Chapter 41 HOSTAGE
Eli’s POV
I understand that revenge can be very twisted and even self-destructive, but this… this is something else.
This is like watching a war where two leaders hate each other so much they’re too proud to fight themselves, so they make their soldiers bleed and die for them.
That man didn’t even have time to scream or realize he's going to die.
One second he was beside us, walking.
Next, he's gone. A life snatched away as a message.
Because of Julian.
Because of Henry.
Because of a feud I don’t even fully understand.
I’m standing there with my heart pounding too loudly in my ears, staring at a corpse cooling on the pavement, and Julian is… calm. Not heartless, not gleeful. Just expecting it. As if death has become background noise to him.
“Handle it,” Julian says quietly.
His men move instantly, lifting the body as if it’s just another task on a checklist.
I watch, numb.
Julian turns to me, touches my lower back, guides me to the car.
My voice stays locked in my throat until the door closes behind me and the world becomes muffled leather and tinted windows.
\---
The drive is in total silence.
I stare at Julian’s reflection in the window; the sharp jaw, the unbothered expression, the slight crease between his brows that probably means he’s calculating his next move.
Meanwhile, I’m praying. Not even for safety at this point where I know that is unaffordable for me.
Just… for a break. One day without fear.
“Take us to the garage,” Julian tells the driver.
My stomach tightens.
The garage.
Please, let it not be another underground den.
Not more men with guns and drugs and bloodstained loyalty.
Julian is tangled in so many illegal things that if the law actually had functioning eyes, he’d probably be arrested before next breakfast.
But I also know the world bends for people like him.
Money softens rules.
Power wipes fingerprints.
Charm writes new laws.
The car slows, turns, and rolls to a stop.
I hold my breath as the door opens.
I step out…
And nearly collapsed with relief.
It’s… just a garage, not a drug den.
A huge one, yes. Filled with shiny sport cars, black motorcycles, polished metal and glass and engines that probably growl like monsters.
But still, just a garage.
Thank god.
Julian walks ahead like he owns every bolt, every tire, every spark plug. Maybe he does. The place smells like gasoline and wealth, like something expensive and dangerous and masculine.
Another engine hums behind us.
Anton’s car.
Of course.
He parks beside us and steps out, looking like someone who got bored and decided to be pretty about it. Casual smile, lazy confidence, eyes too bright… as if danger amuses him.
He glances at Julian, then at the rows of cars.
“Race?” he asks, lips curling.
Julian doesn’t even blink. “Fine.”
I stare at them like they’re insane.
A man just died.
Really died.
In front of us.
And these two want to race?
Anton already has a helmet in his hand. Julian picked up one, and tossed another toward me. I caught it, almost dropping it.
Julian steps close, takes the helmet from my hands, and settles it over my head himself. His fingers brush my cheek, my jaw, lingering just a second too long.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs, voice low in a way that sends a weird shiver down my spine.
He means: don’t wander. Don’t talk to Anton alone. Don’t disappear.
He means: my possession.
I nod.
Julian gets on his bike. Sleek. Black. Sharp like a weapon.
He pats the seat behind him.
I climb on, gripping him around the waist. His body is warm, steady, solid beneath my hands.
Anton smirks and mounts his own bike, flashing a wink at me as if we’re sharing a secret we absolutely aren’t.
The engines roar to life.
The air vibrates.
Julian glances at Anton. Anton returns the look with a grin that says try me.
The race begins…
Speed.
Wind.
The world blurring past in streaks of light and concrete.
Julian rides like a demon unleashed, like physics bows to him and rules don’t apply. Each turn feels like flying off a cliff. Each acceleration makes my stomach flip.
I cling to him, burying my face against his back when he leans low for insane sharp curves.
He’s reckless.
He’s terrifying.
He’s alive in a way humans aren’t supposed to be.
By the time he slows, Anton is nowhere close.
Julian stops, removes his helmet, and smirks like he won a war.
Anton eventually pulls up, laughing. “You cheat. Or you’re suicidal.”
Julian shrugs. “You’re slow.”
Their banter feels like a language of its own: sharp, competitive, and lightly dangerous.
Anton shoots me a quick grin. “Did you survive back there?”
“I think my soul left my body,” I mutter.
He laughs like I’m adorable.
Julian stared at him too sharply.
\---
Time to head back home.
Except Julian decides we aren’t taking the car.
“We’ll ride,” he says, already getting on the bike again.
“Ride?” I echo, horrified. “As in—fast?”
Julian looks over his shoulder at me. “Always. What's the purpose of riding a bike if not attempting to make it fly?”
Anton chuckles. “Try not to fall off. He won’t slow down for you.”
Julian hands me the helmet again. “Get on.”
I consider running away. Or crying. Or both.
But I get on.
And then we’re off…
Fast. Faster. Fastest.
The city becomes a smear of lights. My heart bangs against my ribs, my arms tighten around Julian, and every bump in the road feels like a prayer.
By the time we reach the house, my legs are jelly.
Julian hops off the bike like he’s stepping off a yoga mat.
I wobble.
He grabs my arm before I fall and pulls me forward—
But stops abruptly.
A dead body lies at the entrance of the house.
Another one.
Cold. Still. Face pale in the porch lights.
Julian doesn’t gasp or even pause for more than a second… y'know, anything to acknowledge the horrifying scene.
He’s used to this.
Death is an unwelcome visitor, but not a surprising one.
I grip his sleeve tightly. This is… this is what I meant. About leaders making their soldiers fight instead of fighting themselves.
Julian turns slightly, eyes landing on mine.
“My father wouldn’t have disappeared back then,” I say, “if he didn’t get caught up in other people’s battles. And now your men are dying because you and my father refuse to just— I don’t know—deal with each other directly. Or fight. Or end this without dragging everyone else down. Punch each other or something. Stop killing people who didn't sign up for this.”
Julian’s jaw flexes.
The night is silent except for the faint hum of streetlights.
Finally he speaks.
“War doesn’t work the way you imagine,” he says. “Henry and I will never meet in a field and beat each other to death with our fists. Men like him… like us… don’t fight clean. We fight with everything. Everyone. Every weakness, every attachment, every pressure point.”
His fingers curl around mine.
“And you, Eli,” he murmurs, “are the biggest pressure point of all, because your greedy father didn't get caught or tangled up in other people's affairs. He was the tangle. He started this.”
My stomach drops.
Because I already knew that.
But hearing him say it makes something inside me catch a cold.
Julian looks at the dead man on his floor, then at me again.
“Stay close, don't try to run off,” he orders softly. “The closer you are, the safer y
ou are. I'm the one protecting you, not your father.”
I don’t know if that’s true.
But I follow him inside anyway.
Because I'm a fucking hostage. I don’t have anywhere else to go and if I did have somewhere to go, I can't.