Elena sat at the end of the wooden dock, the rough planks digging into her thighs through her jeans, her head bowed, long brown hair curtaining her face in a posture of defeat that let her work her wrists unseen. The dizziness from being carried and dropped here still swam behind her eyes, but she forced her focus elsewhere—on the burn in her shoulders, the bite of rope cutting into her skin, and the tight binding around her ankles, the rope cinched so close that even the smallest shift forced her legs to move together, unsteady and restricted.
Overhead, a single security lamp buzzed, casting a stark white pool that ended in a perfect circle of light. Beyond it, the warehouse pier dissolved into black. The water below was invisible, just a sound—a slow, thick lap against the pilings.
"We call him. Now." Presley’s voice was a dry crack in the silence. He stood just outside the ring of light, a silhouette. "We tell him we have her. We dictate the terms."
"And then what?" Xander Stern’s tone was a smirk. He paced at the light’s edge, one hand pressed to his ribs where the body armor had taken Presley’s bullet. A bruise was blooming on his jaw. "He brings an army. We die. Your pain ends, but so does my acquisition."
Elena shifted her hands infinitesimally. The knot at her back was complex, but the bindings had been rushed. She’d kept her wrists slightly apart as they were tied, creating a millimeter of give. Now, she rotated her right hand, grinding the skin raw against the coarse fibers. The rope didn’t just resist—it bit back, each twist dragging splinters and heat across already broken skin.
For a second, it felt like it might give, but it didn’t.
The tension shifted instead, tightening somewhere deeper in the knot, stealing back what little space she’d earned.
Next to her, Lisa shifted, a weak sound slipping from her throat. Elena glanced sideways, just enough to see her—eyes half-open, unfocused, skin flushed and slick with sweat, her breathing too fast, too shallow. The heat coming off her was visible even from here, her body trembling under something Elena couldn’t fight for her. Elena swallowed hard and forced her attention back to the knot at her wrists, pulling again, slower this time, feeling for any give.
I don’t know how much more she can take or what the side effects may be… She worried.
"This isn't just about your acquisitions," Presley said. The polite butler was gone. This voice was stripped, ancestral. "This is also about my blood debt. We have a deal. He needs to watch her die. He needs to hold her while it happens."
"Sentimental," Stern scoffed. "And wasteful. The Rossi girl is a key. She’s the crack in his armor. You kill her, you just make him angry. You use her… You make him weak and suffer."
Elena’s wrist shifted. She pulled slowly, feeling the knot tighten elsewhere before it slackened lightly from her wrists, giving the smallest fraction of additional space. Her heartbeat rang in her ears, louder than their arguing. She kept her breathing even. In. Out. Just like preparing for a business meeting.
For a brief moment, Elena thought she saw something shift in the darkness beyond Stern. A deeper shadow detached from a stack of cargo containers. Elena’s breath caught. She froze, her hand halfway free. The light was too bright, creating a wall of blindness. She couldn’t make out a shape—just the feeling of something where nothing had been a second ago. Too still to be wind. Too deliberate to be chance.
Her breath caught. Is it him? Then it was gone—perfectly still again.
Then she saw it, a shape broke from the darkness—slow and controlled. Liam stepped into the edge of the pier’s light, the glow catching just enough of him to make his presence undeniable. He didn’t advance, didn’t reach for a weapon. The distance between them—maybe forty feet.
Stern’s eyes widened for a moment, caught between surprise and cautious satisfaction. “Thorn,” he said, voice sharp but tinged with amusement. “I didn’t think you’d actually make it here… yet here you are. How the hell did you find us?”
Thorn’s gaze didn’t waver. “I have my resources as well,” he replied evenly, calm and controlled.
Stern let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if genuinely impressed. “Well, I suppose we should be grateful. We were going to bring you into this eventually anyway. Saves us the trouble. Now things can finally begin.” His gaze flicked toward Elena and Lisa before returning to Thorn, the anticipation in his expression sharpening. “You showing up just made this a lot more interesting.”
