Chapter 134 Chapter 134
“I didn’t see anything, sir, I swear I didn't; the van just parked…” he stuttered.
I placed a photo of Tessa on the table; he looked at it and shook his head rapidly.
“I didn’t touch her; I didn’t even…" he stuttered.
“I know,” I said softly, and his relief surfaced too early, then I broke his finger, not in anger, not loudly, simply a precise twist that produced a sound that silenced the room and replaced his words with a scream.
“You noticed something,” I continued gently while he cried, “your brain recorded it, and pain helps memory.”
Joe turned away slightly but didn’t intervene because this was the version of me that kept her alive before she trusted me with her hand; the man sobbed and forced himself to think, gasping between breaths.
“Sticker… on the van… black wolf head… I remember because it was scratched…”
A symbol, something traceable—I stood up and wiped my hands slowly.
“Good,” I told him while Carlo moved to take over.
Behind me the room had already shifted into motion, and I felt it settle inside my chest—not relief, never relief, but direction. They had taken my wife; they had allowed her to speak so I would listen; they had made this personal. What they didn’t understand was that I had always been personal. I hunted men for less than this. For a bruise, for the fear in her eyes she tried to hide, and for the nightmares she never knew I witnessed.
Now she was gone, and somewhere she was waiting for me, whether she admitted it or not, because she always did. Even before she understood she loved me, she trusted the world would end before I let it keep her. I stepped back toward the screen where the symbol was already being searched across databases, gangs, private fleets, old enemies, and forgotten debts.
My pulse was steady, too steady, the kind that comes before violence stretches over hours.
“Find it,” I said quietly, and every person in the room moved faster; they didn’t fear losing her, they were afraid of what I would become if I didn’t find her soon, and the truth was simple.
The man she married loved her gently, but the man she survived loved her violently, and tonight only one of them was coming to bring her home.
Tessa
Darkness changes personality after a while. At first it feels temporary, like closing your eyes in a quiet room and expecting light to return any second, but time stretches and the mind starts filling the silence with shape and meaning until the absence itself feels alive.
I stopped counting how long I had been here because it only made the stillness heavier, and the longer I listened, the more I noticed small details: the hum behind the wall, the faint echo of distant pipes, and footsteps that never rushed.
This place wasn’t chaotic; it was prepared. My wrists rested against rope that held without cutting, and even that felt intentional—enough control to remind me escape wasn’t an option but not enough pain to create panic. She brought me here but didn’t want hysteria; she wanted me aware.
The door opened slowly, light spilled in behind a figure, and I blinked until my eyes adjusted. She didn’t step toward me immediately and didn’t speak right away either; she just watched me as if comparing memory to reality.
“You’re calmer than I expected,” she said softly.
She walked to the side table and placed a bottle of water within reach before stepping back again, maintaining distance like she understood comfort mattered more than intimidation. I held the bottle without drinking, watching her instead. Something flickered across her face, then settled into something controlled.
“I know my brother," she said.
“…You really don't."
Silence filled the space between us, and that was answer enough, then the full reality of what she had done hit me. It hit because I knew what would happen when Zaiel found out; my hands tightened around the bottle.
“You need to let me go,” I said quickly, my voice unsteady for the first time. "You don’t understand what he’ll do."
Her expression hardened slightly, a defensive bitterness surfacing.
“I understand him better than you ever will," she said.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head, “you understand, Zaiel."
Her brows drew together faintly.
“But Kai is different."
The room felt colder as I forced the words out because remembering that night months ago still lived sharp in my chest.
“Zaiel Kai Rhyland” I said quietly, “Avani, Zaiel is your brother, but Kai.” I shook my head, and her jaw tightened.
“He told you if you ever tried to hurt me again he’d forget you were his sister."
She didn’t answer, but her silence confirmed the memory. I swallowed hard.
“You think this ends with anger or threats, but it won’t,” I continued, my voice shaking despite trying to keep it steady. "When it comes to me, he doesn’t see blood or history or family; he only sees harm and the person who caused it."
She watched me without blinking. “You’re exaggerating," she said.
“I lived it,” I whispered. The words felt heavy but true, and I needed her to understand before it was too late.
“Zaiel protects me,” I said softly, “Kai hunts, and he’s a murderer," I whispered.
The quiet stretched, and I saw the smallest hesitation in her posture.
“If he finds out you took me, he won’t see his sister standing in front of him; he’ll see the person who hurt me, and he won’t stop at punishment."
I forced a breath. “I’m not scared of being here,” I admitted, voice trembling. “I’m scared for you," I said, and something shifted in her eyes then, something buried under resentment and pride.
“You think you matter that much?" she asked.
“I know I do,” I said honestly, “and that’s why you have to let me go before he finds you because once he does, there’s no fixing it."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the room itself; for the first time uncertainty moved through her expression, and I realized she believed she had control of the situation. She didn’t understand that the moment she took me, she stepped into something irreversible because somewhere out there Zaiel Kai Rhyland was already moving, and when his monster woke, it didn’t care who stood in its path.
The room smelled like dust and metal and something damp I couldn’t name, the kind of air that never moved and made every breath feel heavier than the last, and my wrists burned from the rope every time I shifted even slightly because my hands had gone numb long ago, but the pain kept returning in slow waves like my body refused to forget what was happening.
Avani paced in front of me again, boots scraping concrete, agitation rolling off her in sharp, restless movements that felt more dangerous than yelling ever could, because silence from her meant she was thinking, and thinking meant she was deciding something.