Elena sat at the end of the wooden dock, the rough planks digging into her thighs through her jeans. Her head was bowed, long brown hair curtaining her face, a posture of defeat that let her work her wrists unseen. The dizziness from being carried and dropped here was a sick swirl behind her eyes. She focused on the burn in her shoulders, the coarse bite of the rope around her wrists.
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 fibers. The pain was a bright sting that helped keep her focused.
Next to her, Lisa squirmed. A low, aching sound came from her throat. Elena glanced sideways. Lisa’s eyes were half-open, glassy and unseeing. Her skin shone with sweat, flushed a deep, feverish pink. Her torn shirt gaped, showing the rise and fall of her chest, too fast. Eros was acting like a furnace inside her.
I dont 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, only a sense of movement. A presence. Just something too large to be a stray cat or dog. As she tried to look more closely, she found no further movement.
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. “Don’t—”
A sharp crack split the air.
Not from Thorn.
From the darkness.
Presley flinched, his aim snapping away from Elena as he twisted toward the sound. “Victor!!”
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 high in the chest, just above the sternum. Presley’s body jolted. The hatred in his eyes didn’t fade—it crystallized, fixed forever, before the light behind it went out. He crumpled backward, his gun clattering onto the dock.
Before the body hit the wood, Stern was moving. He didn’t 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 sharp, her dislocated wrist screaming as she was hauled upright.
“Enough!” Stern’s voice was a whip, all playful pretense gone. He dragged her back, using her body as a shield. “Drop them. Now.”
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. His face was pale, bandages visible under his torn jacket where Presley’s earlier shot had grazed him. 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 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 like you did before, and I pull this trigger. Your choice. Walk or spray.”
Elena 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. Not pleading. Not angry. Recording.
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, rectangular shape she’d forgotten.
The personal alarm from Lisa’s bag.
She let her free hand, the one not hanging useless 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. See what else he taught you.”
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 a physical force. A shrieking, brain-shearing wall of pure decibel that vibrated in her teeth, in her bones. Even with her ear covered, it was agony, a white-hot spike driven into her skull.
Stern screamed. A raw, shocked sound swallowed by the alarm’s wail. The gun barrel jerked away from her temple. His grip on her hair loosened as he instinctively recoiled, his free hand flying up to his own ear.
Elena threw herself forward, diving into a clumsy roll across the gritty asphalt of the warehouse lane. Pain exploded in her shoulder, her wrist. She came up gasping, the world tilting, the alarm still screeching from where she’d dropped it.
Victor moved. He had Lisa propped against a crate and was already going for a backup pistol holstered at his ankle.
Stern, blinking tears of pain, his face contorted in rage, saw the movement. He swung his gun away from Elena, aiming at the greater threat. “No!”
He fired.
Lisa, slumped against the crate, her eyes glazed with drug and fever, saw it too. Maybe it was some latent instinct, some fragment of loyalty punching through the Eros. Her body pushed off from the crate, a stumbling, desperate lunge.
She placed herself between the barrel and Victor.
The shot hit her with a wet, thick sound. It took her in the side, just below the ribcage. The impact spun her, a graceful, terrible pirouette. She fell without a sound.
Victor’s shot rang out a half-second later. It caught Stern in the shoulder, spinning him around. Stern stumbled but didn’t go down, his snarl feral. He fired wildly back, the bullet pinging off metal, and then he was running, staggering, vanishing into the dark mouth of an alley between the warehouses.
For a heartbeat, there was silence, broken only by the fading echo of the alarm and Elena’s ragged sobs.
Then Liam was there, kneeling by Lisa. Victor was already on his phone, barking coordinates, demanding a medical team. Liam’s hands were on Lisa’s side, applying pressure. Blood welled up instantly, dark and relentless, soaking through her 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.
Liam didn’t look up from his work. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms slick with her blood. “Victor. ETA.”
“Three minutes.”
“It’s not enough.” Liam’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 seeping out of her oldest friend, onto the cold ground, because of her. Because she’d pressed a button. Because she’d gotten involved with Liam Thorn. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing her lungs.
Lisa’s fingers twitched in hers. Her eyes, losing focus, stayed on Elena’s face. “Sorry… about… the taxi,” 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!”
Liam’s hands kept working, but his jaw was a tight line. He knew. Victor, from where he stood watch, his own gun now drawn, glanced over and his shoulders slumped just a fraction.
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 lifeless hand, the pain in her wrist a distant throb compared to the absolute, howling void opening up inside her chest. She looked up, across Lisa’s body, and her eyes met Liam’s.
There was no comfort there. No shared grief. Just the same assessing, recording gaze. 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.
Liam 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.
“It’s done,” he said, the words quiet, final.
And Elena knew he didn’t mean the rescue. He meant her.