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A broken breath escapes his chest, and before I can say another word, his hand locks into the back of my hair. He pulls my lips to his, kissing me hard—a deep, desperate, possessive clash of mouths that tastes like copper and absolute surrender.

A subtle, deliberate throat-clearing shatters the heavy air between us.

We pull apart slowly, Cain's thumb resting gently against my jaw before he turns his head, keeping one firm arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

Ezekiel and Malachi stand near the central pillar, their weapons lowered, faint, knowing smiles touching their lips despite the chaos around us. It's only then that I notice the absolute silence that has fallen over the cavernous space.

The thunder of automatic rifles and the shouts of dying men have completely vanished. Every single Devlin guard who stood in this room lies motionless on the marble floor.

"Sorry to interrupt," Ezekiel says, his voice low and steady as he steps over a piece of shattered glass. "Elijah and Levi just radioed in from the rear exit. Brendan and Lachlan managed to slip through the drainage network before they could seal it off. They lost their trail."

Cain’s grip on my waist tightens instantly, his jaw setting hard, but Ezekiel raises a hand before he can speak.

"We’ve already locked down the perimeters," Ezekiel continues with calm authority. "We are flagging every private airstrip, harbor, and international exit point in the state. The second either of them attempts to leave the country, we'll know."

He looks between Cain and me, his expression darkening into a sharp, solemn focus. "Make no mistake—this war with the Devlins isn't finished. But taking Nolan out of the picture has completely gutted their command structure. Their current operation is in ashes."

"We’ll finish that battle when the time comes," Cain growls, his tone laced with a quiet, lethal finality. "Right now, I'm taking my girl home."

Ezekiel nods approvingly, his eyes softening just a fraction as he looks at me. "Go. Mal and I will clean up the mess here and coordinate with the rest of the team."

Cain slips one arm under my knees and the other around my back, scooping me up against his chest effortlessly.

I bury my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of leather and smoke as he turns on his heel and carries me out of the shattered estate into the cool morning air.

The ride back to the estate passes in a blur, the hum of the engine doing little to ease the adrenaline still thrumming under my skin. Cain keeps one hand anchored firmly on my knee the entire way, his eyes locked on the road, dark and unreadable.

When he pulls into the driveway, he doesn't let me touch the ground. He gathers me up into his arms once more, carrying me through the quiet hallways and straight up the stairs into our bedroom.

He sets me down gently on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of me. With infinite care, his fingers work through the buttons of my jacket, slipping the fabric from my shoulders, followed by my shirt and pants, treating me like something fragile that might shatter if he presses too hard.

He leads me into the bathroom and turns on the shower, testing the water with his wrist until the steam fills the room with a warm, gentle heat. Stepping into the stall with me, fully clothed in his dark jeans, he reaches for the soap.

I reach up, my wet hands tracing the sharp line of his jaw, leaning in to seek his mouth, desperate to feel his heat, to feel the deep, possessive press of his lips reminding me that we both made it out alive. I want him to kiss me, to hold me tight against his chest.

But Cain gently turns his head, catching my hand in his and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my palm instead.

He doesn't kiss my lips. He doesn't pull me flush against him.

Instead, he works the lather into a rich foam and slowly washes away the dirt, smoke, and grime of the Devlin estate from my skin. His hands move in painstaking, tender circles down my arms, over my shoulders, and down my back.

As he works, he leans his forehead down until it rests against the side of my temple, his breath warm against my ear.

"You're safe now, doll," he murmurs, his voice low, gravelly, and laced with a quiet, reverent warmth. "I've got you. Nobody's ever going to touch you again. You're completely safe with me, my brave girl. Rest now... just let me take care of you."

The continuous flow of soft, soothing words washes over me just like the warm water, soothing the frayed edges of my nervous system until the trembling deep in my bones finally stops.

When he turns off the shower, he wraps me in a thick, plush towel and dries me off with the same gentle precision. He helps me into one of his soft, oversized t-shirts, carrying me back to the bed and sliding me under the heavy duvet.

He strips off his soaked jeans, slips into bed beside me, and pulls me tight against his chest. I press my face into the crook of his neck, wrapping my arms around his waist. He wraps both arms securely around my back, resting his chin on top of my head and gently swaying us in a slow, steady rhythm.

I close my eyes, lulled by the deep rise and fall of his chest and the soft murmurs he continues to whisper into my hair, until the darkness finally takes me and I drift off to sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CAIN

I don't move a muscle for the rest of the day.