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DECLAN

T he car comes to a halt outside the warehouse unit, its tires crunching over gravel and frozen dirt.

“Still no signs of Vlad or his men,” Mikhail huffs through the comm in my ear, his voice clipped, tension rippling beneath every word.

Charlotte glances at me, eyes flashing with unease, a subtle tremor in her jaw betraying the storm she’s holding at bay.

“Nothing on this side either,” Conan confirms, his voice low but steady.

We’ve got the place surrounded. Conan's stationed with his sniper rifle in the woods to the left, nestled beneath the pines like a ghost. He’s got eyes on the main entrance. Mikhail and Frankie’s men are scattered in tight formation, blanketing every approach with ruthless efficiency.

“We’ll go in and get in position,” I say, the words grounding me. Stick to the plan. Don’t let the adrenaline pull me under.

“Any contact from Drago?” I ask, glancing at Charlotte. I know her mind is half on this mission and half on the man who risked everything to protect our daughter.

“No,” Enzo replies sharply.

He’s our tech and our drones in the sky, cameras hacked, tracker active around Charlotte’s neck. If she’s scared of Vlad, I’m taking no damn chances.

“All units on standby,” Enzo calls out. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves an ambush. Vehicles incoming in multiple directions. You’ve got five minutes. Get ready.”

His words send an icy bolt through my spine.

“Copy,” I respond, voice grim.

“Fuck yeah, let’s get this party started,” Conan whoops in the background, the anticipation getting to him.

“Ignore my brother,” Finn mutters dryly. “He gets a little trigger-happy.”

I turn to Charlotte and slide my hands slowly up her tattooed arm, feeling the tension beneath her skin, the fire simmering just under the surface.

“Come on, heartbreaker. It’s time.”

She slides on her jacket and zips it up; it’s almost distracting, pinching her in at the waist.

“What’s he done?” she asks, biting her lip as her fingers hover over the butt of her pistol.

“Just a few of his men approaching. Nothing we can’t handle. We stick to the plan and get inside the warehouse.”

“Drago?” she asks again, quieter this time.

I shake my head. Her sigh is heavy and full of things she won’t say out loud.

“We got this, baby. It'll be over soon.” I lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, one I don’t want to end, but know it has to.

Three words are on the tip of my tongue, pressing hard against the back of my teeth. But I swallow them down. She deserves to hear them when we’ve both made it out alive. When we’re free.

I step out of the car. The cold air slaps me in the face, sharp and biting. The world around us stills, it’s almost unnaturally quiet.

Straightening my suit jacket, I adjust the vest strapped to my chest, already itching to rip the damn thing off. Rounding the vehicle, I open her door and offer my hand. Her palm slides into mine. She laces our fingers together, grounding us both.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods once, jaw tight as she looks up at the hulking steel structure before us.

“Yep,” she replies, her voice strong despite the nerves dancing in her eyes. She lifts her chin defiantly.

Gunshots echo in the distance, and we pause.

“Ten armed, east side. We’ve got it covered,” a Russian voice crackles through the comms.

“About the same approaching from the north,” Enzo confirms.

Let’s hope these fuckers are as incompetent as Charlotte says. Mikhail’s men are savages. So are mine.

I reach for the black wooden door, fingers curling around the cold metal handle, and push it open. The scent of aging wood and grease hits me, rising from crates stacked like barricades to the ceiling.

“Damn,” Charlotte mutters, scanning the rows. “What the hell are we storing here?”

“Guns and drugs, probably,” I reply, sliding my hand inside my trench coat and pulling on the brass knuckles that have been itching to taste blood.

She lets go of my hand, and I hate it.

“We’re sitting ducks here, Declan. I don’t like it.” Her voice is low, but her steps are measured as she starts pacing the aisle, her gaze scanning for weak points.

“They confirmed it’s just one exit, right?” she calls.

“One way in. One way out.”

“Declan. Prepare. Black truck approaching the driveway. Getting closer now,” Enzo’s voice cuts through.

“He’s on his way, Charlotte.”

She swallows, her breath stalling as she turns to the light bleeding in from the door.

She beckons me forward and pulls me behind a stack of crates. There’s a perfect gap to watch the entry. Her mind is always five steps ahead.

“Do not fire first. Let’s see what his play is. See where Isabella is.”

“It’s Vlad and a second driver. Back’s blacked out. No sign of Isabella,” Enzo confirms, and my gut twists.

