Chapter 71

**Matthew POV**

Tied up. Bound. Hanging limply from a hook like a discarded rag doll.

The world tilted.

I heard the sound of my own heartbeat, loud and pounding, drowning out everything else in the room. My breath turned ragged, shallow, as my entire body locked up.

*She wasn’t moving.*

*She wasn’t fighting.*

*She looked broken.*

A voice crackled through the speakers.

“You have one hour.”

Then the screen went black.

And I snapped. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I moved.

Before I even registered it, my fist slammed into Bruce’s face, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood splattering across the polished wood. He gasped, choking, clutching at his broken nose—but I didn’t stop.

*I wouldn’t stop.*

I barely heard the screams around me, barely noticed the stepmother backing into a corner, sobbing hysterically. None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the red-hot rage consuming every cell in my body, the pure, unfiltered fury fueling my fists as I hit Bruce again, and again, and again.

*He let them take her.*

I shattered his cheekbone.

*He let them hurt her.*

His ribs cracked under my knuckles.

*He sold his own daughter.*

Blood spattered onto my shirt, onto the floor, onto my hands, but it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t want him to hurt. I wanted him to die.

I grabbed him by the throat, hauling his limp, battered body up, slamming him against the desk so hard the wood splintered beneath the impact.

“**WHERE. IS. SHE?**!” I roared, my voice no longer human, my grip tightening, cutting off his air.

His mouth opened and closed, gasping, choking, blood dribbling down his chin. His hands clawed at my wrists, useless, weak.

He deserved this. He deserved to suffer.

And I wasn’t going to stop until—

“**MATTHEW, STOP**!”

Strong arms yanked me backward, breaking my grip, dragging me away. I snarled, thrashing against the hold, trying to fight my way back, trying to finish it, trying to end the man who had let Heizel suffer.

“We need him alive!”

Taylor’s voice cut through the haze, sharp, commanding, the only thing tethering me to reality.

I stopped struggling, barely. My chest heaved, my vision still blurred with red, my entire body shaking with the need to kill.

I turned, Bruce lay crumpled on the floor, barely breathing, blood pooling beneath him. His face was a mess of swelling, bruises, shattered bones—unrecognizable. But he was still alive.

And I hated that more than anything. I took a shuddering breath, swiping the blood from my knuckles. Taylor was right. I needed him alive. For now.

I stepped forward, towering over Bruce, my voice low, ice-cold, lethal.

“Talk.”

Bruce sobbed, his broken lips parting, his body trembling as he finally surrendered.

“I… I didn’t want this,” he gasped. “I thought I could fix it… but it’s too late.”

I grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up one last time, my voice a whisper of pure death.

“Nothing is too late.”

**WHERE. IS. SHE?**!” I roared, my grip tightening.

Bruce choked, gasping for air, his bloodied fingers clawing at my arm.

His mouth opened—but there was no answer. Something inside me snapped even further. He knew.

He knew where she was. And he was still holding out. I squeezed harder.

“Tell me,” I growled, my voice barely human, “or I’ll make sure your last breath is spent choking on your own blood.”

His face turned purple, his legs kicking uselessly against the desk. This was it.

I was going to kill him.

I was going to—

“**MATTHEW, STOP**!”

Taylor’s arms wrenched me backward, his grip like iron, dragging me away before I could finish it. I struggled, snarling, still aching to end this, but Taylor’s voice cut through the fog.

“He doesn’t know.”

I stilled.

My breathing was ragged, my vision still hazed with red, my entire body still vibrating with the need to kill.

I turned slowly.

Bruce was gasping, wheezing, barely conscious on the floor, but his eyes—his eyes told me everything. He wasn’t lying. He didn’t know where she was.

He’d made the deal. He’d sold her. But the bastards who took her cut him out.

A fresh wave of rage surged through me. I wasn’t even looking at Bruce anymore. I was looking past him. At something bigger. Something worse. Someone else was pulling the strings. And I was going to find them.

I forced a breath through my teeth, wiping the blood from my knuckles. My chest heaved with fury, but my voice was cold, sharp, lethal.

“Who did you give her to?”

Bruce shuddered, sobbing. “They—” He coughed, blood spilling from his lips. “They made me think I was in control… but I wasn’t. They were never going to let me have her back.”

I grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up one last time, my voice nothing but a whisper of pure death.

“Names.”

Bruce’s lips trembled. His breath hitched. And then—he talked.

And the second he said the name, I turned to Taylor, my voice steady.

“Get the men ready.”

Because now, I knew who had her. And I was going to get her back. No matter what it took.