Page 61 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

The second man thinks he’s quiet. He isn’t.

The scrape of his boots against the concrete, the faint click of a safety being flicked off—it all reaches me before he’s fully clear of the shadows.

I twist, shifting my body at the last second.

The first man I’ve got pinned jerks forward just as the shot cracks.

The bullet tears through him instead, blood blooming across his chest.

His eyes go wide. Shock. Then fury. Then nothing.

I use his weight like a shield, dragging him into the line of fire as the second man unloads another burst. Concrete splinters at my side, dust filling the air.

I return fire, controlled and precise—two shots, both finding center mass.

The second man crumples against the wall, sliding down in a smear of red.

The first is still gasping, life leaking out between his teeth. I drop him, let him collapse at my boots, and crouch low beside him. His pulse flutters under my hand, weak, but enough.

“Vale’s not just watching her,” I growl, voice low enough he has to strain to hear it. “He’s building a cage around her. Tell me where he wants me to find him.”

Blood bubbles at his lips. His eyes roll, but there’s one last flicker of defiance in them. “You already know…he’ll…make you choose….”

“Choose what?” I demand, shaking him once, hard. “What does that mean?”

His throat works, but no words come out. Just blood. Then his head slumps sideways, lifeless.

The warehouse goes still. Just the echo of gunfire bleeding into silence.

I stand, wiping blood from my hand against my jacket, scanning the room. The Civic waits where it sat. The photos of Mara lie scattered across the floor. Evidence. Threat. Warning.

Vale wants me cornered. Wants me torn between two things I don’t compromise on: the mission and her.

A flicker of rage burns in my chest, sharp enough I have to move. I drag the bodies into the far shadows, out of sight. Let the rats find them later. Then I scoop up the envelope, shove the photos back inside. Every image is a blade pressed against me. Against her.

I return to the SUV, tossing the envelope onto the passenger seat. The leather creaks as I grip the wheel, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

Vale’s message is clear. He isn’t hiding anymore. He’s circling Mara, closer every day. He wants me rattled. Wants me paranoid. Wants me to look at the people beside me—Lydia, Kinley, even Jori—and see cracks where maybe there aren’t any.

And it’s working.

I start the engine and drive off. The warehouse shrinks in the rearview as I pull away, but the weight of those photos stays heavy beside me.

By the time I hit the main road, my phone vibrates. A message. Not from Lydia. Not from Kinley. Unmarked number.

The text is simple. Clean. Brutal.

She’s already mine.

My grip on the wheel tightens until the leather creaks.

The message burns on the screen. She’s already mine.

No signature. No timestamp lag. No traceable metadata. Just text, raw and taunting, as if whoever sent it knows exactly how deep it cuts.

My thumb hovers over the screen, itching to trace it, but I know better. Chasing shadows over a phone is a waste of time. Whoever sent it already erased their trail. What matters isn’t where it came from. It’s the message itself.

Vale knows.

Not just where she lives. Not just where she works. He knows her . He’s already inside the orbit I swore I’d control.

The SUV hums beneath me, speed climbing as my foot presses harder into the pedal. I should turn back. Go straight to the safehouse and make sure Mara’s still breathing, still untouched, still mine. The thought tears through me with brutal clarity.

But I don’t.

Because that’s exactly what Vale wants—me chasing home, rattled, reactive.

The text is a test. A leash. If I bite, he pulls tighter.

My knuckles whiten around the wheel. I take the opposite turn, cutting across lanes, heading deeper into the city’s underbelly. There’s one place I can strip this message down to its bones. One place I can force the trail to bleed.

Dom’s club.

I know what waits there. Not comfort. Not distraction. Leverage. Dom has the connections Vale’s men use when they want to vanish. Information flows through that place like blood through veins. And if Vale touched those channels, Dom will know.

The SUV eats distance fast, rain starting to pepper the windshield. I don’t turn the wipers on. The blur matches the fury in my chest.

By the time I reach the street, neon glows faint against the wet pavement. The same steel door. The same keypad. The same threshold I swore I was done crossing.

I press my hand against the scanner. The lock clicks open.

Inside, the bass trembles through stone walls, thick and alive. The attendants stand where they always do, sharp suits, sharp eyes. They know me. They don’t stop me.

Dom waits near the lounge, glass in hand, eyes already tracking me like he’s been expecting this storm.

“Twice in one week,” he says, voice smooth, almost amused. “Either you’re losing your touch, Elias…or she’s got you by the throat.”

I don’t rise to it. I step closer, rain still dripping from my coat onto the polished floor. “I need names. Now.”

His smile edges wider, predator to predator. “Then let’s find you a room.”

The hallway Dom leads me down is lit by sconces caged in black iron. No sound leaks from the doors we pass; the rooms are sealed, privacy absolute. My boots strike the floor in rhythm with his polished shoes until he stops at the far end.

The chamber he opens isn’t a playroom. It’s darker, stripped bare, a table in the center, leather chairs on either side. Business, not pleasure.

He gestures with his glass. “Sit.”

I don’t. I plant myself against the far wall, arms crossed, watching him. “Names.”

Dom exhales like I’m ruining his theater. He sets his drink down, leans back against the table. “Always straight to the blade with you. No foreplay.”

“Dom.”

His eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t fade.

He studies me the way only he can, like peeling back skin to see what twitches underneath.

“Vale’s people used my channels last week.

Small transfers. Nothing flagged, nothing flashy.

Enough to keep eyes in the city, keep a car circling the clinic without anyone asking questions. ”

My pulse hammers once, hard, but I don’t move. “Who moved it?”

He slides a folded slip of paper across the table. No flourish, no explanation. Just a single name.

I step forward, take it, read it.

The air in my chest locks.

Kinley.

For a moment, the world stills. The faint bass trembling from the main floor above.

“Impossible,” I say, voice iron.

Dom arches a brow. “Impossible, or inconvenient?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did ,” Dom answers softly, like it’s already carved in stone. “The boy’s cracks were showing from the start. You knew it. Now Vale knows it too.”

The paper crumples in my hand. I want to deny it, crush it, throw it back at Dom’s face. But the trail from the Civic, the envelope of photos, the text message—every blade points in the same direction.

Kinley.

Dom watches me in silence, head tilted, like he’s savoring the moment. “You wanted names. Now you have one. The question is what you’ll do with it.”

My jaw aches from clenching. I can already see Mara’s face if she hears it. Her trust cracking, shattering. I can see Kinley, wide-eyed, too loyal, too lost, and wonder if it was betrayal or weakness.

But weakness is just betrayal that didn’t plan ahead.

I turn without another word. The door slams behind me, the sound echoing through the corridor like judgment.

This city stinks of blood and lies, and right now, both are clinging to my hands.

Kinley’s name burns against my palm, the paper damp with sweat.

By the time I hit the SUV, my course is already set.

He either talks to me tonight, or he doesn’t talk again.