“Enzo confirmed it’s him.”

She nods, eyes locked on the open doorway. The tension in the air is thick, almost tangible.

“Isabella?”

“Not in view.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, breath trembling as she crouches, sliding the blade from the hidden pocket in her boot.

“God, that’s hot,” I murmur, trying to slice the tension.

“Not now,” she hisses, and I grab her hips with a grin.

“So fiery. Keep it that way.”

She slaps my arm, just as gravel crunches outside.

“They’re here,” she whispers, the words almost lost beneath the sound of footsteps.

My heart thunders. Adrenaline floods my veins like gasoline.

“East side secured,” Frankie confirms through my earpiece.

“I’ve got eyes on Vlad,” Conan chimes in.

“Declan, five men, armed, coming out the back of the truck,” Enzo warns.

“We’ve got five to kill,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, a dark smirk playing on her lips.

“He should know me better than that by now,” she mutters.

I screw on the silencer, and wait.

“Make that four. I got one,” Conan confirms.

The first two masked men storm inside, weapons drawn, followed by two more. The lead guy gestures for them to split, two veer off while he comes straight toward us.

“You take the two right. I’ll take the others,” she whispers.

I nod, motioning for silence as the lead guy steps into our row.

I slip between the crates. The second he’s in my sights, I squeeze the trigger. The bullet tears into his temple and he drops like a rag doll.

The man behind him fires wildly, splinters of wood explode around me. I duck low, heart hammering.

Then silence.

I peer out.

He’s on his knees, gasping. Charlotte’s blade slides clean across his throat, her eyes sharp and unflinching.

A grin curves my lips as I step forward and shoot him clean in the skull.

“Two down,” she breathes, wiping blood on her thigh.

She grabs my hand, pulling me down the aisle toward the next two.

“One each?” she offers. That deadly glint in her eyes reigniting something primal in me.

I glance at her blood-slick fingers.

“You got it.” I wink. “These are your kills.”

“Two more incoming, Declan,” Enzo warns.

“We got two more, baby.”

She rolls her eyes, but the smile is there.

“Let’s get this done and go get our girl.”

I grab her face and kiss her hard. If this is the last time, she needs to know what she means to me.

“I’m fucking proud of you,” I say. “Now let’s finish this.”

She smiles, then her eyes go wide.

“Down!” she shouts, shoving me backward.

A bullet whistles past. She spins, fires, and nails the asshole in the chest.

Two more rush us. I fire fast, catching one in the shoulder, then drop to a knee and shoot the second in the thigh. He screams as he falls.

Charlotte approaches without hesitation, pistol raised, and plants one in his skull.

“One left,” I mutter.

I step forward, and pain explodes against the side of my head.

The cold steel of a gun presses into my temple, and I suck in a breath, remaining as still and calm as I can.

“Drop the weapon,” a thick Russian accent growls.

“One more inside. Vlad’s out of the van,” Conan says with urgency in his voice.

I drop the gun, and the bastard kicks it away.

“Give us the girl, and you live.”

“Where’s my daughter?”

“You’ll get her... once we have Charlotte.”

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” I growl, tightening the brass knuckles.

He cocks the safety.

Bad move.

I twist, grab his wrist, shove it up, and slam my metal fist into his jaw. The gun fires wide. I hit him again, this time blood splattering from his mouth. His wrist snaps under my grip, and the gun falls. I grab his throat, slamming him into the crates, and beat him senseless.

Letting out all of my rage until his face is unrecognizable, as he’s gasping for air, I squeeze his throat. I only stop when I hear Charlotte’s cry rip through the warehouse.

Everything inside me ignites.

I squeeze harder, crushing his windpipe, watching life leave his eyes.

When he goes limp, I drop him and bolt for the door.

I come to a halt as I find her smashing a man’s face into the crates and tossing him onto the ground.

“Fuck you!” she screams, stomping his skull until it caves.

She looks up at me with blood on her brow and a beautiful fire in her eyes.

“You good?” she pants.

“Yeah, baby. You?”

She nods. “Felt good. He was an asshole. Better than the others though. Drago probably trained him.”

Jesus. This woman.

Her rage is a thing of beauty.

“Any more?” I ask.

“Negative. Just Vlad and the driver. They haven’t moved,” Conan replies.

“You think you can take on two more?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“We need backup west side!” Reggie shouts through the comm.

“We’re coming,” Mikhail grunts.

It’s time to end this.