Blood. Fresh blood, not the day-old stains we'd been stepping around all morning.
His golden eyes met mine, conveying the warning without words. Then his gaze shifted deliberately toward the far cornerof the workshop, where Gearhead's main workbench stood partially obscured by a torn tarp hanging from the ceiling.
Someone was breathing behind that workbench. Someone trying very hard to remain silent, but whose pain made each breath a subtle whistle through clenched teeth.
I reached slowly for the knife at my belt, nodding once to show Liam I understood. We'd surprised someone—likely one of Victor's men who'd chosen to hide rather than flee with the others.
I took a careful step forward, placing my boot soundlessly on the concrete. "Whoever's back there," I called, my voice echoing in the cavernous space, "I suggest you come out now. My patience is thin after the night we've had."
Silence stretched for three heartbeats, four, five. Then a low chuckle broke the stillness, a sound that sent ice through my veins.
"Ah, Rooster. Always the diplomat." Victor Markus emerged from behind the workbench, one hand pressed against his bloodied side, the other raised in mock surrender. "I'd hoped for a bit more time to recover before our next... interaction."
He looked terrible—face ashen beneath designer stubble, his tactical gear soaked with blood on one side. But his eyes were sharp and calculating as ever, taking in both of us with cold assessment.
"You should have run while you had the chance," I said, moving forward cautiously, knife raised. "Not smart to get cornered in enemy territory."
Victor's smile was tight with pain. "Sometimes the safest place to hide is right under your enemy's nose. Your men are all looking outward, not inward." His gaze flicked to Liam, who had gone preternaturally still beside me. "Besides, I still have unfinished business here."
"The only business you have left is answering our questions," I growled, closing the distance between us. "Starting with why you targeted us in the first place."
"Nothing personal," Victor replied, his hand shifting subtly at his side. "Just completing what my uncle started. Eliminating variables. Specimens of interest."
His eyes locked on Liam again, filled with cold scientific curiosity. "Like your little lynx friend there. Quite the rare find. My uncle would have been particularly interested in his abilities."
I felt rage build in my chest—hot and dangerous. The bear inside me rose to the surface, demanding blood for the threat to my mate. "You're never getting near him," I snarled, stepping closer. "Your specimen collection days are over."
Victor's smile widened slightly. "We'll see about that."
The movement was so quick I barely registered it—Victor's hand flashing from his side, steel glinting in the dusty light. The concealed knife arced toward my chest with deadly precision, aimed straight for my heart.
I had no time to react, no chance to dodge. One heartbeat I was advancing on a wounded opponent; the next, death was rushing toward me in the form of eight inches of serrated steel.
Then Liam was there.
I didn't see him move—just a blur of motion too fast for human eyes to track. One moment he was beside me; the next, his arm was extended between me and the blade, his hand closing around Victor's wrist with inhuman speed and strength. The knife clattered harmlessly to the concrete as Liam twisted, using Victor's own momentum to slam him face-first into the workbench.
Victor howled in pain as his wounded side collided with solid metal. He struggled, but Liam held him pinned with surprising strength, golden eyes blazing with protective fury. There wasnothing feral or frightened in his demeanor now—just cold, calculated efficiency as he neutralized the threat to his mate.
I recovered quickly, grabbing Victor's arms and forcing them behind his back. "Find something to tie him with," I told Liam, pressing my knee into Victor's spine to keep him immobilized.
Without hesitation, Liam released his grip and moved to a nearby shelf, returning seconds later with a coil of nylon rope. His movements were fluid and purposeful—nothing like the hesitant, skittish behavior I'd grown accustomed to. He handed me the rope, then retrieved the dropped knife, examining it with clinical detachment before placing it carefully out of reach.
"You're making a mistake," Victor wheezed beneath me as I bound his wrists tightly. "I'm just one branch. Cut me down, two more will take my place. The research will continue."
"Save it for your interrogation," I growled, hauling him roughly to his feet. "You've got a lot to answer for."
The workshop door banged open and Butch strode in with Bear and Gunner flanking him like avenging angels. Their expressions darkened simultaneously at the sight of Victor.
"Well, well," Butch drawled, approaching with measured steps. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Bear's massive hands clenched into fists as he took in the scene. "Want me to take out the trash, Boss?"
"With pleasure," Butch replied. "But keep him breathing. For now."
Bear and Gunner moved forward to take Victor from my grip, their hands none too gentle as they marched him toward the door. Butch lingered behind, his gaze moving between me and Liam.
"Everyone alright?" he asked.
