“Follow my lead,” I cut him off, already moving.
The warehouse door gives way under my boot. I charge through the entrance, weapon raised, scanning for targets. Everything narrows to tunnel vision—finding Aurora is all that matters.
A flash of movement to my right. I pivot, firing two rounds before fully registering what I’m seeing. Return fire erupts from behind a stack of crates.
“Hunter, get down!” Ari shouts.
I ignore him, advancing when I should be taking cover. Something feels off about this place—it’s another setup, another of Jax’s games—but the rage propels me forward.
The distinctive red dot of a laser sight appears on my chest.
I freeze, a split-second of clarity cutting through my fog of exhaustion.
Suddenly, Ari slams into me from behind, shoving me sideways as a shot cracks through the air. We crash to the ground behind a concrete pillar. Ari grunts in pain.
“Fuck,” he hisses, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers.
“Man down!” Blaze calls over comms. “East section, need immediate cover!”
I stare at the spreading crimson on Ari’s shirt. He took a bullet meant for me because I couldn’t wait. Because I couldn’t think.
The realization hits me with devastating clarity: I’m out of control, and my recklessness just got one of my oldest friends shot.
I stumbleinto my penthouse at 3 AM, drenched in rain and defeat. The silence crushes me. For days, I’ve been running on rage, pushing away anything that threatens my focus.
But here, alone, with no one watching, something breaks.
My hands tremble as I pour a whiskey and miss the glass entirely. The amber liquid pools on the counter, and suddenly I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t function.
“FUCK!” I hurl the empty glass against the wall, watching it shatter into a thousand glittering pieces. The sound isn’t satisfying enough.
I move to my office in a trance, seeing Aurora’s face in every shadow. The weight I’ve been holding at bay crashes down all at once—crushing, suffocating, unbearable. I sweep everything from my desk in one violent motion. My monitor crashes to the floor. Papers flutter like dying birds.
Not enough.
I overturn the heavy mahogany desk with a roar that tears my throat. My carefully ordered world splinters apart as I destroy everything within reach. A framed photo of the Vipers shatters under my boot. The glass cabinet housing rare whiskeys explodes under the force of a chair thrown at full strength.
With each act of destruction, my mind grows clearer. My breaths come easier. The fog of exhaustion recedes just enough for rational thought to penetrate.
Fifteen minutes later, my office lies in ruins around me, and I stand in the center, bleeding from cuts I don’t rememberreceiving. The rage has burned itself out, leaving cold clarity in its wake.
Aurora needs me functioning. Not this broken shell staggering through days without sleep.
I make my way to the bedroom, not bothering to clean the blood from my hands. My body feels weighed with lead as I collapse onto the sheets fully dressed. Sleep has been my enemy, bringing nightmares of what might be happening to Aurora. But now I know it’s my only ally.
I shut my eyes, forcing my racing mind to quiet. Six hours. I’ll allow myself six hours of unconsciousness. Then I’ll find her.
For her, I’ll rest. For her, I’ll think clearly again.
12
AURORA
Ilie motionless on the hard cot, my body heavy and my mind foggy. The drugs Jax forced on us aren’t fully out of our systems—I feel drunk, disoriented, but not unconscious as he intended. Our plan worked, at least partially. We managed to vomit most of the drugged water, though not quickly enough to escape its effects entirely, particularly me, since I drank it before Liv.
Across the cell, Liv’s chest rises and falls in a convincing imitation of deep sleep. We’ve been rehearsing this moment for hours, whispering back and forth until we heard footsteps approaching.
The electronic lock disengages with a soft click. My heart hammers against my ribs, but I keep my breathing even, my eyes nearly closed—open just enough to see through my lashes.
