Page 48

Chapter 47

Seanna

I’m already tired of waiting.

Twenty-two hours and change into this forced ceasefire, and my skin feels like it’s crawling. The silence is too loud. I pace the living room like a caged animal, back and forth across the black velvet rug.

And I’m fucking done.

I’ve burned through three cups of coffee already. Tried to nap. Tried to breathe. Tried not to think about Javier Reyes and how close I was to putting him in a federal lock up.

Didn’t work.

I got dressed in black tactical pants and tank, even laced up some sinfully soft boots. Now all I can do is move.

Bodhi’s on the couch, lounging like a smug asshole, watching me pace like I’m his favorite form of entertainment. One hand draped lazily over the backrest, the other tapping a slow, infuriating rhythm against his thigh. He hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. Doesn’t need to. His smirk says it all.

Matteo leans against the far wall, arms crossed, black shirt stretching taut across his chest, mouth twitching every time I spin on my heel with a little more venom.

“Something on your mind, little storm?” Bodhi drawls finally.

I stop mid-step, stare at him, deadpan. “You mean besides the part where I’m still technically your hostage and we’re apparently on a fucking spa retreat instead of hunting the man who trafficks girls and drugs?”

He lifts one shoulder, unbothered. “You look hot when you're filled with rage.”

“Do you want your teeth kicked in?”

“Not opposed.”

Matteo snorts. I spin on him.

“And you. You just gonna lean there and brood, or are you planning to unlock the fucking door?”

His gaze slides over me, slow and deliberate. “If I unlock the door, what exactly do you think you’re going to do?”

“I’m going to find Javier. I’m going to make him bleed, throw him in a deep dark federal hole. Then I’m going to burn what’s left.”

A beat of silence.

Then Bodhi says, “So, just another Tuesday.”

I roll my eyes so hard it gives me whiplash and drop into the armchair like it insulted me personally. “You two said twenty-four hours. I gave you twenty-three. Don’t make me regret the generosity.”

“Wasn’t generosity,” Matteo says. “It was a bargain. You lost. This is the fallout.”

“Yeah? Well I’m done playing.” I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, voice low and sharp. “So unless the next sentence out of your mouth is a name, location, or set of coordinates—get out of my way.”

They exchange a look.

That silent communication that makes me want to throw something at them both.

Bodhi leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “You want him. We understand that. But the second you step out that door without a plan—without control—he wins.”

Matteo’s voice follows, quieter but firmer. “We’re not letting that happen.”

I go still.

Because for all their violence and all their obsession… they’re not wrong.

But that doesn’t mean I’m patient.

Bodhi stretches, catlike, then stands slowly. “All right, princess. You want out so bad?”

I tilt my head, watching him with narrowed eyes.

He gestures toward the far window—the one that looks out over the tree line, the dark slash of forest beyond. “Then go.”

I blink, looking between them. “Excuse me?”

Matteo’s voice is soft, amused. “You heard him. You want to hunt Javier so badly? Then run for the gate.”

My stomach tightens. “Gate?”

“Perimeter gate,” Bodhi supplies. “Back side of the property. About a mile through the trees. You want out? You want a shot at handling Javier your way? Run. Make it to the gate, and we’ll consider your terms."

"That’s it?" I ask, squinting.

Bodhi grins wider. "That’s it. You reach the gate, you win."

Matteo leans forward, his voice smooth as silk. "And because I'm such a nice guy, if you win, I'll even help you hunt down Javier."

"Generous," I murmur.

"Hell," Bodhi adds, cocking his head, "if you make it to that gate, maybe I'll throw in my help too. Maybe we adjust the plan. It wouldn’t take much as his son to draw him somewhere private. Somewhere... intimate."

I scoff. "Just like that?"

Matteo shrugs and smiles like a man who knows exactly how deep the water is—and doesn’t care if we both drown. "We’re men of our word."

"And if I lose?"

Bodhi’s smile doesn’t waver. "Then you stay. You trust the plan we already have in place."

I think for a second. Calculate. I've run with Matteo before. DEA training courses. Urban assault simulations. I know how fast he is. How precise.

Bodhi's different. Less technical. More brutal. He doesn’t run—he hunts. I still have the bruises from the last time he chased me through a forest, mask gleaming in the half-light.

But it’s not semidark this time.

It’s the middle of the fucking day.

I stare at them.

My heart is already starting to pick up speed, adrenaline whispering through my veins like it recognizes this game and wants to play. But I’m not stupid.

And I’m not going in unarmed.

Not if I play this right.

“I want a knife,” I say flatly.

Matteo’s brow lifts. “A knife?”

“It’s only fair, Bodhi had one last time,” I shoot back. “This time, I get one too.”

His mouth twitches. “And if I say no?”

I smile slow, wicked. “Then I’ll make do with your bones, sweetheart.”

Bodhi barks a laugh. “Give the girl a blade, Matteo. Let’s see what she does with it.”

Matteo walks down the hallway and then returns with a sheathed combat blade with a gleaming black hilt and leather holster. It’s smaller than theirs, like he had it specially made for me.

He doesn’t hand it to me.

He stalks close, then carefully straps the holster around my hips, tucking it under my shirt. His fingers linger—just long enough to press the handle against my spine and lean in.

His voice is a whisper against my ear, calm and cool. "Try not to stab yourself."

I just grin. "Try not to cry when I win."

Bodhi nods toward the back of the house again, where the forest waits like a living thing. “Come on then. We’ll give you a ten-second head start.”

