Page 38 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

T he front door slams against the wall as I storm inside, heart already pounding.

“Ana?” I call out, tension clamping around my ribs like a vice. No answer.

The place is too quiet.

No guards posted out front. No one in the hallway. Not a damn sound.

I stalk down the hall, checking the rooms. Empty. Bathroom—empty. My chest starts to burn.

“Ana!” I bark again, louder this time, frantic.

I round the corner into the living room, ready to rip someone a new one—and freeze.

Blood.

Smeared on the kitchen floor like someone was dragged.

My stomach drops.

“Shane!” I shout, rushing forward.

He’s crumpled behind the kitchen island, one eye swollen shut, blood caked around his mouth and hair. Barely conscious. Barely breathing.

I drop to my knees beside him, already checking for a pulse. “Jesus—what the fuck happened?”

His lips move, cracked and dry. I lean closer.

“D-Dariy…” he rasps. “He… found her.”

My whole body goes cold.

“Where is she?” My voice comes out hard, sharp, shaking with rage. “Where did he take her?”

Shane winces. “Didn’t say… just—he knew. Like he’d been watching. Took her. Told me to stay down or he’d—kill her.”

My blood roars in my ears.

“And Lily?” I demand, already staggering to my feet, vision going red. “Where’s my daughter?”

Shane coughs, clutching his ribs. “She’s safe. Back room. Crib. I made sure.”

Relief crashes through me like a wave, nearly buckling my knees. But it’s short-lived.

Because Ana’s still gone.

I rub Lily’s back, feeling the way her sobs soften against my chest, and that’s when I see it.

A slip of paper tucked beneath her blanket. Folded small, almost hidden.

I pull it free, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of Ana’s handwriting. My throat tightens.

But the message makes my heart stutter.

The fish return to rot where it all began.

The flower stays in bloom—safe and untouched.

Forgive me.

I stare at the words, the meaning just out of reach—until it slams into me like a freight train.

The fish rot —the canning factory. The place everything went to hell.

The flower stays in bloom .

Lily.

Ana made a choice.

She let them take her. So Lily could be safe.

Forgive me.

My hand shakes as I read it again, and again, hoping the meaning might change. It doesn’t.

“Goddammit, Ana,” I whisper, pressing Lily tighter to me. “Why didn’t you wait? Why didn’t you let me protect you?”

My vision blurs, rage and fear tearing through me like wildfire.

She sacrificed herself.

And I’ll burn the whole fucking city down if I have to—to bring her home.

I pace the kitchen, Lily curled against my chest, one hand gripping my phone like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

The moment Rory picks up, I don’t waste a second.

“They took her.”

A beat of silence. Then his voice turns to steel. “Where?”

“The canning factory. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll call Kellan and Lucky. We’ll meet you there.”

“No,” I say sharply. “We do this right. No rushing in half-cocked. We end it—for good.”

Another pause. Then Rory’s voice lowers. “Understood.”

Twenty minutes later, the safehouse is alive with movement.

Kellan arrives first, armed and already barking orders like a general. His eyes scan Lily in my arms, and he gives me a grim nod—softening only enough to gently ruffle her hair.

Rory follows, with Lucky close behind. They’re dressed for war.

Then come the real surprises—Clary and Darcy. Clary’s got her hair pulled back in a tight braid, hoodie zipped up over a bulletproof vest. Darcy’s in boots and a leather jacket, a pistol holstered at her hip like she’s done this a hundred times.

“No way we’re sitting this one out,” Clary says, her voice calm but resolute. “You’re family. She’s family. That baby is ours now, too.”

Darcy brushes past the men like she’s in charge—because she is. “We’re staying here with Lily. We brought backup.”

And they did.

Four more of our men slip through the door behind them—trusted, hardened, and well-armed.

Kellan nods. “She’ll be safer here than anywhere else.”

I look down at Lily, who’s finally drifted into exhausted sleep against my shoulder. Her little flower-pink sleeper soaked in tears, her tiny fingers still gripping the edge of my shirt.

I kiss her forehead, then hand her off to Clary, who holds her like she’s made of gold.

“Bring Ana home,” she says softly. “Do what needs to be done.”

I meet my brothers’ eyes.

“This ends tonight.”

And together, the Brannagans move as one—into the night, toward the old canning factory.

To get her back.

To end this war.

The SUV rumbles beneath us, but it’s not fast enough. Nothing is.

I sit rigid in the backseat, one hand gripping my gun, the other clenched so tight it’s gone numb. My leg won’t stop bouncing. I’ve got so much adrenaline in my veins I feel like I could tear the doors off the damn vehicle.

“She said the fish would rot where it all began,” I mutter, barely loud enough to be heard. “She knew where they were taking her. She knows them inside and out.”

No one says anything for a second.

Then Rory speaks, voice steady as ever from behind the wheel. “We go in from three sides. Fast, clean, no room for mistakes.”

Kellan leans forward in the passenger seat, tapping something on the tablet mapped out with old blueprints.

