Stay With Me

Stay With Me
Damien’s POV

The phone rang while I was mid-sentence, arguing with Jaxon about whether we should change the private investigator tailing Carlos or give him more time. The screen lit up with Ellie’s name and my stomach dropped like someone cut the elevator cables.

I answered before the second ring.

“Ellie—”

She was already crying. Hard. Gasping, panicked words tumbling over each other.

“They’re gone, Damien. Isabella and Agnes…they’re just… gone.” A sharp breath. “Isabella said she needed the ladies’ room. She never came back. After a while, Agnes went in to check on her…and she didn’t come out either.”

A pause, ragged, like the words were sticking in her throat. “I went in after them. Agnes’s phone was on the floor. But they weren’t.”

Her voice cracked. “It’s like they stepped into the air and disappeared. Damien… they’re not here. They’re really not here.”

The room tilted and her words sounded muffled like it was coming from the great beyond.

I don’t remember dropping the phone. I don’t remember telling Jaxon to move. I just remember the blood roaring in my ears and the way my vision tunneled until all I could see was the exit.

We tore into the restaurant minutes later like a SWAT team with no warrant. Chairs scraped, tables rattled, people yelped and jumped out of the way. Ellie was hysterical near the bathrooms, Andre trying to hold her up while she pointed at the empty booth like it had personally betrayed her.

The manager was already on the phone with 911 when we stormed in. Cops arrived maybe seven minutes later…two patrol cars, lights flashing, blocking the street. They tried to get statements. I wasn’t giving statements. I was giving orders.

How do two people just vanish into thin air?

People didn’t disappear like that. Not without a trace. Not without a sound.

And what kind of goddamn restaurant had no cameras in its fucking corridors?

I called in every single contact I had. Security team. The off-the-books guys who usually handled discreet problems. The retired detective who owed me more favors than I cared to count. Even vixen and her crew, the ones I swore I’d never ask for a favor again. Everyone.

“How the fuck did you let this happen?” I roared at Andre. My chest felt like it was caving in. “I swear to God, if Isabella isn’t found—” My voice dropped, lethal. “I will fucking kill you.”

“I’m sorry, boss,” Andre said quickly, hands half raised. “It was the ladies’ restroom. I couldn’t exactly follow them in.”

The words barely left his mouth before I snapped. I lunged, my fist connecting with his face. The crack of bone was sickening. Blood spilled from his split lip as he staggered back.

“You had one fucking job, Andre,” I snarled, shaking with fury. “One.”

I paced like a caged animal, running my hands through my hair, cursing under my breath, every second stretching thin…until it hit me.

The waist chain.

“She has a waist chain,” I breathed, already reaching for my phone. “There’s a tracker in it.” My fingers trembled as I opened the app.
“Come on… come on,” I whispered, staring at the screen like sheer will could force it to cooperate. “Turn on. Please, baby. Help me find you.”

Jace was losing it worse than I’d ever seen. Pacing, fists clenched, muttering about trackers, facial recognition pings, traffic cam pulls. “Where the fuck is the signal? She has the waist chain…right? She’s wearing it, isn’t she?”

“She’s wearing it,” I said through gritted teeth. “She always wears it since that day.”

Hours crawled by and coffee went cold. Ellie sobbed into Jaxon’s shoulder. We haven’t heard a word from the police and there are no traces of them being taken away. I stared at my tracking app like it was a bomb about to detonate.

Then it blinked green.

Signal acquired. Coordinates locked. An abandoned warehouse district twenty-eight minutes away.

So she’s only twenty-eight minutes away all these while and I couldn’t even find her?!

My phone rang two seconds later as I was barking orders. Unknown number.

I answered immediately…hoping that maybe she's the one calling.

Carlos’s voice…oily, smug, confident just enough to let me know he has leverage against me. One I would die for.

“How incompetent can you be, Damien, that it’s taking you this long to find your woman? Is this what your father taught you?” he sneered.

I didn’t rise to it. I swallowed the rage burning up my throat and stayed silent.

Then the screen shifted…video.

And there she was.

Isabella.

Her cry ripped out of her as one of his men drove a fist into her, the sound of the impact echoing through the speaker and my vision went red.

Fucking bastards.
I’ll kill him. Slowly. Painfully.
Fuck the police…there’s no universe where I hand him over alive. He should be praying I don’t reach him first.

Breathe.
I had to keep him talking. Had to let him believe he was in control, that he was winning…long enough for us to close in.

“What do you want?” I forced out, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.

“Voss. You want her back breathing? Two hundred and fifty million. Cash. Plus the deeds to your three coastal properties and that little private island you think nobody knows about. And I want full clearance…passport, private airstrip access, no Interpol flags…before midnight tonight. Or I start sending you pieces of your woman. Starting with her fingers.”

I let him talk. Let him think I was listening. Let him believe he still had leverage.

Because the dot on my screen was already moving. My team was rolling. Black SUVs. Armed. No badges. No hesitation. We didn’t even wait or inform the police. 

“I’ll get it done,” I said flatly. “Just don’t hurt her.”

He laughed. “Too late for that. You better hurry.”

Then the line went dead.

My heart didn’t break. It fucking shattered.

We hit the warehouse like a storm minutes later. Tires screaming. Doors flying open before we even stopped. I was out first, gun in hand…not that I planned to use it cleanly. Not tonight.

I sprinted through the side entrance.

And saw her.

Isabella falling.

Blood on her lips. Hand pressed to her side. Agnes screaming her name, trying to hold her up.

Time didn’t slow. It just fractured.

I crossed the distance in three strides, dropped to my knees, caught her before she hit the ground completely. Officers swarmed the three remaining men…cuffs snapping, rifles up, yelling commands I didn’t hear.

Agnes was sobbing, hands covered in blood, shaking so hard she could barely speak.

“Damien…she…she pushed me…she…I’m sorry…”

I scooped Isabella into my arms. Her head lolled against my chest. Blood smeared across my shirt. Her blood.

The pain of watching her struggle to speak, blood slipping from the corner of her mouth, tore through me in a way nothing ever had. It was sharp, suffocating…like my chest was being crushed from the inside out.

It should have been me.
Not her.

“Don’t talk,” I choked out, voice cracking. “Baby, don’t try to talk. Just look at me. Eyes on me. I’ve got you. I’m getting you help. Stay with me.”

Tears burned down my face. I didn’t care who saw.

I ran. Didn’t look back. Didn’t see Jace tackling someone. Didn’t see Ellie and Andre rushing  behind us. Just ran toward the entrance, toward the SUVs still idling with doors open.

“Fucking drive!” I roared as I slid into the back seat, Isabella cradled against me.

The driver floored it before the door even closed.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, brushing sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. “Hold on. We’ll be at the hospital soon. You’re okay.”

She coughed weakly as she opened her eyes and blood flecked her lips.

“I finally did something right… for once in my life…”

I squeezed her hand so hard I was scared I’d break it.

“I don’t want you to do anything right anymore. Don’t do anything. Just stay alive. Stay by my side… please.”

She gave me the smallest, weakest smile…bloody, beautiful…and then her eyes rolled back and snapped shut.

“Step on the gas!” I yelled at the driver. “Now!”