Presley didn’t share the amusement. His shoulders were tight, his stance rigid with barely contained aggression. “Don’t get comfortable,” he snapped. “Just because he’s here doesn’t mean we’ve won anything.” His eyes cut toward Thorn, then back to Stern. “You’re treating this like a game.”
Stern’s grin widened. “It is a game. You just don’t appreciate the rules.” He tilted his head slightly, studying Thorn. “And he’s the only one here worth playing against.”
Presley’s jaw flexed. “You’re going to get us killed if you keep underestimating him.”
“And you’re going to ruin the moment if you don’t relax,” Stern shot back lightly. “We have leverage. He knows it. That’s why he’s standing right there instead of doing something reckless.” He gestured faintly toward Elena with one hand. “Isn’t that right, Thorn?”
Thorn didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed, steady and unyielding, as if Stern was the only thing in the world worth his attention.
Elena felt it more than she saw it—a shift in the air, a tightening of something unseen. Thorn wasn’t just standing there. He was waiting. Calculating. Her pulse quickened as she twisted her wrists again, the rope grinding against raw skin. It had loosened, just barely. Not enough. Not yet.
Stern’s smirk faltered, just slightly. His eyes flicked past Thorn, into the darkness beyond him, then back again. “Still,” he murmured, almost to himself, “something about this feels…” He didn’t finish the thought, but the amusement in his expression thinned.
Presley didn’t hesitate. He raised the gun, arm extending toward Elena, the barrel hovering just inches from her head. “Stay where you are,” he said, voice low and sharp. “One step, one twitch, and she’s dead.”
The dock seemed to tighten around them, the air pulled thin. Elena forced her breathing to stay even, focusing on the rope, on the small amount of slack she had created. Thorn’s presence pressed against her awareness like a silent promise, but he wasn’t moving. He couldn’t. Not now.
They were waiting.
That was their mistake.
Elena’s jaw clenched as she twisted her wrist again, harder this time. The rope bit deep, tearing at already broken skin. It didn’t give. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but she pushed past it, shifting her angle, forcing her hand inward the wrong way.
Everything in her body screamed against it.
She pulled, and still nothing.
A strangled breath caught in her throat as her vision blurred. For a split second, doubt flickered—then vanished.
No more waiting!
She yanked again, harder, using the rope as leverage, forcing her wrist through at an angle it was never meant to bend.
There was a sickening pop.
Pain detonated up her arm, blinding and absolute, stealing the air from her lungs. A broken sound tore free from her throat before she could stop it, her body lurching forward with the force of it. But her hand slipped free.
At the same instant, Thorn moved. It was subtle—just a shift forward—but this time it wasn’t a feint.
Presley reacted instantly. Jerking his head down to look at her. “Don’t—”
A sharp crack split the air. A sound didn’t come from Thorn firing, but from somewhere in the darkness.
Presley flinched, his aim snapping away from Elena just enough as he twisted toward the sound. “Victor!!”
The shot should have taken him clean.
Instead, the round sparked off the rusted chain hanging beside him, the impact snapping it taut with a violent metallic clang. The deflection tore the bullet wide, whining off into the black water beyond the dock.
Another shot followed, fast and controlled, the sound cutting through the dock like a blade. Stern ducked back instinctively, his composure cracking just enough to reveal the calculation underneath. “You didn’t come alone—”
Elena barely heard him. The pain in her arm was overwhelming, but it no longer mattered. Her free hand dropped forward, catching her balance as chaos erupted around her.
Elena’s free hand shot up, a blur of raw instinct and pain. Her fingers clamped around Presley’s wrist just as his finger tightened on the trigger. The gun jerked, the barrel flashing beside her ear. The shot was deafening, a concussive blast of heat and noise that left a ringing vacuum in her skull.
Presley snarled, trying to wrench his arm free. Elena held on, her grip fueled by adrenaline and the blinding fire in her other wrist. For a second, they were locked—her wild eyes meeting his cold, vengeful ones.
