Page 32 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

EVERLY

The SUV smells like leather and tension. Isaia’s knuckles are white on the wheel, his jaw flexing so hard I think his teeth might crack. Every turn he takes is sharp, angry, a barely restrained lunge of the vehicle that makes my stomach churn.

Anthony’s in the passenger seat, cane braced between his knees, his voice a sharp counterpoint to the growl of the engine. “You’re going too fast.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Isaia snaps without looking at him.

“Do you have a death wish, Del Rossa?”

“Just yours.” Isaia throws him a dark, cutting look before whipping into another lane.

Anthony slams a hand against the dashboard. “Do you drive like this with Everly in the car? No wonder she’s half terrified of you.”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You get to wreck her life, vanish for months, then reappear like Prince Charming, and I can’t even say her name?”

Isaia growls, actually growls, like the sound comes from somewhere deeper than human. “One more word out of your mouth and I’ll snap that cane in half and nail your head to the dash, I swear to God.”

“At least that’ll prove my point.”

“And what point is that?”

“That you’re a murdering psychopath, and Everly deserves better.” Anthony shoots him a cocky grin, and Isaia slams the brakes at a red light, jerking all three of us forward.

“Fucking say that again.”

“Say what? That you’re a reckless asshole?”

“I said—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you said,” Anthony bites back.

My chest aches, my stomach in knots. Their voices are fire and gasoline, filling the SUV until I can’t breathe.

“You should thank God she’s in the car with us, Paladino. If she weren’t, you’d be gasping for air through your gaping throat right now.”

“Your threats are starting to bore me, Del Rossa.”

“Stop fighting,” I mutter.

“Just give me one bullet. One fucking bullet.”

“And you’ll what? Graze me this time? You’re not even a good shot. The only thing you’re good at is knocking someone up and disappearing on them.”

“You motherfu—”

“Stop! Fighting!” My scream slices through the car like a whip. “God, the two of you are acting like such dicks. Molly is gone, and you’re fighting about speed limits? Jesus.”

The silence that drops is deafening.

Isaia’s jaw ticks, knuckles flexing on the wheel. Anthony stares hard out the window, muttering something under his breath that I can’t hear, but I know it’s aimed at Isaia.

I shove my hand into Luna’s fur, gripping tight. “If either of you starts again, I swear to God I’ll throw myself out of this car and walk.”

“We’re almost at the airport,” Isaia says calmly, like they weren’t on the brink of murdering each other two seconds ago.

“I’m not going.”

“Everly, don’t start.” Anthony grabs his phone and types out a text. “We need to get you out of here. End of discussion.”

“No. Not the end of discussion. We never even had a discussion.”

“Yeah. We did,” Anthony snaps. “In your living room.”

“That was before Molly—” My throat closes. “That was before we realized Molly’s been taken.”

Isaia slams the brakes, the SUV coming to a screeching halt. “We are getting on that plane.” His tone is deadly low, glacial eyes snapping to me in the rearview mirror.

“What about Molly?” My eyes sting.

“What about you? What about our child?”

“We have to do something, Isaia. We can’t just leave on a fucking plane and ignore the fact that a friend’s life is in danger.”

“Your life is in danger.”

“Why didn’t he take me, then? Huh? Obviously, whoever this psychopath is was in the apartment while I was there.”

“Fuck!” Isaia slams his fists into the steering, then puts the car in drive, swerving back into the street. “You saw the words. It was meant for you.”

“Then why didn’t he take me? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t care what makes sense and what doesn’t,” Isaia barks, his eyes cutting to me in the rearview mirror, black fire blazing. “You think I’m letting you play bait for this freak? Over my dead fucking body.”

“And over mine,” Anthony’s voice slices through.

I laugh, but it’s wild and sharp and broken. “Oh, well, then. I guess that settles it. Two overprotective, arrogant bastards against one pregnant woman. What a fair fight.”

“Everly—”

“Isaia, no!” My nails dig into Luna’s fur, and she whines softly under my touch. “No, you don’t get to just decide. Not again. Not for me. Not for Molly.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Heavy. Isaia grips the wheel harder. Anthony stares out the window again, jaw clenched, a vein throbbing in his temple.

