Page 35 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

Out of fucking nowhere, Anthony's cane arcs through the air—a moment's hesitation, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, then commitment as the marble handle connects with Sean's temple. The crack echoes like a gunshot, and I'm caught between relief and horror as Sean crumples to the floor.

It happens so fucking fast, it takes all of us a split-second to catch up—except Maximo. He's across the room in two strides, going straight for Molly, his face a battlefield of rage and terror, torn between the need to save her and the certainty he’ll get us all killed with one wrong move.

He drops low, his breath a hiss between clenched teeth.

His arm carefully curves around her hips while his other hand hovers over the pressure box.

The veins in his forearms stand out like ropes as he hooks his fingers beneath her heels and takes her weight, careful to keep her toes against the pressure plate.

Her body sags with immediate relief, the strain of standing perfectly still finally lifted from her trembling muscles, and a soft whimper escapes through her sewn lips.

Maximo's jaw locks, the muscle there jumping.

His eyes never flicker toward us, fixed instead on her face, pupils blown so wide they swallow the color around them.

Sean is fucking out cold, and Anthony stands there, straightening his suit jacket like it’s just another day in the office. “I’m speechless. You guys have guns yet needed a handicapped person to kick his ass.”

“Way to go, you dumb fuck,” I exclaim. “You just knocked out the one man who has the code for that goddamn bomb.”

Anthony slides his palm down his tie. “Lucky for you, I have someone on speed dial who specializes in disarming all manner of explosives.”

“Of course, you do.” Can I shoot him? “How the fuck did you even know?”

“Did you really think I trusted you enough to let you handle this alone?”

I throw a knee into Sean’s back, pulling his arms so fucking hard his shoulders pop.

“The man is knocked out, Del Rossa. Why the brute force?”

“Give me your fucking tie.”

“Excuse me? This tie costs more than you make in a month.”

“I said give me your fucking tie.”

“Fine.” He pulls it from around his neck, and I use it to tie Sean’s wrists—extra fucking tight.

“Guys, need some help over here.” We all look at Maximo where he’s trying to support Molly, but her head’s lolling, like she’s two seconds away from losing consciousness.

“We don’t have time.” Alexius turns to me. “Search his pockets, anything that might be the code we’re looking for.”

“If it’s on him,” Caelian starts. “Then I’m killing this fucker, because no one that stupid deserves to live.”

I tear through every pocket, rip off his shoes, find nothing.

"Son of a bitch!" The words explode from me, shattering the silence.

My chest feels like it's caught in a vise, tightening with each second.

I rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp before I clasp them behind my neck, holding on like I'm physically trying to keep my head attached to my body.

And then my eyes catch it.

In the corner, a glass display cabinet. Dust coats its shelves, a shrine untouched.

A single bottle of Bordeaux sits upright, label yellowing with time.

But it isn’t the wine that snags me. It’s the goddamn picture plastered on, a personalized label with a picture of Melanie.

Smiling. Arm hooked through her father’s.

They’re at a party, the background blurred with lights and confetti.

And on her head, a cheap cardboard crown scrawled with the year in glittering numbers.

2019

Shit. “I think I got it.”

“You think you got it?” Caelian’s eyes go wide.

Molly’s chest rises as Maximo shifts her weight slightly to keep those toes pressed in perfect, agonized balance. He’s sweating. His jaw is clenched so hard his throat ticks. I can’t tell if he’s holding her up or holding himself together. Either way, he’s not moving an inch.

“Yeah…” I say slowly. “I think.”

Alexius slides in next to me. “What is it?”

I point at the bottle of wine. “Twenty-nineteen.”

Alexius looks at me. His eyes are the same steel they always are, but there’s the ghost of a question. Do we gamble it?

I think of Everly’s voice on the phone, her midnight voicemails. I think of the bump under my palm. I think of Maximo sweating, working, holding Molly’s weight like a sacrament. I think of the man on the rug who grinned when he sewed a mouth shut.

“It’s all I got.” My gaze flicks between my brothers. “It’s all I fucking got.”

There’s a moment, a few seconds where you could hear a pin drop in the apartment. Everyone is weighing the chances, the odds that I might have this right. Or that I might not.

Alexius takes a deep breath then nods. “It's a damn better lead than none. Let's do it.”

Sweat beads at my hairline, and Maximo’s desperate stare burns into me as I approach.

Dragged out, this could be the most shitty experience of our entire fucking lives.

So I key in the code as fast as I can, fingers trembling slightly.

If I’m wrong, hopefully we’ll be dust before any of us realizes it.

When the last number is pressed, the world shrinks to the size of a pinhead.

My pulse thunders in my ears like a goddamn freight train, drowning everything else out.

Sweat slides cold down my spine as I forget how to breathe.

One second stretches into eternity—the space between heartbeats where life and death hang suspended.

And then, the tiny red light that's been blinking on top of the box stutters once, twice—and goes black as death.

“Holy fucking shit,” Caelian exclaims. “We didn’t blow up.”

Maximo is already moving. “Get her off!” he roars, a command that turns the room into motion.

Alexius and Caelian are on the chains before my heartbeat finishes. “Careful!” Alexius snaps. “Slow—steady!”

They unhook the chains, the clink of metal an ugly music that suddenly feels like salvation. Molly’s body slumps forward, and Maximo catches her, her body sliding into his arms limp and heavy and awful and alive.

“Get her to a hospital, now!”

Alexius orders, but Maximo is already gone, a blur through the doorway with her broken body clutched against his chest. The second they vanish, oxygen floods back into the room like a tidal wave.

My lungs crack open, starved things finally fed, and I gulp down air so hard my vision spots.

The relief hits like a fucking sledgehammer. Brutal. Immediate. Devastating.

Sean's eyelids flutter. A wet, gurgling groan crawls from his throat.

My fingers clench around my gun until my knuckles bleach white, and I stalk toward him, each step vibrating with rage.

I tower over him, jaw locked so tight my teeth might shatter, replaying his words in my head like a death sentence.

Everly won’t be pregnant forever. I’ll live rent-free in your fucking head, constantly wondering when I’ll come for her. When I’ll make her suffer the same way you allowed Melanie to suffer.

My finger trembles on the trigger. The hierarchy that's been branded into my DNA since birth—the chain of command, the "yes sir," the fucking permission slip for every breath—it all burns away like paper in a fire.

Blood roars in my ears. In this moment, rank is dead.

The lastborn Del Rossa is dead. Alexius' obedient little brother is fucking dead.

What stands here now is primal, husband with teeth bared, father with claws out, a man who will tear the world apart with his bare hands to keep what's his safe.

Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters.

Sean coughs, a spray of blood erupting from his mouth and painting his chin crimson.

His eyes roll like a dying animal's, struggling to find purchase in reality.

The pathetic whimper that escapes him ignites something feral in my chest—each broken sound he makes feeds the beast inside me, a ravenous thing that's been starving for this moment since he first threatened what's mine.

My mouth goes copper-dry as I line up the shot, arm locked and steady while everything inside me quakes with savage need.

The gun barrel becomes an extension of my rage.

My finger squeezes the trigger not in one clean motion but in a deliberate, almost sensual crush, savoring each millimeter of pressure until the mechanism breaks and the bullet tears free with a crack that splits the universe in two.

Blood soars out of him in a languid arc, a scarlet spray that paints the white of the living room in a grotesque masterpiece, and I kneel, a chunk of brain matter on my shoe. “I told you I’d kill you.”