It was the opening Liam needed.
His own shot was a clean, economical crack. It struck Presley straight in the head, square in the forehead. Presley’s body jolted. The hatred in his eyes didn’t fade—it was locked in place, as if even death refused to take it from him. He crumpled backward, falling into the water behind him, his gun clattering onto the dock, just hanging off the edge, almost dropping into the water.
The moment the first shot went out, Stern was moving. He didn’t pull up to aim for Thorn, but to go for his own weapon. He lunged for Elena, his hand closing in her hair, yanking her head back. The other pressed the cold ring of a pistol barrel hard against her temple. She gasped, the pain in her scalp screamed as his grip tightened, forcing her head back at an angle that made the world tilt sideways.
Her control—gone in an instant.
“Enough!” Stern’s voice was a whip, all playful pretense gone. He dragged her back, using her body as a shield. “Drop them. Now.” Elena struggled to keep herself up with bound ankles.
Liam’s gaze tracked them, his expression granite. He didn’t lower his gun.
“I will paint this dock with her brains, Thorn. It’s not a bluff.” Stern’s breath was hot against her ear. “Drop it. You too, Victor. I know you’re out there. Show yourself and drop it, or I redecorate.”
From the shadows near a stack of crates, Victor emerged. He held a compact semi-automatic. His eyes met Liam’s. A silent communication passed. Liam gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
Victor bent, placing his weapon on the dock. Liam followed, lowering his hand to the splintered wood.
“Good boys,” Stern purred. “Now step away. Towards the girl.”
Liam moved, his steps deliberate, toward where Lisa lay trembling and feverish. He crouched, his movements efficient, and gathered her into his arms. She whimpered, her head lolling against his shoulder. He carried her to Victor, transferring her weight. Victor took her, cradling her against his uninjured side.
“Happy?” Stern asked, already backing up, pulling Elena with him. “You got the hacker. I get the prize. We’ll call it a draw.”
He began to move sideways, toward the gap between two warehouses that led away from the pier and into the deeper industrial maze. The gun never wavered from Elena’s head. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s your lifeline. You go limp on me as you did before, and I pull this trigger. Your choice. Walk or spray.”
“I’m trying. My ankles…” Elena let out with pain searing through her scalp as he pulled.
Stern hesitated a fraction—then crouched just enough, keeping the gun pressed tight to her head as his other hand tore at the knots.
“Now move bitch!” He demanded as he pulls her back to her feet.
The fear shot through Elena as she walked. Her bare feet scraped over rough, cold wood. Each step sent a jolt of agony up her arm. Stern’s grip in her hair was merciless, forcing her head at an angle that made her neck ache. She could see Liam and Victor receding, standing over Presley’s body, Lisa a limp bundle between them. Liam’s eyes were locked on her. Fury shown in his stone gaze.
Stern navigated them past the first warehouse wall, the light from the pier fading. The world narrowed to the pressure of the gun, the smell of his cologne and sweat, the ragged sound of her own breathing. Her mind, blank with terror for a moment, suddenly clicked.
The pocket of her jeans. The hard, cylindrical shape she’d forgotten.
The last little item in her pocket.
She let her free hand, the one not hanging uselessly and throbbing, drift slowly down her thigh. Stern was focused on the path ahead, glancing back to ensure they weren’t followed. Her fingers dipped into the pocket. Closed around the plastic device.
“You’re being very sensible,” Stern murmured, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Thorn broke you in well. Maybe I’ll keep you awhile. Have fun with you as I see what else he taught you to do.”
Elena didn’t answer. She pulled the device out, her thumb finding the prominent button. She brought her hand up, not to fight, but to cover her own ear, pressing the device close to the side of her head. Stern’s face was behind.
She slammed the button.