The SUV swerves into the private airstrip, headlights catching the sleek silhouette of a waiting jet.

They’re really going to do it. They’re going to drag me onto that plane and rip me away from Molly when she needs me most.

The car jerks to a stop, and Isaia kills the engine.

“Out,” he orders.

I don’t move.

He throws open his door and comes around to mine, yanking it wide before I can lock it. His hand clamps around my wrist, pulling me out, and helps me steady. Luna leaps out after me, nails skidding on the asphalt, barking once in protest.

“We’re leaving.” Isaia leans down, his face inches from mine, his voice deadly calm over the noise of the plane’s engines. “Now.”

“You promised.” I look him in the eye. “You promised I’d get to decide what happens next. Are you really going to take that away from me again?”

His grip falters, just slightly.

I twist toward Anthony, who’s just managed to get out with his cane, his expression unreadable.

“Both of you? Are you both going to take my freedom to choose? Again?”

Anthony’s lips press into a thin line, and Isaia swears under his breath, the sound tearing out of him like he’s ripping himself apart. He releases my wrist so abruptly, it stings.

“Goddammit, troublemaker. Why can’t you just get on that fucking plane?”

“Because it’s not right, and you know it.”

“Jesus!” He kicks at the asphalt, the crack of his boot against the pavement echoing across the hangar lot, then drags both hands through his hair, fingers knotting there, gripping hard enough to hurt.

The war inside him is written in every line of his body.

His need to protect me—protect us—is a living, breathing thing, snarling to get its way.

But layered beneath it is fear. Raw, bone-deep fear that if he pushes me too far, if he cages me one more time, I’ll be gone.

Not because of an enemy with a knife or a gun, but because of him.

“Everly…” His voice cracks like glass under pressure.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing that man out there has his hands on your best friend—knowing he took her to lure you? Do you?” His chest rises and falls like he’s sprinted miles, but his feet are rooted in place.

“I can’t—I won’t—watch him get to you. Not you. I’d rather fucking die.”

The confession rips out of him like it’s been festering for months, and his eyes burn with a desperation that makes my own throat close. He paces, fists clenching, unclenching, like he’s fighting a battle with no weapon in reach.

Anthony finally speaks, quiet but sharp. “Let her choose.”

“Fuck that.”

“I’m serious, Isaia. She needs this. She needs you to let her choose.”

Isaia’s glare is lethal, but only for a moment. Because even as his lips curl, his chest caves, something heartbreakingly vulnerable flashing in those dark irises.

“I promised I’d never take your choice from you again.” His throat works as he swallows, his hands flexing at his sides, like they’re itching to drag me into the plane and lock the door. “But if your choice puts you in harm’s way, Everly, what am I supposed to do? Just stand by and let you do it?”

It’s all there in his eyes—the love, the affection, the fear, the need to protect what he loves. Me. Us.

And God, I love him for it.

I love the way his passion bleeds into everything he touches, even when it burns too hot, even when it scorches.

I love the ferocity that simmers under his skin, the part of him that refuses to apologize for loving me too much, too hard, too wildly.

He never tries to dim it, never pretends he’s anything but a man on fire.

And that fire? It’s what drew me in from the start.

The darkness he carries doesn’t frighten me.

It captivates me. Because beneath the violence, beneath the sharp edges and bloody hands, is the same man who kisses my belly like it’s holy.

The same man who whispers mine against my skin with reverence.

The same man who loves me with a devotion so absolute it borders on ruin.

“I know,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I walk up to him.

“I know what this is doing to you. I know that your need to protect me is stronger than anything else you’re feeling right now, and I love you for it.

” Placing my palm on his cheek, I watch as he closes his eyes for a breath, like my touch grounds him.

“But I’m asking you, please do not expect me to run when someone I care about needs me. Not again.”

The last two words wound him, I can see it in the way his features tighten. My mom might not have wanted me near her, blamed me for everything, but on that island, I didn’t know. On that island, I was a daughter who thought her mother needed her, and I couldn’t be there.

