Chapter 73
Chapter 73
Matthew’s POV
The Hill mansion no longer felt like a mansion—it felt like a pressure cooker about to blow. The polished floors were buried under wires and equipment, desks dragged into the center of the room, monitors stacked in a haphazard chaos that cast flickering light across walls that once screamed wealth and power but now pulsed like the inside of a war bunker. The air was thick with static and sweat, radios crackling half-formed updates, the sharp click of keyboards and the whir of processors blending into a feverish background hum that matched the pounding in my chest. Every man in that room was locked onto their task, but the tension hanging over us was suffocating, wrapping around my throat like a noose that drew tighter with each passing second.
Fifteen minutes.
That was all we had until the next feed. Fifteen minutes until Darius decided to twist the knife deeper. Fifteen minutes until I saw Heizel again, not in my arms, not smiling at me, but in whatever hell he chose to throw in my face this time. The countdown bled into my mind, every tick like a hammer on my skull, every second that passed one more second where I wasn’t there to protect her.
I paced like a caged animal, my boots striking against the marble with sharp, violent echoes, my fists clenching and unclenching until my knuckles popped, the urge to smash something clawing at me like a beast that wouldn’t stay down. My body was too tight, too wired—I couldn’t stand still, couldn’t breathe without the taste of metal filling my mouth as if my rage was bleeding into every nerve, burning me alive from the inside out.
Ten minutes.
Bruce Hill, the pathetic bastard sitting in the corner with his face swollen and his shirt soaked in his own blood, hadn’t even thought to save the previous feeds, hadn’t cared enough to keep the only threads that could’ve helped us. There could’ve been clues—shadows, background noise, a reflection in glass—but his arrogance had blinded him, and now we were fighting blind because of it. I wanted to go back over there and finish what I started, wanted to squeeze until his breath rattled out of his body, but I knew if I got too close, Taylor would have to drag me off him again.
Then there was Taylor. His hand came down heavy on my shoulder, grounding me, anchoring me to the floor when my body screamed to move. His voice cut through the static, calm but edged with steel.
“I think you should leave, Matt. If you see her hurt again—”
“No,” I snarled, the word ripping out of me before he could finish. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He stepped into my path, blocking me, forcing my eyes to his. His voice was low but sharp enough to slice through the noise. “You’re walking a razor’s edge. If you lose it now, you’ll blow everything we’re building here. Do you understand me?”
Five minutes.
The clock on the wall glowed red, each number a countdown to hell. I tried to meet Taylor’s stare, but my vision blurred, my jaw locking so tight it ached. He was right, but the thought of leaving that room, of not being there when her face appeared, was unbearable.
“She needs me here,” I growled, the words scraping out like broken glass. “I won’t leave her.”
Taylor’s chest rose and fell, his lips tightening into a grim line, and I saw it—the mix of frustration and something more dangerous. Fear. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was terrified too. “Then keep it together,” he said, pressing the words into me like a command. “Don’t let him win by making you lose yourself.”
Three minutes.
The air grew heavier, hotter, as though the walls themselves were sweating with anticipation. I could feel my pulse in my ears, a constant drumming that drowned out the world, every second a hammer beating at the edge of my sanity. Heizel’s face kept flashing in my mind—her laughter, her teasing smirk, the way her fingers curled against my chest when she thought no one was looking. And then the other images pushed in—the way she’d looked in that video, bound, limp, broken. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might throw up.
One minute.
The room went dead quiet. Not a sound. Even the keyboards stopped, the men watching the main screen as if holding their breath with me. The red numbers on the clock bled down—00:59, 00:58, 00:57. My body tensed, every muscle locked, the storm inside me tearing at its chains, begging to be let out.
Then—static.
The screen flickered, glitching, distorting into jagged lines of black and white before clearing into shadows. My chest stopped moving, air stuck in my throat as I waited, bracing for impact. A chair, a hook, the faint echo of dripping water—it was her prison, the place I couldn’t reach. The feed crackled again, glitching, the picture swimming like it was coming from hell itself.
And then—her.
Heizel.
Her body bound, her wrists raw, her head drooping like every ounce of strength had been drained from her. My vision tunneled, fury roaring in my veins so violently I almost blacked out, my hand curling into a fist so hard my nails cut into my palm.
For one long, brutal heartbeat, the world disappeared. There was only her.
I leaned forward, the words tearing from my throat, raw and feral, a promise I couldn’t break.
“Hold on, Heizel. I’m coming for you.”