The sound wasn’t a noise—it was an invading force. A shrieking, brain-splitting wall of pressure that punched through air and bone alike, rattling teeth and flooding the skull with white-hot pain. Even with her ear covered, it drove needles straight through her head.
Everything became muffled, distorted, like the world had been pushed underwater, voices reduced to distant, broken fragments beneath the constant ringing. Shapes moved around her—figures, motion, fragments of bodies through the distortion—but none of it came through clearly. The gun rose again in Stern’s hand, and Elena tried to shout, but her own voice sounded wrong to her—distant, thin, barely real.
Stern’s grip broke. She felt it more than heard it—the gun lifting away, his body recoiling—and that was enough. Elena threw herself forward, hitting the asphalt hard and rolling through the impact as her broken wrist screamed when she tried to catch herself. She forced herself up into a stagger, vision spinning, balance barely holding—but now her legs responded, pushing her forward instead of tangling beneath her.
Elena didn’t hesitate. She threw herself forward, hitting the asphalt in a rough, unbalanced roll. Grit tore into her skin, her injured wrist screaming as she tried to catch herself, but she forced through it, scrambling up into a stagger as the world tilted around her. The alarm still shrieked behind her, carving through everything.
For a split second, everything fractured—Stern reeling, Elena scrambling away, and she turned and saw Victor move.
Not rushed. Not reckless. Decisive.
She watched him ease Lisa down against the side of a crate, controlling her descent as her weight sagged into him. Her body wasn’t responding right—too loose in some places, too tense in others. Her skin looked like it burned under his hand, her breathing shallow and uneven, like she couldn’t quite pull in enough air to matter. His eyes flicked once toward the dock’s edge, catching sight of a weathered bucket tied off with fraying rope, its rim knocking softly against the wood with the motion of the water below.
He reached it in two strides, seized the rope, and hauled. Water sloshed over the rim as the bucket came up heavy in his grip, and he didn’t hesitate. The first surge of freezing seawater crashed over her face.
Lisa convulsed. A strangled gasp tore from her throat as her body jolted violently, shock ripping through her system. Her back arched, fingers spasming weakly into his shirt as the cold hit—sharp, invasive, undeniable. Her eyes snapped open, wide and unfocused, but open.
Elena could hear Victor yelling at Lisa through the ringing in her ears, “Hey—stay with me.” He was holding her firm, keeping her upright as she tried to fold in on herself. Her head lolled, the drug dragging at her again, but the cold clung to her skin, biting deep, anchoring her in the moment. Her breath hitched, then came again—sharper this time.
Victor dipped the bucket again, faster now, hauled, and poured. The second wave drenched her completely, splashing across her hair and skin, running down her neck and back, forcing another violent gasp from her lungs. “Focus on it,” he said close to her ear. “The cold. Don’t fight it—hold onto it.”
Elena continued to try and brace herself, almost blacking out from the pain of her wrist, the soreness on her scalp,p and ringing in her ears. She looked and saw Lisa shuddering, her body tensing instead of collapsing this time. “C-Cold…” she managed, the word thin, trembling—but real.
“Good. Stay there.”
Her fingers tightened against him—barely, but enough to matter. Her breathing deepened, uneven but stronger now, each inhale pulling her a little further back. Not clear, not steady, but present.
Victor’s eyes flicked away from her—and landed on the gun near the edge of the dock. Close enough.
He made a decision.
Gently, he eased Lisa back against the crate, making sure she wouldn’t slump. “Stay here,” he murmured, already moving. One step, then another—measured, quiet, controlled—as he angled toward the weapon.
Behind him, the alarm still screamed, but it was fading now, no longer enough to drown everything else out. Stern’s breathing cut through it—ragged, wet, furious. His hand dropped from his ear, trembling as his vision swam and then sharpened. Through the blur, he saw movement. Victor. Moving away from the girl. Toward the gun.
Rage snapped everything into focus.
Stern straightened with a violent jerk, teeth bared, forcing his arm back into line despite the tremor still running through it. His grip tightened as he raised the pistol, sighting through the haze. “No!”