“There’s a weak point on the northeast wall—security there’s always been shit.

We breach through, sweep toward the main factory floor.

If they’re holding her, that’s where she’ll be.

Somewhere visible. Somewhere they can?—”

He cuts off, but I know what he meant. Somewhere they can show her off.

I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.

Behind me, Lucky’s laptop clicks furiously. “I’ve already hijacked the factory’s internal systems. I can loop the cams, jam their comms, reroute any alarms. They won’t even know we’re on the property until it’s too late.”

“You lock them in?” Rory asks.

“First thing I did,” Lucky replies. “They’re caged now. We’re the wolves.”

They all talk like it’s just another mission. Just another job.

But my hands won’t stop shaking.

“She left Lily in the crib,” I say quietly. “Left a note under her. Like she knew she wasn’t coming back.”

Kellan turns in his seat, locking eyes with me. “When they took Rose, I thought the same thing.”

I clench my jaw, eyes stinging. “But you got her back.”

“Not all of her,” he says softly. “But I got enough to build a future on.”

My throat burns.

“I keep thinking maybe it’s already too late,” I admit. “That maybe that note was her way of saying goodbye. Maybe they’re just waiting there with her body—waiting to watch me break when I see it.”

Rory’s voice cuts through the silence. “Then we break them first.”

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“We don’t stop until we get her back, Liam. We don’t stop until this ends.”

Lucky looks up, just for a second. “Dariy wants an audience. He wouldn’t kill her yet. He wants you to see it. He wants your rage.”

Well, he fucking has it.

I curl my fingers tighter around my gun, pulse pounding in my ears.

If they’ve hurt her—if they’ve even touched her—I’ll burn the whole goddamn world down.

The factory looms like a carcass in the dark, rotted and rusting under the glow of the moon.

We pull up just beyond the fence line, engines off, hearts primed for war.

Rory gives one last glance across the group. “We stick to the plan. Three points of entry. No one moves until Liam’s in position.”

I nod, already moving.

I slip through the back entrance alone, just like we talked about. It has to look like I came here desperate. Foolish. Alone.

Let them believe I walked right into their trap.

Let them underestimate me.

The metal door creaks behind me as I step inside, the scent of salt and rust clogging my nose.

This is where it started. The original battleground. The place where we buried the treaty in blood.

It’s poetic, in a sick kind of way.

My boots echo against the concrete floor as I weave through the abandoned machinery, eyes scanning every shadow. Heart hammering.

Then I see her.

Ana.

She’s standing near the far wall, lit by a narrow shaft of moonlight filtering through the broken windows. Her hair’s wild, lip split, hands bound in front of her—but she’s upright.

Alive.

And not alone.

Anatoly Volkov stands behind her, tall and unflinching, the very picture of smug control.

But it’s the way she’s standing—still, close to him, not fighting—that stops me cold.

My heart stutters in my chest.

No.

No, fuck no.

She’s not?—

Did she… ?

A chill rips down my spine.

Oh my god. She played me.

She came to me with tears in her eyes and my daughter on her hip and a sob story about needing protection—and all along, she was working with him?

My grip tightens on my gun. My stomach lurches.

And then, I see it.

The subtle press of steel at her side. The angle of Anatoly’s arm, his fingers curled just so.

The gun.

Pressed right into her ribs.

My whole body shudders.

Fuck.

She’s not betraying me.

She’s being held.

The fear in her eyes wasn’t for me—it was for what he might do if she moved wrong.

I exhale, sharp and guttural, like I’ve just been punched in the gut.

My brain scrambles to reorient.

She’s not the enemy.

He is.

And I can’t take the shot. Not yet.

But I don’t lower my weapon either.

Ana’s eyes flick to mine—just for a heartbeat. Then back to the floor.

She knows I’m here. She knows what comes next.

I give the signal.

A short, sharp whistle. Barely audible. But it’s enough. A second later, three shadows move through the space like ghosts materializing from the walls.

Rory. Kellan. Lucky.

Each one armed, each one silent, spreading out with precision only earned through a lifetime of blood and war.

Anatoly’s men react instantly.

Weapons rise. Triggers cock.

The factory is suddenly alive with the sound of danger. Steel clicking into place. Hearts thudding against ribcages. Every man drawing a line in the sand with the muzzle of a gun.

I don’t move.

Neither does Anatoly.

He smiles, calm as ever. Ana flinches.

Across the space, my brothers lock into position. Rory’s eyes burn straight through Anatoly’s. Kellan’s stance is steady, gun raised but not yet fired. Lucky’s fingers twitch near his belt, eyes calculating—waiting for a window.

Everyone’s weapons are drawn. No one moves.

We’re locked in it now.

Sweat beads down my back. Every muscle in my body ready to snap.

The silence stretches tight—razor-thin.

Someone is going to break. They have to.

I glance at Ana, seeing the fear in her eyes. I know that there’s no way to reassure her right now, so I turn my attention back to her father, holding my gun up as I aim it right at his face.

The second that this erupts into war, I’m taking that man down.