Chapter 149

Chapter 149

Serena's POV

The stench of death hung heavy in the rusted air.

Flickering emergency lights cast dying glimmers across oil-stained concrete walls crawling with cobwebs, projecting grotesque, writhing shadows—like countless invisible hands clawing through the darkness.

Mike and Zack extracted me from the van with the care of men handling a live grenade.

My wrists bound behind my back, I watched the subtle shift in their eyes. Not the smug satisfaction of a job well done, but something deeper—fear, yes, but also overwhelming relief.

"Dragon! We brought her!" Zack's voice cracked as he shouted into the warehouse depths.

Footsteps emerged from the shadows.

Dragon materialized from the gloom, a mountain of muscle and menace. He surveyed me with the satisfaction of a collector admiring a prized acquisition.

"Good! Efficient!"

Zack swallowed hard. "Dragon, our families—"

Dragon waved dismissively. "Relax. I'm a man of my word. Your people are already being moved to a safe location. Now get the hell out. I don't need you anymore."

The two men fled like prisoners granted sudden pardon.

Mike didn't even pause to wipe the cold sweat from his brow as they bolted for their vehicle. Zack glanced back once, his gaze lingering on my face for a heartbeat—guilt flickering there, quickly drowned by terror—before he too turned and ran.

The van door slammed.

The engine roared.

Silence descended, broken only by the emergency lights' electric hum and my own controlled breathing.

Dragon shoved me against a cold, grease-slicked metal table in the warehouse center.

Duct tape sealed my mouth.

Ice crawled up my spine.

Stay calm.

I commanded myself.

In situations like this, fear only fueled an abuser's need for control and sadistic pleasure. I had to stay rational.

My mind raced.

Those two men's reactions had told me something critical. Normal kidnappers didn't flee their own crime scene like that—like they were desperate to drop a ticking bomb.

Had they already contacted Ethan?

The realization struck like lightning, bringing a surge of barely suppressed relief.

Combined with the watch and nail decal I'd left in the garage, and the commotion they'd caused during the abduction, Ethan was almost certainly already on his way.

All I had to do now was buy time.

Dragon clamped a cigar between his teeth, its glowing tip pulsing in the dim light like a fevered eye. He circled me with the casual confidence of a butcher sizing up livestock.

He exhaled a thick plume of acrid smoke.

"Serena Sterling."

He savored the name like fine wine. "Ethan's woman, huh?"

He leaned closer, lips peeling back to reveal teeth stained yellow and black, eyes burning with sick excitement. "Bet you never imagined you'd end up in a shithole like this tonight, did you?"

He extended a hand—calloused, tobacco-stained, rough as sandpaper—reaching for my face with undisguised intent.

I jerked my head away and fixed him with a glare of pure contempt.

That look, sharper than any words, cut deeper than a blade.

Dragon laughed, withdrawing his hand, his amusement tinged with perverse delight. "Feisty! I like that! The more spirit you've got, the better you'll sound when you're begging. Makes it so much more entertaining."

He gestured toward a shadowy corner.

A man in a filthy lab coat shuffled forward—the coat covered in mysterious black stains. His face was corpse-pale, his frame thin and hunched. He carried a metal tray with trembling hands, the rattling betraying his fear.

On the tray lay a massive syringe and several small vials filled with viscous liquid.

The liquids glowed in unnatural hues—deep orange, murky purple, sickly amber. Each color radiated danger.

The label read: Angel's Bliss.

I knew that name.

A high-purity synthetic hallucinogen that had flooded the black market in recent years. Far more addictive than standard narcotics. Once injected, the neurological damage was virtually irreversible.

My pupils contracted sharply.

Ice shot from the base of my spine straight to the crown of my skull.

"Recognize it?"

Dragon picked up the syringe, slowly rotating the needle tip toward the warehouse ceiling. He pressed the plunger with his thumb, expelling air bubbles with deliberate slowness.

He lowered the needle toward my taped mouth, his face twisting into a grotesque grin. "Never seen it before, have you? Let me tell you—this is premium stuff! Angel's Bliss, the hottest commodity on the black market! People kill for this shit!"

He leaned closer, his breath reeking of tobacco and decay, voice dropping to a nauseating rasp. "One shot of this… and you'll be floating in heaven. After that? That pretty face of yours will be done. You think Ethan's gonna want a junkie? A ruined, babbling mess? Dream on!"

The needle inched toward the inside of my arm.

I understood now.

Vivian.

Only she would demand this—not my death, but my complete destruction. To reduce a talented woman to a drug-addicted, broken shell was far more satisfying than a quick kill. It fit her pathological need to utterly crush me.

For the first time, genuine terror flashed in my eyes.

No.

Absolutely not.

Dragon's grin widened, savoring my fear. The needle was millimeters from my skin.

Then, a deafening explosion shattered the warehouse silence.

The heavy steel door was obliterated—a black SUV smashed through it like a battering ram, metal shrieking as it tore apart and collapsed inward. Smoke and shrapnel filled the air, the acrid stench of twisted metal overwhelming.

The violent shockwave carried metal shards and choking dust.

"What the—?!" Dragon's hand jerked, nearly dropping the syringe.

His men stood frozen, stunned by the catastrophic breach.

Blinding xenon headlights pierced the swirling dust.

In the center of that searing light, a towering figure emerged from the vehicle like a god of war descending—radiating a bone-chilling aura of murderous fury and unhinged rage.

Ethan.

His usually glacial features were twisted with primal wrath. His eyes burned like twin infernos, ready to consume everything in their path.

He was still injured—his shirt hung open, revealing blood-soaked bandages. The dark crimson stains spreading across the white gauze showed his wounds had reopened during his violent entry.

He didn't care.

No hesitation. No wasted words.

His gaze cut through the chaos and locked onto me.

"Serena."

His voice—low, raw, like something torn from deep within his chest.

Then he moved.

Each step across the cold concrete echoed like a war drum, reverberating off the warehouse walls.

"Stop him!" Dragon's voice cracked with panic.

But there was no stopping him.

Dragon's remaining men, the moment they saw Ethan stride into that warehouse—flanked by his team of armed, stone-faced security—felt their last shred of courage evaporate.

No one moved to resist.