Page 45 of Liam (The Valeur Billionaires #4)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

LIAM

T he concrete presses cold and unyielding against my cheek, sending a numbing chill up my jaw.

Each shallow breath makes my ribs throb, sharp pain radiating with every movement.

Blood coats my mouth, bitter and metallic.

Elias’s boots scuff against the floor as he circles me like a predator stalking its prey.

It’s so dark in the room I can barely make out Elias’s form.

A sharp kick drives into my side, and I bite down hard to stop any sound from escaping. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. The ropes around my wrists bite deeper and burn with each shift, but I focus on the scrape of Elias’s boots, timing his steps.

“You know,” he says, his voice snaking through the air, “I expected more fight from the golden boy of the Valeur family. Yet here you are, lying like a broken toy.”

A dry laugh slips out, more instinct than choice, blood spraying my lips. “Broken? That’s what you think?” I turn my head, angling toward his voice. “You don’t know the first thing about strength, Elias.”

The room stills, his footsteps halting. Time to twist the knife.

“You ever wonder,” I continue, my voice calm, deliberate, “why my father killed yours?”

The air in the room shifts, thickening with an unseen weight. His steps stop completely now.

“You mean murdered him,” Elias spits. “He murdered my father in cold blood. He ruined everything.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head slowly, every movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my body. “ Your father ruined everything. He raped my mother. He destroyed her.”

The temperature in the room feels like it dropped several degrees as the words land. The air around us turns heavy, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. I hear Elias’s ragged breaths, each exhale sharper, more erratic.

“You’re lying!”

“My father didn’t plan to kill him,” I say, forcing the words through my battered lips. “He came to confront your dad about the rape. Things got out of control. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re lying,” Elias repeats, but the conviction is gone, replaced by the jagged edges of doubt.

I push myself up slightly, the ropes biting into my wrists as I shift.

The pounding in my skull intensifies, but I need to keep talking, need to keep him off-balance.

“Think about it,” I press, my voice gaining strength.

“You said you were five when your father died, right? He didn’t tell you anything because he couldn’t.

He was already dead. You’ve built your whole life on the myth of a man you never really knew. ”

“Shut up,” Elias growls, his breath quickening.

“You’re seeing it, aren’t you?” I say, leaning into his growing uncertainty. “You know I’m right. He wasn’t a hero. He was a monster. A rapist.”

“Shut up!” his voice cracks, raw and desperate.

But I keep going, my words like a blade twisting deeper. “He wasn’t the man you thought he was. And my father—he was trying to protect us. Even though he hadn’t intended it, he did what your father deserved.”

The darkness closes in on me, every breath strained.

His sharp inhale cuts through the quiet, and then his fingers twist into my hair, yanking my head back.

Pain flares through my scalp, rippling down my neck, forcing a grimace.

I grind my teeth, his hot breath grazing my skin as his grip tightens, vibrating with fury.

The stench of sweat and metal fills the space, a sharp tang of blood clinging to the air, making it hard to breathe.

“You’re lying!” he says again. “You’re just like him—twisting the truth to make yourself feel better.”

A sharp punch slams into my jaw, and my head whips to the side, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth again. I spit the blood onto the floor, barely able to hear over the ringing in my ears.

“Your father was a coward,” I choke out, each word laced with venom. “And you’re just like him. Weak.”

Elias’s grip tightens, his hands trembling. His breathing is erratic now, shallow gasps filled with fury and confusion. “He wasn’t weak,” Elias growls, but the quiver in his voice betrays him.

I feel the shift before I hear it—a rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped free.

My pulse quickens as Elias kneels beside me, shoving a gag into my mouth, pulling it tight until it cuts into my lips.

The rough material presses against my tongue, muffling my voice, choking me.

“Not another word,” he seethes, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. His hand lingers near my throat, and for a second, I think he might snap.

The air hangs heavy, stifling with the acrid tang of sweat and damp concrete. Elias’s ragged breathing punctuates the silence, each exhale a gust of fury. My chest rises and falls in shallow, painful bursts, my ribs protesting with every movement.

Through the coarse fabric of the gag, a low rumble builds in my throat, growing in intensity until it escapes as a muffled, guttural sound. Not quite a word, but a clear message nonetheless.

