Chapter 164

Chapter 164
Damian's POV

I watched Willow's silhouette disappear into the warehouse entrance, a heaviness settling in my chest that I couldn't afford to acknowledge. Not now. Pulling out my phone, I dialed Sam.

"We have confirmation on the location," I said quietly. "Position teams at all exits, but maintain distance. No one moves until my signal."

"Understood, sir. We're five minutes out."

"Make it three."

I ended the call, checking my watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. Every second Willow spent alone with Chloe increased the danger exponentially. My mind flashed back to the burning wreckage of Sunset Lounge just hours ago, to the look on Willow's face when she'd received that text message with Carlos's photo. To the way Beckeet had approached us, claiming innocence while admitting his role in Chloe's campaign against Willow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, I focused on finding a vantage point with a clear view into the warehouse. As I reached for the door handle, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Something was wrong. The reflection in my side mirror showed a shadow moving behind the car—too deliberate to be the wind, too calculated to be coincidental.

I tensed, considering my options, but before I could react, my door was yanked open. Cold metal pressed against my temple.

"Hello, Mr. Blackwood." The voice was calm, professional. "Hands where I can see them."

I recognized him immediately. "Oliver Reed."

"I'm flattered you remember." The pressure of the gun increased slightly. "Step out. Slowly."

I complied, calculating my options. Oliver was former military, trained in close combat. Even with my own background, the gun gave him a decisive advantage.

"This is quite the career change," I remarked, keeping my voice even. "From assistant candidate to kidnapper."

Oliver chuckled. "Let's call it a lateral move. Working for the Sinclairs has better benefits than Blackwood ever offered."

"Is that what this is about? The assistant position?" I studied his face, noting the tension around his eyes. "You were in the final two candidates. Sam just had more experience."

"Sam," Oliver spat the name, "was your yes-man. I had better qualifications, better training, better everything. But loyalty trumps competence in your world, doesn't it, Damian?"

He gestured with the gun, moving me away from the car toward a darker area between shipping containers. I went willingly—the further from the warehouse, the better. Willow needed time.

"You know," I said, adopting a more conciliatory tone, "I may have misjudged you back then. Your organizational and strategic abilities were actually superior to Sam's."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Save your manipulative bullshit. I know exactly what you're doing."

"I'm simply acknowledging a professional oversight—"

"You're trying to establish rapport," he cut me off, a cold smile forming. "Create a connection, make me see you as human rather than target, lower my guard. Standard hostage negotiation technique. Did you forget I have military training?"

I shifted strategies. "Then let's be direct. What do you want from this, Oliver? Money? A position? I can offer both."

His laugh was genuinely amused. "The great Damian Blackwood, reduced to bribing the help. That alone almost makes this worth it."

"If it's any consolation," I said, "your assessment was correct. I do value loyalty. Which is why I'm curious—what did Chloe offer you that inspired such devotion?"

Oliver's expression hardened. "She recognized my worth. Something you failed to do."

"She's using you, Oliver. Just like she uses everyone."

"At least she's honest about it," he countered. "You Blackwoods pretend to care, to be above the ugly business of using people. But in the end, you discard anyone who doesn't serve your purpose."

I heard something in his voice—not just professional resentment, but personal bitterness. "This isn't just about a job, is it? What happened, Oliver? Did Chloe promise you more than money?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. "You wouldn't understand. People like you never do."

"Try me."

"She understands what it means to be overlooked," he said, something almost vulnerable in his voice. "To be second-best no matter how hard you work. To watch someone else get everything you deserve."

I nodded slowly. "So this is revenge. Helping Chloe destroy Willow makes you feel better about not getting the job."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "This isn't just about revenge. This is about justice."

"And Carlos? What justice does she deserve?"

"Collateral damage," he said dismissively. "She chose the wrong friend."

I needed to keep him talking. "You were at Ava's birthday party last year, weren't you? I remember now. You came as Chloe's plus-one."

His eyes flickered with surprise before he masked it. "Your memory serves you well."

"You two seemed close even then. More than employer and employee."

"Perceptive," he acknowledged. "Unlike your observation that night about us making 'quite the power couple.' You were too busy watching her watching you."

The memory came back to me—Oliver and Chloe at the edge of the ballroom, her eyes constantly tracking my movements while Oliver stood faithfully at her side.

"She never wanted me," Oliver continued, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. "She wanted what you represent—power, status, the Blackwood name. I was just useful. But you... you never even looked her way, did you? Too captivated by your charity case dancer."

I kept my expression neutral despite the anger his words provoked. "Willow isn't a charity case."

"No?" Oliver smirked. "What is she then? A phase? A rebellion against Daddy's expectations? Or maybe you genuinely believe you're in love with the girl from the wrong side of town. How very Hollywood of you."

"You know nothing about my relationship with Willow."

"I know more than you think," he countered. "I know you're terrified right now—not for yourself, but for her. I know that's your weakness. The great Damian Blackwood, brought to his knees by a bar stripper."

"So what's the plan?" I asked, ignoring the jab. "Kill me, then go help Chloe finish Willow?"

"Something like that." Oliver adjusted his grip on the gun. "Though I might enjoy this part a bit more than I should. Any last words, Blackwood?"

Behind Oliver, a shadow moved. Someone was approaching—carefully, silently. As the figure drew closer, I felt a surge of confusion followed by anger. Beckeet. What the hell was he doing here? Had this been a setup all along? Was he working with Oliver?

Our confrontation at the burning Sunset Lounge replayed in my mind—pinning him against that fire truck, the admission of his involvement in Chloe's online harassment campaign against Willow, the weak excuses about being manipulated. Had I let him go only for him to circle back and finish the job?

But there was something in his expression—a determined focus, a righteous anger—that didn't align with someone here to help kill me. He clutched a length of metal pipe, his approach silent and purposeful.

I met Oliver's eyes, keeping his attention focused solely on me. "Just one question," I said. "Did you even bother to check if I came alone?"

Confusion flickered across his face a split second before Beckeet swung the pipe, connecting with the back of Oliver's head with a sickening thud. Oliver crumpled forward, the gun clattering from his hand.

Beckeet stood over him, breathing hard. "Is he...?"

I knelt quickly, checking Oliver's pulse while keeping a wary eye on Beckeet. It was there, but weak. "Unconscious, but alive." I stood, maintaining some distance between us. "How did you find us?"

"Followed your car," Beckeet explained, tossing the pipe aside. "After everything that's happened, I figured Willow might be walking into trouble."

I studied him, trying to reconcile the man who just saved my life with the one who admitted to helping destroy Willow's reputation. "Back at the club, you admitted working with Chloe."

"On the online stuff, yes," he acknowledged, pain evident in his voice. "The reviews, the blog posts, even that hit piece in LA Weekly. But this—kidnapping, violence—I never signed up for that. When I saw Carlos was missing and you two suddenly left, I knew something worse was happening."

"Why should I believe you now?"

"You shouldn't," he said simply. "I wouldn't. But right now, Willow needs all the help she can get."

A distant sound caught my attention—Willow's voice through the earpiece.

"Remember Carlos."

The signal. She was in danger.

My suspicion of Beckeet would have to wait. "Willow's inside," I said, already moving toward the warehouse. "With Chloe."

Beckeet nodded, following without hesitation. "Then let's go get her."

I pulled out my phone as we ran, sending the alert to Sam. Help was coming, but Willow needed us now. I could only pray we wouldn't be too late.