I cup her jaw carefully, forcing her to look at me.
“She won’t touch them,” I growl, low and lethal. “I promise you that.”
But it’s not enough. Not for what they’ve done. Not for what theytriedto do.
I smooth her hair back from her forehead, my hand steady even as rage licks under my skin like wildfire.
“You don’t have to fight alone anymore,” I murmur. “That’s over.”
She shudders. Closes her eyes. Fighting the tears, the terror, the exhaustion.
And still— Still, her first thought is for them.
“Julian…Lila…” she chokes. “Are they—?”
“They’re safe,” I cut in, cold and sure. “I made sure. We sent word to them. They think you’re away on a business trip.”
Her body sags into the bed, her fingers loosening around mine in exhausted relief.
But I see it. The way her jaw tightens. The way her shoulders tense under the hospital blankets.
She’s still carrying them.
Still carryingall of it—even broken, even battered, even bleeding.
My hand tightens around hers.
Inside me, the fury sharpens into something almost clean. Simple. Certain.
They hurt her. They scared her. They tried to rip away the only thing that matters to her.
They don’t get to walk away from that.
Four of them. The men who dragged her into that car, zip-tied her wrists, slammed her into that wreck. Timur has them now. Or what’s left of them.
They’re being skinned alive in the meat house on the outskirts of the city. A butcher’s playground. Steel hooks. Blood-soaked floors. Screams swallowed by the thick concrete walls.
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.
But it’s a start.
I look down at her face again. At the bruises darkening her skin. The stitches at her temple. The purple smudges across her fragile wrist.
The guilt claws at me. I shove it down.
Guilt is for men who have time to feel sorry for themselves. I have a war to finish.
I lift her hand to my mouth and press a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles. A vow without words.
“Sleep, Bella,” I whisper. “The ones who touched you are already dead.”
Her eyelids flicker. She tries to hold my gaze, but the sedation pulls at her, heavy and relentless. Still, for a moment, she sees me. Through the haze, through the pain.
And I see her.
Strong. Defiant. Mine.