“How generous,” I murmur, already moving toward the doors.

Matteo follows, pacing me like a shadow.

Ten seconds to outrun two men who have spent the last several years learning exactly how I breathe.

The woods stretch in front of me—dappled light, thick undergrowth, narrow paths and gnarled roots. One mile. One gate.

If I make it, I win.

If I don’t… I know exactly what kind of punishment waits.

And part of me—some vicious, twisted part—wants to lose just to feel it. But another part just wants the hiding to be over.

Every muscle in my body is coiled, heart already hammering. I glance once over my shoulder.

Matteo and Bodhi stand side by side.

Predators. Waiting.

“Ten seconds,” Matteo repeats, smiling sweetly, eyes locked on mine. “Then we come for you. Use it wisely.”

The wind shifts and I run.

The forest is a blur of green and brown and shadow. The sun painting the ground in jagged slashes of light. My breath burns in my lungs as I leap over a fallen log and duck under a low branch. I can only hope that they didn’t plant any traps in this forest like they did in the other.

Then I hear it.

Somewhere behind me, I hear the countdown.

“Five,” Bodhi calls, too calm.

“Four,” Matteo’s voice now—low and dark and already promising something worse.

“Three.”

I don’t look back.

“Two.”

My heart pounds.

“One.”

They don’t shout. They don’t laugh. There’s no noise at all.

But I know.

They're coming.

I don’t pace myself. There’s no point, not with them behind me.

My chest pounds as I veer left, up a narrow path where the underbrush is thicker. My legs are already protesting, but I don't slow. I can't.

Bodhi calls behind me, sing-song and wicked: "Run, little storm. Let's see if you learned anything."

I ignore him. Push harder. Every step tears at my calves, my lungs, but I force my body to comply. One mile. I can do one fucking mile.

Branches whip against my arms. Sunlight flickers in and out. I keep low, fast, weaving between the trees, picking the fastest line through the terrain like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

Because I’ve done this before—obstacle runs, field drills, adrenaline-soaked missions.

Bodhi laughs again. Loud, wild. The crunch of leaves underfoot tells me he’s moving fast—but I expect that. I remember that. The way he chased me last time, how he gave me a lead and still cut me down like a shadow with teeth.

But it’s not Bodhi that makes my blood run colder.

It’s Matteo.

He hasn’t made a sound. Not one goddamn noise.

I catch glimpses of him through the trees. Cutting off paths. Herding me.

Like he already knows where I’m going before I do.

“Fuck off, Matteo,” I hiss between gasps, shoving through a thicket of branches.

No answer, of course not.

He wants me off balance.

He wants me afraid.

But I’m not afraid. I’m turned on .

Something snaps to my left—sharp, deliberate—and I drop to my knees on instinct, rolling into the underbrush. A body crashes through the space I just vacated. Bodhi.

Too slow this time.

“Clever girl,” he pants, spinning mid-sprint.

I snarl and take off again, darting deeper into the woods. I zigzag, change elevation, sprint hard for a wide ridge I spot ahead. It’ll give me height. Line of sight. Control.

A flash of movement to my right.

Too fast. Too smooth.

Matteo.

Of course it’s fucking Matteo.

I curse under my breath and cut hard left, bounding over a fallen log and skidding down a shallow ravine. My thighs burn from the angle. My lungs scream. But I don’t stop. I can’t.

Bodhi explodes out of the brush ahead of me with a grin like the devil and lunges. I duck just in time, feel the brush of his fingers in my hair, and twist under his arm. I pull out the knife just in case.

“Keep running, princess!” he calls out, breathless and gleeful. “I’m getting hard just watching you.”

“Too slow,” I growl, dodging left, ducking under another branch. I tighten my grip on the knife hilt.

I push harder, slicing through the trees with sharp, controlled bursts of speed. I don’t waste time looking back. I know they’re there. I feel them.

I can do this.

The path narrows. I leap over a small stream, half-slip on a slick rock, recover just in time to avoid eating dirt. My pulse thrums in my throat. Sweat slicks my spine.

I spot the glint of metal through the trees—maybe a fence post, maybe the gate.

It’s close. So close.

A branch snaps to my right.

I spin mid-stride, knife raised—but there's no one there.

Then something slams into me from the side.

Matteo.

We hit the ground rolling hard, a mess of limbs and dirt and breathless curses. My elbow drives into his ribs, the knife flashing upward, but he catches my wrist in one practiced move and pins it to the ground as we come to a stop.

He doesn't speak at first. Just stares at me, eyes glittering, unreadable.

Then his hand finds the chain at my throat—the one I’d basically forgotten about until now—and he yanks.

The chain tightens like a choker, a noose, cutting off my breath with a sharp, strangled sound. My body jerks in his hold, eyes wide, lungs screaming.

His voice is low, rasping, lethal. "You really think I’ve shown you everything I am?"

I tense beneath him, suddenly and terribly aware that this isn’t the same Matteo I trained with. This is the one who’s always been lurking beneath the surface. The predator beneath the polish. And I’ve underestimated him.

He loosens the chain just enough to keep me from blacking out.

He leans down, breath hot against my jaw.

"Your mistake," he says, each word a slow cut, "was thinking I’m the nice one."

Then Bodhi’s there too, kneeling beside us, eyes wild with adrenaline.

“You make it to the gate?” he asks, catching his breath. “No?”

He grins.

“Then I guess that means you belong to us again.”