Page 146 of The Ache That Stayed

I pressed a brief kiss to her forehead before straightening, already pulling my phone out and sending myself the location.

The message thread popped up under the contact name she’d saved me as.

Asshole.

A rough, disbelieving breath left me before I could stop it. Of course that’s what she called me.

I deleted the message immediately from her phone and dialled. Sean picked up on the second ring.

“This better be good,” he said, irritation bleeding through the line.

“I need men.”

I paused a beat.

“Location incoming,” I said, already forwarding it. “A warehouse. Tomorrow. Three.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Feckin’ hell…” he muttered. “This about the woman?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

When he spoke again, his voice had changed—less irritation, more calculation.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, lad.”

“Will you help or not?” I cut in, tone flat, leaving no space for anything but a yes or no.

Another beat. Then a quiet exhale.

“You’re racking up your debts, lad.”

“Noted.”

“I’ll have people in place.”

“Good.”

The line went dead. A second later, my phone lit up—names, numbers, faces. A team already forming before I had time to think twice.

By the time the next day rolled in, everything was already moving. We didn’t walk into it blind. Four men with me. Enough to get in. Not enough to get sloppy.

The warehouse sat exactly where it had on the map—isolated, in a way that made it worse. Outside, men moved in loose patterns, which told me they were hired muscle.

I counted quickly. Ten outside. Spread wide. Watching angles. No clear sight on the inside. Which meant more. My jaw tightened.

I studied the layout quickly, committing it to memory in seconds—the blind spots, the entry points, the timing between their movements. I gave a small signal.

Jacob—one of mine peeled off immediately, circling toward the back roof access. The other three shifted positions without drawing attention, closing in just enough to keep the perimeter tight. I moved without waiting.

Inside, the air felt thick and stale. My eyes adjusted fast, tracking movement, structure, exits—and there, on the second level, two men on the walkway. Watching. Waiting. They didn’t stay that way for long.

Jacob was already up there. By the time they realised something was off, it was too late. A sharp struggle. A dull thud. Then nothing.

The man further inside wasn’t as lucky. He turned—too slow, too late. My hand closed around his throat before he could react, cutting off whatever warning he might’ve tried to give. He struggled, brief and useless. A twist. A crack. His body dropped instantly, weight hitting the floor without resistance. Like he’d never been anything more than an obstacle.

Silence followed, heavy, controlled.