Chapter 212

King

I know she's still here.

I can fucking feel it.

The tether between us—the invisible string knotted in her soul and tied tight around mine—pulls harder with every second.

She's close.

Needing me.

Waiting.

And I need her just as fucking badly.

It's only been a few hours, but it feels like a lifetime without her. My chest is hollow. My blood's burning. And even though I trust War to protect her with his life, this whole operation is a damn minefield.

I never really believed she was in that van—but I said it over comms anyway, in case Silas was listening. And considering the bastard found the tracker I embedded in her ring, there's no telling what other tech he's got.

So while the other team followed the decoy, we went floor by floor, room by room, clearing this hellhole of every last threat.

Now we're closing in on the north wing.

"Damn it. How many rooms does this place have?" Niko growls, throwing open another door.

"Too fucking many," Mason mutters. "At this rate, Silas is gonna figure out we never left."

"Nah," I say, my voice low and certain. "We'll find her before that."

As we round a corner, one of Silas's men nearly crashes into us. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to shout—but I'm already there.

My hand wraps around his throat as I slam him against the wall so hard his teeth click together.

He chokes, flailing like a fish on a hook.

Mason rips the earpiece out of his head and crushes it beneath his foot.

"Where the fuck is she?" I snarl, my voice scraped raw with rage and desperation. It doesn't even sound human.

I don't feel human.

I've felt out of control before—but not like this.

After Silas pulled his little stunt with Alyssa's ring... After showing us that video—raping my mother like it was nothing—I've never lusted for blood like this in my life.

My grip tightens.

"P-Please..." the man stammers, his hands raised. "Don't hurt me..."

"Where. Is. She." I squeeze until his eyes bulge.

"Top floor," he gasps. "Last door on the right!"

"And the others?" Niko asks, stepping in close.

"Second floor. I swear."

"I'll take the second," Gray calls behind us, already signaling for backup. "Go save my sister. Kill that fucker."

I nod once.

Then snap the guard's neck without another word.

Me, Niko, and Mason take off up the stairs.

By the time we hit the top floor, I'm vibrating with fury. Every second she's not with us is a second she could be getting hurt.

Or worse.

We reach the door.

No knock. No warning.

I crash through it shoulder-first, the impact dulled by adrenaline.

I'll feel it later. Doesn't matter.

By then, I'll have her. And the rest won't mean shit.

The moment I see what's inside, my blood goes ice cold.

Alyssa's on all fours, still tied up and gagged, stripped from the waist down.

War is behind her.

Inside her.

Silas's men line the room like they're waiting their turn.

And Silas?

He's sitting behind his desk. Watching. Smiling.

I don't flinch.

Don't freeze.

I calculate.

One look, and I get it. War's protecting her the only way he can.

If he hadn't stepped in, one of these animals would've.

And that?

That would've broken her in ways we may never have been able to fix.

Niko and Mason don't waste a second.

They open fire before the guards can even raise a weapon.

Blood splatters the walls. Bodies fall.

I make a straight line for Silas.

He reaches for his gun. Too slow.

I slam his head into the desk. Once. Twice. Bone cracks beneath my palm.

He slumps, dazed and drooling.

I yank zip-ties from my pocket and wrench his arms behind the chair, binding his wrists with the same cruelty he's used on every woman he's ever touched.

Then I shove him back—unconscious, bleeding. The king of fucking nothing.

My gaze shifts to the woman kneeling near the wall.

His wife.

Still. Hollow. Just a ghost with a pulse.

She's not innocent—she tried to take Zuri from Alyssa—but she's also a prisoner of her husband's sickness.

Another trophy he kept around to destroy.

"Get out," I say coldly. "Unless you want to watch him die."

Her eyes lift—dull and dark, but not afraid.

Shit. Maybe she does want to watch.

"Is my son dead?" she asks.

I tilt my head. "Yes. But he didn't suffer like his father will."

A sob cracks out of her like something inside finally gave way.

I don't care if it's grief or guilt.

Honestly, the whole family can rot in hell—but she walks free today.

Because I know that's what Alyssa would want.

"Mace," I bark. "Get her out of here. Load her with the others."

He nods, wordless, and helps her to her feet. She doesn't look back. Just follows him out like a shadow.

I turn and finally let myself look at her.

Alyssa's curled in Niko's arms, trembling. Her cheeks are soaked in tears. Her eyes are bloodshot and empty.

But she's still alive.

Still here.

Still mine.

War remains on the floor, a faraway look in his eyes.

Our gazes lock.

"War. Stay."

He nods, gets up, and calmly pours himself a drink from the bottle on the desk—like he's settling in to burn down with the house.

But I don't plan to kill him today.

The trust we established is still there. Even after all of this.

"Niko," I command. "Take her out of here. She's seen enough."

Niko doesn't hesitate. Just gathers her up, whispering something low in her ear.

Her eyes flicker to mine—wide. Shattered.

My chest tightens.

I want to hold her.

Breathe her in.

Wipe the pain off her skin like I can somehow undo what just happened.

But first?

I need to make sure the man responsible never breathes again.

I walk over, pull her ring from my pocket, and slip it back onto her finger.

She breathes in sharply.

I kiss the ring. Then her forehead.

"Wait for me, kitten," I murmur.

"I-I love you," she whispers, her voice cracking.

I swallow hard. "I love you too."

She doesn't even try to argue about staying.

That's how I know this night has taken everything out of her.

I swear, after this, we're going on a fucking vacation.

Somewhere secluded. Far away.

Where I won't let her out of my sight for a single goddamn second.

Niko turns at the door. "Make that asshole suffer. For all of us."

I smirk. "That's the plan."

Then they're gone.

Now it's just me. War.

And the demon who thought he could win a war against a man like me.

Who thought it was okay to touch both my mother and my queen.

I drop my bag, pull out my tools, and lay them across the desk.

Slow. Surgical.

Then I nod to War.

"After what that motherfucker just made you do," I say, snapping on a pair of black gloves, "you get first dibs."

War steps forward, his eyes cold. "Long as you're not using those things on me, I don't care how this goes down."

"Anyone else touch her?" I ask.

"Just Silas," he grits out. "Didn't hurt her. Not physically—from what I saw. But..." He clenches his jaw. "Turns out he was the buyer. Rented her out to Isaac. Thought she'd fix his cravings for dick."

I hum low. The kind of sound that comes from deep in the chest—where the real rage lives.

Everything clicks.

The bounty. The obsession. The sick delusion that she ever belonged to him.

I look at the bastard slumped in the chair, blood trickling down his face.

I hope he's made peace with his maker.

Because his last moments are going to be nothing but pain.