Page 103 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

“But first, we have to get Matt back. And then maybe have a long talk about the proper way to handle business meetings that don’t involve getting kidnapped by obsessed executives.”

The private elevator couldn’t come fast enough. James paced the foyer like a caged predator while Eddie coordinated with security teams through his earpiece. Tory’s men moved with silent efficiency, their dark suits making them look like particularly lethal shadows.

“I called ahead to the garage,” Xavier announced, his fingers dancing across his tablet. “My car’s waiting. Ryan?—”

“Shotgun,” Ryan called automatically, then flushed when everyone looked at him. “What? If we’re doing a rescue mission, I’m at least riding in the cool car.”

“It’s an Aston Martin Valkyrie,” Xavier said, his usual smooth confidence softening into something almost shy. “Custom-made.”

“Of course it is,” Ryan muttered. “Because a regular multimillion-dollar car would be too pedestrian.”

The elevator arrived with a soft chime that seemed absurdly delicate given the circumstances.

We piled in—me, James, William, Ryan, Xavier, and Tory, while their various security teams took other elevators.

The tension was thick enough to cut with one of the many concealed knives I was sure everyone but Ryan and I were carrying.

“So,” Ryan broke the silence, fidgeting with his still inside-out shirt. “Do we have a cool mission name? Operation Save Matt’s Ass? Project Rescue Rich?”

“How about Operation Stop Talking?” William suggested dryly, but his lips twitched.

“Operation Inside-Out seems appropriate,” Xavier murmured, eyeing Ryan’s shirt with fond amusement.

“Hey, this is a choice,” Ryan defended. “I’m bringing casual chaos to this whole secret agent vibe you’ve all got going.”

James checked his phone, his jaw tight. “Eddie’s teams are in position. Tory?”

“My men have the perimeter,” Tory confirmed. “No one leaves that warehouse without us knowing.”

The elevator opened directly into the private garage, a cathedral of concrete and chrome housing millions of dollars worth of automotive art.

Xavier’s Aston Martin gleamed like a predator ready to pounce, all sleek lines and barely contained power.

Next to it, James’ armored Escalade looked like a tank in evening wear.

“Andy, you’re with us.” James nodded toward the Escalade. “William?”

“I’ll take point.” William was already moving toward the SUV.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Ryan headed for Xavier’s car, then paused. “Hey, Andy?”

“Yeah?”

“When this is over, we’re having a serious talk about your taste in billionaires and their tendency to attract trouble.”

“Says the guy who’s practically drooling over a car that probably costs more than some countries,” I shot back, managing a smile.

“Hey, I’m just appreciating fine engineering.” Ryan grinned, then yelped as Xavier smoothly opened the car door for him. “Oh my God, it has butterfly doors. This is so cool. I mean, totally inappropriate for the situation, but cool.”

Tory barked orders in Japanese to his men, who were filing into a fleet of black SUVs that screamed ‘yakuza’ in the most elegant way possible.

“Ready?” James asked me quietly as we got into the Escalade.

I looked at the arsenal of tactical gear in the back seat, at William checking his weapons with lethal grace, at the convoy of vehicles housing some of the most powerful men in Vegas, all here because of Matt. Because of me.

“Ready,” I said and meant it. “Let’s go get him back.”

The garage erupted with the sound of high-performance engines. Xavier’s Aston Martin led the way, Ryan’s golden hair visible through the tinted windows. We followed in the Escalade, with Tory’s convoy bringing up the rear like a very expensive, very deadly parade.

Somewhere in an abandoned warehouse, Matt was waiting. Probably making Porter regret every life choice that led to this moment.

Time to add our own regrets to Porter’s list.

James’ armored Escalade ate up the miles, its engine a low growl beneath us.

I sat in the back, sandwiched between William and enough tactical gear to start a small war.

James drove with the kind of focused intensity that made other cars scatter from our path like pigeons fleeing a particularly well-dressed hawk.

“Ten minutes out,” James announced, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Eddie’s team is in position. Xavier’s men report—” He cut off as his phone lit up. “Go.”

“Sir, you need to see this.” Eddie’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Sending live feed now.”

The screen built into the dashboard flickered to life, showing security footage. My heart stopped.

The warehouse was in chaos. Two men flew backward through a door, landing in broken heaps.

Matt stalked through the splintered doorway, his white shirt stained red, his movements pure predator.

Even through the poor quality video, I could see the cold fury in his expression as he systematically took apart Porter’s security.

“Status?” James barked into the phone.