Lisa’s head snapped toward the sound. For a fraction of a second, everything slowed. She saw Stern, arm extended. Saw Victor, just out of reach of the gun. And understood.
“Victor—!” Lisa moved.
It wasn’t clean or fast. Her body fought her every inch of the way, limbs heavy, balance failing, but she forced herself forward anyway, pushing off the crate and throwing herself into motion.
Into the line of fire.
The impact hit a heartbeat later. A sharp, brutal force slammed into her abdomen, stealing the air from her lungs in an instant. Her body jerked, momentum breaking as the world collapsed inward around the point of impact. No scream—just a strangled breath as she folded.
For a heartbeat, there was silence, broken only by the fading echo of the alarm and Elena’s ragged sobs.
Victor’s hand closed around the gun at the same instant Lisa hit him. The force of her collision drove into his side, knocking him off balance as he turned instinctively, catching her before she could hit the ground. Pulling his other arm up, he aimed and took the shot.
The shot flew clean, his focus directing it straight at Stern. The bullet hit him in the throat, causing blood to start to spray.
“Lisa—!” Victor’s voice yelled through the hazed ringing in Elena’s ears. Turning to Lisa without another look at Stern.
He pressed his hands over the wound on her stomach, and blood was already spreading beneath his hands.
Stern staggered again—but this time, the damage had been done, and he collapsed to the ground.
Within moments, Liam was there, kneeling by Lisa, already on his phone, barking coordinates, demanding a medical team. Victor’s hands were on Lisa’s side, applying pressure. Blood welled up instantly, dark and relentless, soaking through his now torn shirt and his fingers.
Elena crawled toward them. The world had narrowed to the pool of light from a distant security lamp, to the crimson spreading across the asphalt. “Lisa.” Her voice was a broken thing.
Lisa’s eyes were open, staring at the night sky. They blinked slowly. She turned her head, just an inch, and found Elena. A faint, confused smile touched her lips. “El…?” she breathed, the word a bubble of blood.
“I’m here. Just hold on.” Elena reached for her with her good hand, her fingers brushing Lisa’s cold ones.
Victor didn’t look up from his work. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms slick with her blood. “Liam. ETA.”
“Three minutes.”
“She’s losing too much blood.” Victor’s voice was flat, factual. The pressure he was applying was fierce, unyielding, but the blood kept coming. It pulsed with a terrible rhythm.
Elena watched it. She watched the life slowly seeping out of her oldest friend, onto the cold ground, because of her. Because she hadn’t told her the truth. Because she’d gotten involved with Liam Thorn. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing her lungs as she struggled forward in pain.
Lisa’s fingers twitched in hers. Her eyes, losing focus, stayed on Elena’s face. “Sorry… about… lying,” she whispered. Then her body went lax, the faint tension draining away. Her eyes stayed open, but the awareness behind them guttered out.
“Lisa? Lisa!” Elena shook her hand. Nothing. “No, no, no, look at me. Look at me!”
Victor’s hands kept working, but his jaw was a tight line. He knew. Liam, from where he stood watch, moved over and grabbed onto Elena, holding her tightly and keeping her back.
The distant wail of sirens cut through the harbor night, growing closer. The red and blue lights painted the warehouse walls in frantic streaks.
Elena didn’t hear them. She knelt in her friend’s blood, holding her hand, the pain in her wrist a distant throb compared to the howling void opening up inside her chest. She looked up, across Lisa’s body, and her eyes met Liam’s.
There was no stone face there. Just shared grief. He saw her broken. He saw her empty. He saw the last thing tying her to the person she was before him, cut and bleeding on the ground.
The sirens arrived. Doors slammed. Shouted orders filled the air.
As the team arrived, Victor finally sat back on his heels, his bloodied hands resting on his knees. He looked from Lisa’s still form to Elena’s shattered face.
“I did all I could,” he said, his words quiet, and she could see the tears dripping from his face.