Page 45 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

KNOX

T he van creeps forward in the darkness, headlights off as we approach the outskirts of the Ivanov estate. My knuckles turn white around the handle of my combat knife. Next to me, Vane checks his weapon for the third time.

I nod, my mind filling with images of Bianca—her body wrapped in blue silk ribbons, waiting for me on our bed. The way her skin glows in the morning light. I recall the sound of her laughter echoing through my penthouse.

Now she’s in that fucking monster’s house.

“Knox.” Xavier’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Stay focused. Channel it.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Landon’s route takes us through the servant’s entrance,” Vane reminds us, tapping the blueprint. “Two minutes of camera blindness while the system recycles.”

My mind splits—half calculating entry points and timing, half filled with flashes of Bianca. Her head thrown back in ecstasy. The way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating on a painting. The softness of her sleeping form curled against me.

The contrast between those memories and what she might be enduring right now sharpens everything inside me to a lethal point.

“If Orlov touched her—” I start.

“We’ll kill them all regardless,” Xavier interrupts. “But not in a blind rage.”

I nod, cold purpose replacing the churning heat of my anger. The van stops.

“Comms check,” Landon says, handing out earpieces.

We each confirm our connection. I chamber a round in my pistol, the sound oddly comforting in its finality.

“Remember,” Xavier says, “we move as ghosts until we find her. Then?—”

“Then all hell breaks loose,” I finish, sliding my mask over the lower half of my face.

The side door opens. Night air rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and distant water. We move in formation toward the shadows of the estate, vengeance made flesh.

I’m coming for you, beautiful. And then I’m coming for him.

The wire fence slices open with a muffled snip as Vane works the cutters. We slip through the gap one by one, our dark clothing melting into the night. I adjust my blue mask over the lower half of my face, inhaling the familiar scent of leather mixed with my own breath.

“Movement patterns holding steady,” Landon whispers through our comms, his white mask ghostly in the darkness. “West wing guards are on schedule, distraction team in position.”

Xavier nods, the red details on his mask catching a sliver of moonlight. We move in perfect sync, our footsteps whisper against the manicured lawn. My every nerve ending is focused on one thing: finding Bianca.

“Three minutes until we hit the service entrance,” Landon murmurs, checking his tablet. “Security cameras cycling to maintenance mode in five, four, three?—”

“Wait,” Vane hisses, his hand shooting up in warning.

We freeze, becoming statues in the darkness. There—a silhouette where none should be. A guard, walking a patrol pattern that wasn’t on Landon’s intel. Fuck.

The man turns, his flashlight beam sweeping toward us.

No time to think. I pull my pistol from its holster, calculate trajectory in a fraction of a second, and hurl it with savage precision.

The heavy weapon strikes his throat with a sickening crunch, cutting off his startled cry before it can form.

He drops his flashlight, hands clawing at his crushed windpipe. In two swift strides, Landon is on him. His arm snakes around the guard’s neck in a choke hold, muscles flexing beneath his black tactical gear. The guard’s legs kick uselessly against the grass as Landon applies pressure.

I retrieve my pistol as the guard’s struggles weaken, then cease altogether. Landon eases the guard to the ground, checking for a pulse.

“Clear,” he confirms.

Xavier motions us forward. “Adjust timing. We’ve lost forty seconds.”

I nod, following his lead, the momentary detour only intensifying my focus. Every step brings me closer to Bianca. Closer to making Orlov pay.

The service entrance door looms before us—metal, reinforced, with an electronic keypad and a traditional deadbolt. Landon kneels, pulling out his specialized tools. I scan our surroundings, pistol ready, every muscle coiled with tension.

“Two minutes until the next patrol,” Xavier whispers.

Landon works to crack the lock, but his usual calm seems fractured. His fingers slip once, twice. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“Problem?” I hiss.

“Custom lock. Orlov upgraded.” He adjusts his approach, inserts a different tool. “Need another minute.”

“We don’t have another minute,” Vane growls, checking his watch.

