Chapter 72

Chapter 72
Seamus crashed through the bunker entrance like a storm breaking loose, his silencer barely stifling the sharp cracks of his gunfire. The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, mixing with the acrid burn of gunpowder and sweat. Shadows danced along the cold concrete walls, flickering with every muzzle flash. Bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless before they had the chance to register what was happening.
And then he saw her.
Mika was already in motion, a ghost in the chaos, fluid and ruthless. Her blade flashed under the dim overhead light, slicing clean through the soft flesh of a man’s throat. Blood spattered across her cheek, but she didn’t stop, didn’t pause. She twisted the knife, yanking it free in a spray of crimson, her eyes locked on the next target before the body even hit the ground.
She didn’t hesitate. Not once. There was no fear in her, no trace of the woman he had stolen from her life and forced into his world. What stood before him now was something different—something that moved with deadly precision, something that thrived in the violence surrounding them.
For a split second, he almost stopped. Almost hesitated. But there was no time for shock, no time to reconcile the woman he had taken with the one now fighting beside him as if she had been doing it her whole life.
They moved together like a violent symphony, their bodies in perfect sync. When he fired over her shoulder, she ducked without needing to look. When she twisted to slash at an attacker’s gut, he was already shifting to cover her blind spot. Their coordination was effortless, the kind that was built over years of fighting together—not weeks.
It was instinct.
His clip ran empty. Before he could even reach for a spare, she was already there, passing him another gun with the same unflinching composure. He grabbed it without question, fingers grazing hers for the briefest second. There was no reaction from her, no flicker of acknowledgment in her face. She wasn’t just surviving anymore—she was something else entirely.
And it unsettled him.
He caught a glimpse of her in the flickering light, her expression unreadable. She didn’t just fight like him—she fought better than she should have. Like this had been inside her all along, waiting to be set free.
A man lunged at her from the right, and without missing a beat, she sidestepped, using his momentum against him. Her blade found the soft space between his ribs, and she twisted, her gaze locked on the dying man as if daring him to linger. She let the body drop with an almost casual indifference, the same way Seamus had done a thousand times before. And then she turned to him.
For the briefest moment, her eyes met his. And what he saw made something dark coil in his gut.
She felt nothing.
A bullet whizzed past his ear, jerking him back into the fight. He pivoted, landing a brutal shot between an attacker’s eyes, but his mind was still reeling.
Mika had changed.
And he wasn’t sure if he should be proud or fucking terrified.
The fight was chaos. Blood slicked the floor beneath their feet, bodies crumpling one after another as Seamus and Mika tore through the onslaught. He barely had time to process the way she moved, the way she anticipated every attack, mirroring him like they had been trained together from birth. It should have thrilled him.
But then it happened.
One second, she was locked in combat, precise and untouchable. The next—
A blade plunged into her side.
She let out a sharp gasp, her body jolting as steel buried itself deep. Seamus turned just in time to see the flicker of shock on her face. Her gaze darted to him, her body wavering, and in that split second, the world snapped in half.
A roar ripped through him, raw and feral. He didn’t think—there was no thought, no strategy, no restraint. Just pure, unfiltered rage.
The man who had stabbed her barely had time to turn before Seamus was on him. His gun was forgotten—his hands were faster. He grabbed the bastard by the throat and slammed him into the concrete wall with bone-crushing force. The impact sent a sickening crack through the air, but Seamus didn’t stop. He drove his fist into the man’s skull, again and again, feeling the bones splinter under his knuckles.
Mika. Hurt.
The thought shattered something in him.
Another man charged, but Seamus turned so fast it was almost inhuman, grabbing a discarded knife from the floor and plunging it into the attacker’s gut. He twisted viciously, ripping through flesh and muscle, letting the man’s screams fuel the fire burning in his chest.
He spun back to Mika. She was swaying, hand pressed to the wound in her side, blood spilling between her fingers. Her eyes met his, and something desperate and raw passed between them.
This is final. I love this woman.
The realization wasn’t gentle. It didn’t come like a soft whisper or creeping dawn. It came like a goddamn wrecking ball, slamming into his ribs and leaving him breathless. There was no more denying it, no more pretending. She was his. She had always been his.
And now, someone had hurt her.
Seamus turned, eyes burning, chest heaving. He was going to destroy every last one of them.
And then, when there was nothing left but blood and bodies, he was going to make sure she lived.