Fury burns through my veins like wildfire, consuming any fear that might have been there. I see him now—really see him, stripped of the illusions I built around him. I see the coldness in his eyes, the emptiness behind his perfect smile, and the complete lack of humanity beneath his polished exterior.
He grins, teeth white and perfect like everything else about him—a façade meticulously maintained to hide the monster underneath. "Because if you breathe a word of this to anyone?" His grip tightens around my throat, just enough to make breathing difficult, to remind me of my vulnerability. "I will kill your family."
I don't think.
I don't hesitate.
I don't weigh the consequences or calculate the risks or imagine the retaliation.
I spit in his fucking face.
The glob of saliva lands on his perfectly sculpted cheekbone and slides slowly down toward his lips—a small, petty victory that feels monumental in this moment.
"I'll never help you, you piece of shit," I hiss, each word dripping with the venom I've been swallowing for years.
His entire body goes still.
He’s quiet and I wonder if he wasn't expecting resistance, that in all his careful planning he never accounted for me finding my voice, my anger, my self-worth.
He growls, a sound more animal than human, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as if my touch has contaminated him. His fingers tighten around the gun until his knuckles go white.
"Oh, I think you will."
The gun presses against my temple, hard enough to leave an impression.
But even with death against my skin, something inside me has finally broken free—and I'm not going back to being the woman who thought she deserved nothing better than Evan.
AMANDA HAS A BODY COUNT. PROBABLY.
CAL
I take a hard turn, tires screeching as I cut through the last intersection before the warehouse. My knuckles are white on the wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs, my mind laser-focused on one thing—getting to Izzy.
Amanda grips the handle of the door, looking entirely too composed for what’s about to go down.
“How do you know where she is?” she asks, tone laced with suspicion.
I don’t hesitate. I don’t even try to lie.
“I hacked her phone a while ago,” I say, voice flat. “I’ve known where she is at all times since I met her.”
Amanda hums. “Huh.”
That’s it.
Just huh.
I glance at her. “That’s all you have to say?”
She shrugs, casual as hell. “I mean, yeah, it’s a little insane and wildly possessive, but let’s be real—I’ve been wondering if you were some kind of stalker since day one. You’re just proving me right. I love being right.”
I roll my eyes.
Under her breath, she mutters, “It’s also kinda hot.”
I ignore that.
We pull up to the warehouse, an old industrial building at the far edge of the docks. The area is deserted; it’s the perfect kind of place for criminals to conduct business without interruptions.
Amanda reaches for the door handle.
I slap a hand on her arm. “Wait.”
She freezes. “What?”
“We can’t just rush in. We don’t know where she is. Running in blind is a great way to get ourselves killed.”
Amanda’s clearly itching to move, but she nods.
I take a breath, reach for my phone, and open the one function I told myself I wouldn’t ever use.
The live audio and video feed from Izzy’s phone.
Amanda’s eyes widen as she watches me tap into the stream. “Oh, you didn’t just hack her phone.” She whistles. “You like, hacked her phone.”
I don’t respond.
I press play.
At first, it’s nothing but muffled sounds. The rustling of fabric. Distant voices.
But one voice cuts through.
Male.
Familiar.
I frown, turning up the volume.
Amanda’s face twists into a sneer.
“That’s Evan,” she hisses.
I whip my head toward her. “You sure?”
She scoffs. “I’ve heard that asshole talk enough times to know, yes, that is definitely him.”
Fucking hell.
I listen harder, but I still can’t pinpoint her exact location. Some kind of office, maybe? Somewhere enclosed.
It’s enough to guide our search.
I slide my gun from my holster, checking the magazine. Amanda does the same.
I glance at her. “You ever cleared a building before?”
Amanda shoots me a seriously? look while chambering a round. “Yes.”
I raise a brow. “You know, you’re full of surprises.”
“Trust me, Callahan,” she says, voice smug. “I’ve got layers.”
I nod once. “I take point. You cover me. We clear as we go. Shoot for the legs. Easier to handle clean up legally and that way they can't follow.”
She nods.
I look back at the warehouse.
Time to get my girl.
“Let’s go.”
***
The warehouse is eerily empty.
No lookouts. No guards. Just rows of crates, shelves stacked high with stolen goods—luxury handbags, high-end electronics, jewelry. They’ve been running this operation for a while.
Amanda moves ahead of me, covering the left side as I take the right.
She’s quiet. Efficient. Smooth.
And, fuck me, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I don’t know what kind of past she has, but I’m starting to think I seriously underestimated her. She moves like someone trained. Someone used to clearing spaces and handling weapons.
Sleeper agent.
Fucking noted.
We advance, sweeping each section of the warehouse. Every turn, every blind corner, I expect to run into someone, but there’s nothing. Just silence.
Until we hear it.
Voices.
Amanda signals to me, pointing toward a door at the far end of the warehouse. I nod, pressing forward.
As we get closer, the voices become clearer.
Not just Evan.
Izzy.
She’s yelling at him, voice full of fire. That’s not good. Fuck, Izzy. She shouldn’t be doing that. Shouldn’t be goading him. But of course she is. She’s fearless. She’s reckless. She’s the strongest woman I know. And right now?
She’s in so much fucking danger.
We reach the door, flattening against the wall beside it.
Now we can hear everything.
“I am not helping you, Evan,” Izzy spits, her voice firm. “I don’t care what you do to me. I would rather die than let you use me for this.”
A long pause.
Then Evan’s voice, darker, nastier than I’ve ever heard it.
“You will do this,” he growls, “or you will die right now.”
Amanda meets my eyes, nods once.
We don’t wait.
We don’t hesitate.
We move.
I raise my boot and kick the fucking door in.
The second the door slams open, chaos erupts.
Izzy’s bound to a chair in the middle of the room, hands tied behind her back.
Evan’s in front of her, a gun in one hand, the other curled into a fist like he was about to hit her.
Not a fucking chance.
But before I can move—
Amanda does.
She launches herself at Evan like a goddamn panther, grabbing his arm, twisting his wrist so fast and hard that the gun clatters to the floor. And then, in a move straight out of a fucking kung fu movie, she takes him down.