Chapter 114

Chapter 114
Eloise – First Person POV

Rain had started by the time Mike’s voice broke through the frantic pounding of my heart.

“You’re not going alone,” he said, his tone low, sharp, cutting against the restless clatter of raindrops against the atelier’s broken windows.

I shook my head before he’d even finished. My hands were still trembling from the message, the image burned so deep into my brain it felt branded there. Max’s eyes, red, wide, terrified above the gag—were all I could see.

“I have to,” I said, pushing past him toward the back hallway. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out and stuffed with molten lead. “If you come with me, Damon will think it’s a setup. He said—”

“I don’t care what he said!” Mike’s voice rose, echoing off the concrete walls. He caught my wrist, his palm warm against my skin despite the damp chill in the air. “Eloise, you don’t know what Damon’s capable of—”

“I know exactly what he’s capable of!” The words ripped out of me before I could stop them. My throat burned. “I’ve known longer than you think. But Max—” My voice cracked. “Max doesn’t have time for us to argue about who gets to play hero.”

Mike’s jaw tightened. The rain on his shoulders slid down in glistening rivulets, dripping onto the floor between us. “You think I’m letting you walk into this blind?”

I pulled my wrist free. “I think if I bring you, I might be walking into it with my son already dead.”

That silenced him. For a moment the only sound was the distant wail of sirens and the steady percussion of the rain. His mouth opened, closed. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Text me the second you’re safe,” he said finally, voice hoarse.

I didn’t promise him anything.

.

The streets blurred past in streaks of wet light as I drove, my hands rigid around the steering wheel. My wipers beat a frantic rhythm against the windshield, but no amount of clearing could erase the reflection of Max’s bound wrists in my mind. My pulse was so loud it drowned out the hum of the engine.

Damon’s message had included an address. Not a hotel. Not his usual bar. A warehouse district down by the docks. The kind of place where screams would vanish into the fog before anyone thought to call the police.

My breath steamed in the cool air of the car. The closer I got, the emptier the streets became. Storefronts gave way to chain-link fences, graffiti-tagged walls, piles of shipping crates slick with rain. Sodium-yellow lamps cast everything in a sickly, jaundiced light.

I parked where the road ended, the last working streetlight flickering weakly overhead. Damon’s car was there, pulled up beside a corrugated steel door. No sign of Max.

My legs felt like lead as I stepped out. Rain soaked into my coat instantly, threading icy fingers down my back. I forced myself to keep moving.

The door groaned as it opened, and there he was. Damon. Leaning against the frame like this was some casual reunion instead of a nightmare.

“Eloise,” he drawled, eyes glittering in the dim light. His smile was slow, deliberate. “You made the right choice.”

“Where is he?” My voice was sharp, shaking, every nerve stretched taut.

“Inside.” He stepped back, sweeping an arm toward the shadowed interior. “But let’s not rush. We haven’t talked in a while.”

I moved past him without touching. The warehouse smelled of damp concrete and old motor oil. My boots splashed through shallow puddles as I scanned the corners. Empty crates. Coils of rope. Shadows stacked on shadows.

“Max!” My voice echoed back at me.

“He’s fine,” Damon said, following at an unhurried pace. “For now.”

I turned on him. “If you hurt him—”

“What? You’ll kill me?” His smirk deepened. “You’re shaking too hard to even keep your voice steady.”

My hands curled into fists. “What do you want?”

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he already knew the answer to. “I want to tell you something. Something Mike never will.”

My stomach knotted. “I don’t care about your games. I just want my son.”

“Oh, this isn’t a game, sweetheart.” His tone dropped lower, heavier. “This is the truth. You deserve that much before I hand him over.”

Every instinct screamed at me not to listen, but Damon’s gaze was steady, almost pitying.

“Years ago,” he began, “Mike and I made a bet. Stupid, sure. But we were young, competitive. Always trying to one-up each other. The bet was simple, whoever could get you into bed first wins. Loser leaves the city for good.”

The words hit like a slap. I stared at him, rainwater dripping from my hair into my eyes, stinging. “You’re lying.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you want. But I figured you should know, Mike isn’t the perfect man you’ve made him out to be. You think I’m the villain? Maybe I am. But at least I’m honest about it. Mike’s worse. He got you first, won the bet…. Didn’t have the balls to tell you.”

“That’s not—” My throat closed around the denial. I saw Mike’s face in my mind, the way he’d looked at me when he’d found me in the atelier. The way his hand had tightened on my wrist like he couldn’t let go.

It felt like my world had tilted, the ground beneath me slipping away.

“You’re just trying to hurt me,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Damon said softly. “But maybe I’m also giving you the only piece of truth you’ll ever get about him.”

The rain outside drummed harder, a relentless heartbeat against the steel roof. My chest felt tight, my breath too shallow.

“Where is Max?” I whispered.

Damon’s smile returned, slow and cruel.