Elias’s footsteps falter, then stop. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. “Shut up,” he hisses, but the command lacks conviction, his voice wavering, evidence of a hairline crack in his composure.

My response is another growl, louder this time. Defiant. Unbroken.

The air shifts as Elias moves, his presence looming over me once again. I brace for another blow, my muscles tensing. But it doesn’t come. He’ll never break me, no matter how much he tries to silence me.

And he knows it .

The air hangs thick with tension, our ragged breathing the only sound. My heart pounds, counting down the seconds to an inevitable explosion.

A thunderous crash rips through the silence. The floor beneath me vibrates as something heavy slams against concrete. Voices erupt, a chaotic chorus of shouts and commands.

“Drop your weapon!”

“Secure the hostage!”

“Watch your six!”

The cacophony disorients me. Blinded even more by the sunlight suddenly filling the room and gagged, I can only piece together the chaos through sound and vibration.

Boots thunder past, their impacts sending tremors through my body.

The acrid scent of gunpowder fills the air as a deafening pop cracks overhead.

Then another. And another. Gunfire erupts around me.

I press myself flat against the floor, my cheek scraping rough concrete.

My bonds cut deeper as I strain, desperate to make myself as small a target as possible.

Something whizzes past my ear, so close I feel the heat of its passage. A bullet? The thought sends ice through my veins. Elias is trying to finish what he started.

More shots ring out. I flinch with each one, never knowing if the next will find its mark in my flesh. A scream of pain pierces the air. Elias? A rescuer? The uncertainty is maddening. A heavy thud shakes the floor near me. Friend or foe, I can’t tell.

The gunfire stops, leaving a ringing silence punctuated by groans and barked orders.

“Clear!”

“Suspect down! ”

“Get a medic in here!”

Hands grasp my shoulders. Fingers fumble at the back of my head, working at the knot of my gag. As it falls away, I squint, trying to force my eyes to focus, but the world remains a blurry smear of color and shadow.

A face hovers above me, features slowly sharpening into focus.

“Liam.”

The voice slices through the chaos, steady but urgent. My vision clears, and I make out the figure crouching beside me—a man in tactical gear, his gloved hand firm on my shoulder. His helmet obscures part of his face, but his eyes lock on mine, calm and focused.

“We’ve got you,” he reassures, the words anchoring me as the adrenaline slowly fades, leaving only pain in its wake. “You’re safe now.”

Someone cuts away the ropes binding my wrists, and I let out a hiss as my limbs fall free, the sharp ache from my ribs intensifying with each shallow breath. It’s not just the ribs; every inch of me feels bruised and battered, the agony no longer dulled by survival instinct.

A medic kneels beside me, checking my vitals, his touch gentle but swift. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice a low hum. “We’ll get you to the hospital, patch you up.”

As they lift me onto a stretcher, my head tilts to the side, and my eyes land on Elias’s body, sprawled across the concrete. He lies motionless, the dark pool beneath him stark against the cold, gray floor. His chest doesn’t rise, his hands limp at his sides.

I blink, unsure if I expected to feel relief, triumph, or something else. But there’s nothing. Just a hollow emptiness as they wheel me out of the room, leaving Elias behind like a ghost of the nightmare I just survived.

Sirens fade in and out, their wail distorted like a warped record. The ambulance sways, a boat on choppy seas. Voices swim around me, muffled and distant. A sharp prick in my arm, then...floating.

The hospital materializes in fragments. Fluorescent smears overhead. The squeak of wheels on linoleum. Faces swim into view, familiar yet strange. Dad’s mouth moves, but the words are underwater.

“Li... ...am...” Cora’s fractured voice. Tears glisten on her cheeks, kaleidoscopic in the harsh light.

Someone pushes the stretcher. The ceiling slides by, hypnotic. Machines beep. Hands prod, but the pain is far away, wrapped in cotton.

“...broken ribs... ...concussion...” Words drift by, disconnected.

The world tilts. I’m sinking into softness. Blurry figures hover at the edges of my vision. Logan? Lucas? Their outlines blur, merge, separate.

Cora’s face looms close, then retreats. Her lips form “sorry” over and over. I try to reach for her, but my arm is too heavy.

“...not leaving...” Lucas’s voice, or perhaps it’s Logan’s. The words echo, multiplying.