“Porter’s losing control,” Eddie reported. “Boss is making his way to the main floor. We count fifteen hostiles down, maybe ten still standing. But sir—” A crash from the feed. “Porter’s unstable. He’s got a gun, and he’s ranting about ‘if I can’t have him, no one will.’”

My blood turned to ice. “James?—”

“Already on it.” The Escalade surged forward, engine roaring. Xavier’s Aston Martin matched our pace, both vehicles now pushing speeds that would give highway patrol collective heart failure.

The warehouse appeared ahead, a sprawling concrete complex bathed in morning light. Smoke rose from one section—probably Matt’s handiwork. As we watched, another explosion rocked the building, glass raining down like deadly diamonds.

James hadn’t fully stopped before I was moving. William cursed, reaching for me, but I was already out of the car. The sound of squealing brakes and slamming doors filled the air as our entire convoy arrived.

Through the smoke and chaos, I saw him. Matt looked like something out of an action movie, all coiled power and lethal grace.

His shirt was more red than white now, his knuckles raw, but he moved like he was barely warmed up.

Two men rushed him; one went down clutching his throat, the other flew backward with definitely broken ribs.

“Magnificent bastard,” Ryan breathed from somewhere behind me.

Then I saw Porter. He stood in the warehouse doorway, face twisted into something between worship and madness, a gun in his hand.

“Andy, wait!” Multiple voices shouted as I started running.

Porter’s head snapped toward the sound. His eyes found me, and his face contorted into pure hatred. The gun swung in my direction?—

A single shot cracked through the air.

Porter screamed, the gun spinning away from his suddenly bloody hand. Xavier stood by his car, his own weapon still raised, looking more dangerous than I’d ever seen him.

“Damn,” Ryan whispered. “That’s… that’s kind of hot.”

Matt spun at the sound of gunfire, his eyes finding me through the chaos. Relief and fury warred on his face, making him look like an avenging angel. “Andy?—”

Porter lunged for the fallen gun with his good hand.

Matt moved like lightning. His fist connected with Porter’s jaw with a crack that echoed off the warehouse walls. Porter went down hard, and this time he stayed down.

Then Matt was running toward me, or I was running toward him, or maybe we were both running. We collided somewhere in the middle, his arms crushing me against his chest hard enough to hurt.

“You stupid, reckless—” He buried his face in my hair, his heart thundering against my cheek.

“Says the guy who got himself kidnapped,” I managed, clinging to him just as tightly. “Your shirt’s ruined, by the way.”

He laughed, the sound slightly ragged. “I’ll buy another one.”

“You’re bleeding.” I pulled back enough to see his face, cataloging the damage. A cut above his eye, bruised jaw, split lip that somehow made him look even more unfairly attractive. “And you look terrible.”

“You should see the other guys.” His eyes swept over me, checking for injuries. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” I touched his face, needing to make sure he was real. “Though maybe we need to review your meeting security protocols.”

Around us, the situation was being efficiently contained.

James’ men secured Porter and his surviving thugs.

Tory’s team swept the warehouse while William coordinated with local law enforcement.

Xavier was on his phone, probably calling in favors or buying the warehouse complex or whatever billionaires did after shootouts.

“So…” Ryan approached cautiously. “Group lunch is canceled, I’m guessing?”

Matt’s arms tightened around me. “Rain check. Though you might want to change your shirt first. It’s inside out.”

“It’s a fashion statement,” Ryan defended, then turned to Xavier. “That was one hell of a shot.”

Xavier’s smile was warm in a way I hadn’t seen before. “I have many talents.”

“I bet,” Ryan muttered, flushing slightly.

“If you’re done flirting,” James cut in, “we should move. Police are three minutes out, and I’d rather not explain why half of Vegas’ billionaires are having a shootout in the middle of nowhere.”

Matt nodded but didn’t let go of me. “The penthouse. We need to talk about Porter. And security upgrades. And why my boyfriend thought running toward gunfire was a good idea.”

“Pot, kettle,” I reminded him, letting him guide me toward the cars. “Also, you’re not allowed to lecture me about safety while actively bleeding.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest. “We’ll discuss it.”

“After medical attention,” James ordered.

“And food,” Ryan added. “Near-death experiences make me hungry.”

As we drove away, leaving the chaos for others to clean up, I watched Matt—battered but unbroken, still somehow elegant despite the blood and torn clothes. Still mine.

“Stop staring,” he murmured, pulling me closer.

“Make me.”

His kiss tasted like blood and promise, fierce enough to make James clear his throat pointedly from the driver’s seat.