I feel exposed, standing in the half-shadow. Each second stretches impossibly long. My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if the guards can hear it. I picture Bianca in that monster’s hands and nearly crush the grip of my pistol.

“Got it,” Landon finally whispers. The deadbolt slides back with a barely audible click.

I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. Landon moves to the keypad, connecting a small device that runs algorithms against the worn buttons.

“Footsteps,” Xavier warns, tilting his head. “Coming this way.”

Landon’s device flashes green. He punches in the code. The door’s magnetic lock disengages with a soft thunk.

We slip inside just as a flashlight beam sweeps around the corner. I pull the door closed silently behind us, darkness enveloping us like a shroud.

We stand perfectly still, letting our eyes adjust. The narrow service corridor stretches ahead, dimly lit by emergency lights. Somewhere in the building, Bianca waits.

“Comms check,” Xavier breathes. We each confirm with the slightest nod.

“Landon, what’s our path?” I whisper.

He hesitates. “Blueprints show the main layout, but interior security isn’t mapped. We’re effectively blind from here.”

“How many guards?” Vane asks.

“Unknown. Could be ten, could be thirty.”

I check my watch. The planned diversion starts in four minutes—not enough time to scout properly. We need to move, but one wrong step could alert the entire compound.

“We stick to shadows,” I decide, the blue mask suddenly feeling too tight against my face. “Single file. Slow and silent.”

We creep through the service corridor, my every sense heightened. The familiar weight of my knife feels like an extension of my arm as we approach a junction.

A guard appears without warning, scrolling through his phone.

I react without thought, lunging forward in a blur of movement.

My hand clamps over his mouth while I drive my knife up under his ribcage, angling toward the heart.

He stiffens, eyes wide with shock as I twist the blade.

Blood coats my hand, warm and slick, but I feel nothing except cold purpose.

I lower the guard silently, wiping my blade on his uniform. Landon nods approvingly, but I’m already moving forward. Every second counts. Every breath Bianca takes in this house is one too many.

We reach the main staircase, an ornate and winding one that leads to the upper floors. Xavier motions to the base, pointing to himself and Vane.

“We’ll hold position here,” he whispers. “Clear the upstairs. Find her.”

Vane’s green mask tilts in agreement. “Five minutes before we start the diversion. Make it count.”

I lock eyes with Xavier, a silent exchange passing between us. For all our differences, in this moment, we’re perfectly aligned. His slight nod conveys everything: Find her. Protect her. Make them pay.

“Landon, with me,” I murmur, already taking the stairs two at a time, staying close to the wall where the wood is less likely to creak.

Landon follows, his movements fluid and silent. At the top landing, he checks his tablet one last time.

“Six rooms,” he breathes. “I’ll cover your back.”

I nod, raising my pistol. The corridor stretches before us, doors lining both sides. Somewhere behind one of them is Bianca—my Bianca. The thought sends fresh rage coursing through my veins, but I channel it, turning it into laser focus rather than chaos.

I approach the first door, Landon at my six, his weapon trained on the hallway behind us. Nothing will stop me from finding her. Nothing.

The second room is empty, just like the first. I move cautiously down the hallway when I hear movement behind the third door. My heart rate kicks up as I test the handle—locked. I signal to Landon, who nods and positions himself.

One silent count. Two. Three.

I drive my boot into the door beside the lock, splintering the wood. As it crashes open, I sweep into the room, weapon raised.

And there she is.

Bianca stands in the center of the room, wild-eyed and determined, clutching what looks like a metal pen, her grip tight between her white knuckles. Her hair is disheveled, her cheek marked with a smudge of dirt, but she’s alive and seemingly unharmed.

She barrels toward me with surprising speed, makeshift weapon aimed at my throat, before her eyes register who I am and she notices my mask. She freezes mid-stride, the improvised weapon extended.

“Knox?” she whispers.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I lower my gun and raise an eyebrow at her. “Were you planning to take down the Russian mob with a pen, princess?”

She drops her arm, breathing hard. “I wasn’t going to wait around to be rescued. I had a plan.”