He places his hand over mine, dragging it to his lips, placing a hard, deep kiss against my palm. “Christ, woman. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

“We should be so lucky,” Anthony chimes from behind us, and I smile despite Isaia’s deadly glare.

“Fine,” he concedes, and I suck in a breath. “But you will do exactly as I say. Exactly. I’m going to call Alexius, tell him we’re on our way.”

Lifting up onto my toes, I press my lips to his. Not hard. Not heavy. Just a brush of mouths that says 'thank you' and 'I love you' and 'I'm terrified.'

I stay there a moment until I feel his hand cup the back of my skull, the other splayed wide on my lower back, anchoring me to him. I swear, I've never felt safer than in his arms.

“But I’m keeping this plane on standby,” Anthony says. “In case shit hits the fan, we need to get you two out of here on a moment’s notice.”

Isaia nods. “Agreed.”

Anthony and I look at each other, both shocked.

Isaia notices. Shrugs. “What?”

“You fucking asshole. You agreed with me.”

“Hell must be thawing,” Isaia retorts, though the tease in his voice is muted. He’s about to call Alexius when his phone vibrates in his hand.

He swipes the screen. “It’s a video message.”

Anthony leans over. “From who?”

“I dunno. Don’t recognize the number.”

He looks down. Frowns. Then his entire body goes rigid.

“What is it?” My voice trembles.

He doesn’t answer. Just taps the screen, and a video expands across it.

My stomach bottoms out as it starts to play. “Oh, my God,” I gasp.

Hanging naked from chains bolted into the ceiling, wrists wrenched high above her head, is Molly. Her skin is pale under the harsh light, marred by angry welts where the iron bites into her flesh. But it’s her mouth—oh God, her mouth—that steals the air from my lungs.

Thick black thread pierces her swollen lips, pulled so tight the skin splits around each puncture.

Three crude X’s stitch her silence shut, jagged and uneven, fresh blood seeping down her chin to drip onto her chest. Her eyes are wide, wild, rolling with terror, screaming everything her mangled lips can’t.

“No,” I choke, my voice shattering. “Oh, God, no!”

Isaia’s hand clamps on my shoulder, steadying me when my legs buckle.

“Mother of God,” I hear Anthony whisper, his voice a tremulous echo of my own shock.

The camera shifts, and a man steps into view. Tall. Broad shoulders. A face that makes Isaia inhale sharply, like he’s been punched.

The man holds a wooden cross in his hand, the wood dark, stained. A prop, a weapon, a promise. He tilts it toward the camera, his smile cold.

“I’m giving Molly the chance my daughter never had. The chance for you to save her.” His eyes gleam, black with madness. “You have an hour.”

The video ends, and the silence it leaves behind is deafening, shattered by the scream that tears out of my throat.

It rips me raw, a sound I don’t even recognize as my own, echoing off the steel and glass around us.

My hands fly to my mouth, but they can’t cage the sob that follows, jagged and broken.

Molly. My Molly. “Oh, my God.” I gasp, over and over, my voice splintering with every breath. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God.”

The image is seared behind my eyelids—the thread sawing into her lips, her eyes pleading, the chains cutting into her skin. She’s alive, but she’s suffering. He’s torturing her.

“No! No! No!”

Isaia’s arm is suddenly around me, but I shove at his chest, panic clawing higher. “No! Don’t touch me, I can’t…I can’t breathe.” My chest is tight, my vision swimming, black dots at the edges.

“He sewed her mouth shut!” My voice breaks, high and strangled. “He sewed her fucking mouth shut like she’s nothing. Like she’s some…some doll.” My words collapse into another sob, my whole body shaking.

“Baby, we’ll get her back.”

I’m choking on terror, drowning in it, my hands fisting Isaia’s shirt. “Please. We have to do something. We have to help her.”

Isaia cups the back of my head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, baby girl. We’ll get her out. I swear to God, we’ll get her out.”

I sob, my ribs, my chest, every bone in my body splintering. “We don’t even know where to start looking for her.”

“I do.” Isaia’s hands move to my cheeks, his eyes dark and wild and frantic. “I know exactly where she is.”