
One of my shots has caught him probably lower in the torso, considering the blood, but it’s not fatal yet, apparently.