“I can see that,” I say, tucking my pistol away. “Very impressive. But why would you think you need to fight your way out when I’ll always come for you?”

My tone breaks through her adrenaline-fueled bravado. Her face crumples, and she lets out a choked sob. The pen clatters to the floor as she rushes forward, practically throwing herself into my arms.

I catch her, wrapping her tightly against my chest, burying my face in her hair, and breathing in her scent. My arms tighten around her, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispers against my neck, her tears warm against my skin. “But I was so scared.”

I pull back enough to look at her, my hands searching urgently. “Did they hurt you? Where?” My fingers trace her arms, shoulders, scanning for injuries, my eyes following the path of my hands.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, but I need to see for myself.

I run my palms down her sides, feeling for broken ribs or hidden injuries. My touch starts clinical, but it soon shifts as I feel her warm. My breathing changes.

“Knox, I’m fine,” she insists, but her voice catches when my hands slide lower, cupping her hips.

“You’re mine,” I growl, my fingers digging slightly into her flesh. The relief of finding her unharmed collides with the possessive hunger that’s never far below the surface. “I need to make sure every part of you is perfect.”

My hand slides up to her face, thumb tracing her lower lip. She trembles, pupils dilating as her breath comes faster. The adrenaline of the rescue, the proximity of danger just beyond these walls—it all amplifies what’s always between us.

“I thought I might lose you,” I admit, pressing my forehead against hers. One hand slides beneath her hair, gripping the nape of her neck. “I can’t?—”

She cuts me off with a desperate kiss. I respond instantly, backing her against the wall, pinning her with my hips. My hand finds her thigh, hiking it up against my side as a growl builds in my chest.

“For fuck’s sake,” Landon’s exasperated voice breaks through. “While this reunion is touching, we have approximately three minutes before the entire security team realizes we’re here.”

I pull back just enough to look at Bianca’s flushed face, her swollen lips.

“To be continued,” I promise, my voice rough.

She’s still in those silk ribbons; fucker didn’t even give her clothes.

I yank my hoodie over my head, “Arms up. You’re not leaving this room without wearing some kind of clothing.

I swear I’m going to skin this asshole alive.

” She does as she’s told, and although it swallows her whole, her entire body is now covered, all the way to her knees.

Landon clears his throat. “If you two are quite finished, I’d prefer not to die in a Russian mansion tonight.”

“At least I’d die happy with my woman in my arms,” I fire back at Landon, keeping Bianca pressed against my side. “Which is more than I can say for you, Brother.”

Landon rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of his head. “Your romantic death wish can wait. We have an extraction plan that preferably doesn’t involve any of us dying.”

I grab Bianca’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as we move toward the door. “Stay close,” I whisper, my voice taking on a serious edge. “Do exactly as I say, when I say it.”

She nods, a determined gleam replacing the fear in her eyes. That’s my girl—scared but doing it anyway.

Landon takes point, checking the hallway before motioning us forward. I keep Bianca between us, every muscle coiled and ready to shield her from any threat. We move swiftly down the corridor, every sense heightened.

“Two minutes,” Landon whispers, checking his watch.

My free hand hovers near my weapon, but having Bianca’s fingers intertwined with mine grounds me in a way I’ve never experienced before. The fear that had been consuming me since I found my apartment empty has transformed into a fierce, protective focus.

Through the comms, I hear Xavier’s voice: “Diversion starts in sixty seconds. Status?”

“Bianca secured,” I respond quietly. “Moving to the extraction point.”

“Copy that,” Xavier confirms.

As we descend the stairs, I catch glimpses of Bianca’s profile in the dim light. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine. The reality of it washes over me in waves, each one stronger than the last.

I’ve killed men without hesitation. I’ve orchestrated deals worth millions without breaking a sweat. But nothing—absolutely nothing—compares to the overwhelming relief coursing through me right now.

This woman has changed a fundamental part of me. The emptiness in my chest when I thought I might lose her was unbearable. Now, with her hand in mine, I feel invincible again.

I’ve never needed anyone. But I need her. I need her safe. I need her to be happy. I need her to be mine.