ISAAC
My muscles are rigid. I’m completely strung out, every inch of me pulled tight like the strings on a bow, ready to snap. I’ve felt like this since Via came into Crimson, but when one of my marks went over to her table and sat next to her, I lifted from my stool. Arlo and King appeared and locked me down—kind of. I could have pushed it, could have still gotten to her, but there was no reason to hurt my friends. If he had tried something with Via, though, all bets would have been off, and if Arlo and King hadn’t have let me go, things would have turned out differently. I have a new purpose, that’s why I know I need to leave, because Black Ops, the mission, my team, they don’t come first anymore. She does. I think she always has, but now I know I can’t live without her, not anymore.
Via’s heavily drunk, but as soon as the Saliva track ‘Always’ comes on, she starts dancing to the song. She dances as though it’s her lifeline, like the words are what feeds the blood pumping around her body. It reminds me how much I hurt her, and how she feels about me.
Two things happen simultaneously.
I realise this time she’s never going to forgive me—not ever, and that realisation happens at the same time a pair of muscly arms grab her and pull her toward the back of the club.
ISAAC
“Get the fuck off me!” I roar, throwing both Arlo and King at least four feet clear of me. I run through the club, barrelling over people, shoving them out of the way. The moment I barge through the fire escape, I know that the whole thing was a mistake… or a setup. I count ten men standing in front of me, and two vans idle behind them. Dean is on the floor, unmoving. Fuck.
“Isaac?” Via’s shaky voice tears me up inside, and my eyes move from her to the man gripping her arm.
“You thought we didn’t know about you? That this was a covert op? You should watch your back, young man, you never know who’s shoving knives into it.” The words spring free from the mouth of the suit. Derry. That’s the name of the leader. I remember it from the sparse intel we were provided.
“Via, you’re going to be fine. I will come for you,” I tell her, my voice steady because I know it’s true.
“Isaac,” Via whispers. “Don’t let them take me, please!” she screams.
I know what’s coming as her screams continue, and all I can do is keep looking at her trying to let her know I’ll get her even if it’s not right now. One of the men standing at her back raises his hand, the gun glints in the moonlight as he clocks her on the back of the head, and she falls limp in his arms. I show no emotion. I’ve locked everything down. If I don’t, she’ll die, but I mark him as mine to kill.
“Hmmm… so cold. I’ve heard about you, Kane. Heard you were a frigid bastard. She’s someone to you.” He steps forward, his suit crinkling as he moves. Stopping, he rubs his chin. “You think you’re going to save her, but you’re not.” He shakes his head, grinning. As he fades into the background his men step forward, obscuring my view of him. Helena isn’t visible, so I know she’s already in one van. I watch poised as the man holding Via throws her over his shoulder and spins around walking away.
Pulling my knife from my sleeve, I jump forward stabbing the man in front of me in the throat. All hell breaks loose as shouting, shooting, and smashing fills the quiet night air with sound. I see the moment they throw Via into the back of one of the vans and flee. I knew they would. I had settled it in my mind, knowing I wouldn’t get through the guys in front of me before they took her.
Now I’m facing multiple men, Dean is down, and I have no idea where the rest of my team is. Crouching and rounding out my leg, I take down the next man to come at me—his head hits the concrete step and makes a crunching sound. I reach around to my waistband pulling out my gun, shooting the guy to my far left. I only manage to hit his shoulder as the others rush toward me. Fighting is a matter of life and death, and right now, as I feel fists hit my back and ribs, I know I need to think quick. With my gun in one hand and my knife in the other, I shoot someone, making a space as they fall. At the same time, I stab another. Sucking the knife out of his flesh, I push it back in again. There’s a groan and a thump—another one down.
I swing my fist up and thrust the knife into the next man’s chin, pushing up into his mouth. He falls taking my knife, so I bring up my gun, but not quick enough I realise as I feel the cold steel at my temple.
“I might not have pulled my gun out originally because I wanted to beat you like a real man. Seeing as you used your gun, I figure it’s anything goes now,” a man at my back tells me.
I chuckle. “This isn’t schoolboy rules, dickhead. If it were, then none of you would have rushed me. Instead, you would have fought me one at a time. But then you
