Chapter 207

Chapter 207
~Torin~

“She’ll cool off,” Rook muttered behind me, like saying it would make it true.

It wouldn’t, so I didn’t comment.

Instead I continued to look where she’d disappeared.

“She shouldn’t have seen that,” Reif added, shifting against the wall, his voice rough, pain sitting under it.

“That’s not the problem,” I murmured, because it wasn’t. The problem wasn’t what she saw, it was what she took with her when she walked away.

What she’d put together. What I hadn’t given her.

“She’ll be fine,” Rook muttered, as if trying to put his earlier words a different way..

I nodded once, but knew better.

“She’s got a temper,” Rook replied. “Not a death wish.”

That should have been reassuring, but the feeling that was rioting around in my stomach told me not to be so sure.

I moved before I thought it through. “I’ll be back,” I told him.

I didn’t wait for him to respond. Just kept moving.

I followed the path I knew she would have taken, my head swiveling like a blood hound, making sure I didn’t miss her somewhere.

Suddenly I caught the flash of headlights and Marlowe’s silhouette, and a sensation rocketed through my stomach. Gut instinct had me running at the same time as my gaze narrowed,, tracking without thinking, already breaking it down: speed, angle, and my chest tightened.

The car didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate, and as I watched, the passenger door swung open, timed. Deliberate.

Everything hit at once and I shouted, “Marlowe—”

I saw her shift, saw her turn, and then saw the grab.

Hands were on her before she cleared space, before she could run, before she could even fully register what was happening.

My vision tunneled, everything else dropped out. All I saw was her fighting, hard.

That’s it, I coaxed in my head. Fight.

My boots pounded the pavement, fast, closing distance, my body already moving before my head caught up.

She was still too far, too much space between us. 

I saw her elbow connect. Saw one of them shift. Saw the door open.

The whole thing was clean, efficient.

My jaw locked hard enough to grind. “Fuck—” the words came out low, useless.

She caught the door frame, held it, planted her feet, every inch of her fighting it, and for a second, she almost held them off.. Then they broke her. Hit her again. Hard enough to take the air out of her.

Her grip slipped, and she was pulled inside the vehicle.

The door slammed, and something in me shifted with it.

Not a break, not a crack. A lock; cold, controlled…done.

The car moved immediately with no hesitation.

My steps stopped, just for a second. Not with shock, not disbelief, but with calculation; distance. Speed. Angle. Route.

It was too late to intercept, but not too late to hunt.

My head turned, tracking the car as it pulled away, my eyes locking on it, burning every detail in. The make, the model, the sound of the engine. The way the car pulled left just slightly before correcting.

The weight in the rear. The suspension shift…everything.

My pulse didn’t spike, didn’t race. It dropped. Wrong kind of calm.

My focus snapped, hard. Everything lined up at once, and turning, I ran back to where Rook, Reif and the Prospect still stood.

“Rook,” I shouted.

He was already moving. “What is it?”

“She’s been taken,” I informed him.

That was it. That’ all he got. All he needed, and everything shifted.

“Who?” he barked.

“Vultures,” I told him, already turning, already done standing still. “And it wasn’t random.”

Minutes later, returning to where I’d left my bike, I swung onto the seat, the engine roaring to life under me, loud, violent, the vibration running straight through my hands, grounding, sharpening everything down to a single point, because nothing else mattered now.

Rook coasting up beside me, murmured, “She left angry,” Rook said, moving fast. “Think they were watching—”

“They were,” I cut in. No hesitation. No doubt, because I’d seen it. The timing. The way they moved the second she stepped into the open. The way they didn’t miss. Didn’t adjust. Didn’t scramble. They knew.

My grip tightened on the throttle, knuckles whitening as something darker settled in deeper.

Not rage, not yet. Something colder. More precise. More dangerous. Possession hit different when it snapped in like this.

They touched what was mine. Took what was mine. And they did it thinking they’d get away with it.

My jaw tightened, slow, controlled. That mistake was going to cost whoever them everything.

I’d destroy them for touching her. Make it last. Make them understand exactly what they did. Everything else…would come after.

I took off hard, the bike snapping forward, the street tearing under me as I followed the direction they took her, every second already counting against me. Too late to stop it, not too late to make them regret it. That part wasn’t optional.

The engine of my bike roared under me, but it wasn’t enough to drown my thoughts out.

That moment. Her hand on the door. Holding. Fighting like hell not to go in.

This wasn’t something I’d forget. Not something I’d let go.

My grip tightened harder on the throttle, the bike responding instantly, surging forward as the street blurred faster beneath me.

They touched her. That thought settled deeper and I leaned into the turn hard, following the line I’d already mapped in my head, every instinct I had narrowing tighter, stripping away anything that didn’t matter.

No hesitation. No second guessing. Just movement. Just pursuit.

My eyes tracked everything as I rode. Side streets. Blind corners. Any place they could’ve cut off, changed direction, disappeared.

Nothing got missed, nothing got overlooked, because this wasn’t just about finding her. This was about understanding how they moved. How they thought. Where they believed they were safe.

My jaw tightened again, slower this time. Colder. “They planned it,” I muttered under my breath. They picked the moment, and that meant, they knew exactly who she was connected to.

This wasn’t random, this wasn’t opportunity. This was a message, and the Vulture’s had just delivered the worst one they could have chosen.