"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.
