Chapter 74: I Got You II

Chapter 74: I Got You II
Haden

Suddenly, the gunfire ceased, cut off like a cord ripped clean in two, and silence surged in like a vacuum.

Then came that voice.

Smug. Venom-laced. Filthy with satisfaction.

“I figured you’d try to sneak out the back,” Maxim drawled, his silhouette emerging through the haze of smoke and blood. He stepped over the bodies in the corridor like they were trash, trophies of his carnage. His boots squelched with every step, soaked in crimson, but his charcoal suit looked untouched, pristine. Not a wrinkle. Not a crease. A devil dressed like a god.

Behind him, a dozen of his men closed in. Trained killers. Guns raised, expressions flat and cold, eyes dead.

“Drop your weapons.”

I didn’t move at first.

Every instinct in my body screamed to act. To lunge. To kill.

But one glance over my shoulder at Ella, at Morgan, and I knew I couldn’t gamble. Not with their lives in the balance. There were too many barrels aimed at them. At us. Even if I dropped three, four, five… one wrong move would still cost me everything.

I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood. The rage boiled just beneath the surface, but I forced myself to let the gun fall. The clatter of metal on concrete felt like betrayal.

Beside me, Luca did the same, his face unreadable but his muscles tense, coiled tight.

Maxim gave a lazy wave and his men lowered their weapons, but only slightly. None were holstered. He was basking in this. Thought he had won. Thought this was checkmate.

Let him think that.

My blood pulsed, hot and vengeful. Every second I stayed still was a second I imagined tearing him limb from limb.

Then I moved.

I lunged, faster than a breath, fist slamming into his smug face with a sickening crack. His lip split, his nose exploded in a gush of blood. He staggered back, a gasp of shock escaping him, followed by something worse.

Laughter.

Low, deranged, wet with blood.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his cheek like war paint. Then he reached into his coat, pulled a sleek black pistol, and leveled it at my face.

That’s right. Keep your focus on me.

I took a deliberate step forward, forcing his eyes to stay locked on mine. Willing Luca to act. To get the women out. To break formation.

But then Maxim’s gaze shifted. His eyes darted past me, and his smile warped into something far more dangerous.

“Krasivaya…” he purred, that thick Russian accent dripping with poison. His eyes locked on the space just behind me. “Come to me.”

I didn’t have to turn. I knew who he was talking to.

“Go to hell,” Ella snapped, her voice like a knife slicing through the air.

Maxim’s smile twisted into a snarl.

I inched closer.

“Come to me,” he growled again, the muzzle of his gun pressing against my temple now, “or I’ll shoot him right here.”

My voice was steel. “Stay where you are, Joella. Don’t move.”

He was counting on her emotion. Her loyalty. Her fear.

He didn’t know I had been working on that. She was stronger now, knew the game more.

Click. Click. Click.

My ears caught it first.

The unmistakable sound of chambers locking, safeties off, guns arming in unison.

Maxim turned his head, slow, like he already knew what he’d see.

My men.

Dozens of them.

Silent. Surrounding him. Weapons raised. Eyes hard.

Checkmate, motherfucker.

“Drop your weapons,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue with satisfaction.

Maxim’s smile faltered. Then he chuckled bitterly and let the pistol slip from his fingers.

It hit the floor.

But before I could react, he charged, roaring like an animal, his body crashing into mine.

I was ready.

I ducked his first wild swing, countered with a brutal elbow to his ribs, felt the crack beneath my forearm. Then I drove an uppercut into his jaw with all the force of my fury. He stumbled, dazed, spitting blood and bile.

But I didn’t stop.

I tackled him to the ground. My fists rained down like a storm. His blood was everywhere, on my knuckles, my chest, the floor. He grunted beneath each blow, his breath rattling with every strike.

Still… he laughed.

That maddening, mocking laugh.

It only made me hit harder.

I would kill him this time. I didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care what it cost.

Then...pain.

Sharp. Cold. Blinding.

It ripped through my side like lightning.

“HADEN!”

Ella’s scream cracked through the air as my vision blurred. I looked down and saw the handle of a knife, jammed into my ribs. Blood poured freely, warm and sticky.

Maxim shoved me off, panting like a beast. His face a ruined mess, covered in blood, mine and his. He grabbed his fallen gun and turned it toward Ella.

“No!” I roared, surging forward even as fire tore through my torso.

Time slowed.

His finger curled.

The shot went off.

Ella screamed.

I crashed into him before he could fire again. The second shot grazed my shoulder, burning hot, but I didn’t stop. We grappled, both of us fighting for control of the gun. It jerked wildly between us. His strength was fueled by madness. Mine by purpose.

He pushed the barrel toward my face.

I twisted, forced it back toward him.

My body screamed in protest. Every muscle strained. My hands shook from the loss of blood. My vision tunneled.

But I would not let him win.

Then...

BANG.

His head jerked violently. His eyes went glassy. Blood, bone, and pieces of brain sprayed across my chest.

He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. A lifeless heap at my feet.

I staggered back, panting. My knees buckled, and I caught myself on the SUV.

Silence pressed in again. This time deeper. Heavier.

I looked down at him, at the pool of blood spreading beneath his skull.

It was over.

I turned in a panic, heart jackhammering against my ribs, eyes scanning the chaos until they landed on her.

Ella.

She was kneeling, shaking, both hands pressed tightly against a still body sprawled on the floor. Her dress was soaked in blood, her eyes wide and glistening, disbelief etched into every trembling breath she took.

“He jumped in front of me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, cracked open. “He… he took the bullet for me.”

My stomach bottomed out.

“No…” The word tore from my throat as I stumbled forward, legs threatening to give way beneath me.

I dropped to my knees beside her, breath knocked from my lungs the moment I saw his face.

Grandpa.

My grandfather. My protector. The man who taught us what it meant to lead with silence and strength. The one who stood tall even when the world tried to break him.

Now, he lay broken.

Blood soaked through his tailored suit, pooling beneath him in thick, dark streams. His breath came shallow, uneven. His chest rose and fell like it was being crushed under invisible weight.

Luca collapsed beside me on the other side, his usually unreadable face drawn pale and twisted with grief. His lips trembled, eyes glassy, but no tears. Not yet. We couldn’t afford them.

“We need to get him to the infirmary,” Luca said, voice urgent. Desperate. But we all knew. There wasn’t time.

Grandpa’s eyelids fluttered. His lips moved faintly.

“Joella?” he rasped.

“She’s fine,” I said instantly, gripping his hand like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. “You saved her.”

His cracked smile tried to surface through the pain. “I owed her,” he wheezed.

Tears burned behind my eyes, sharp and relentless, but I wouldn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not here. I tightened my hold on his hand.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” I whispered.

He turned toward Luca, fingers trembling as he reached. Luca didn’t hesitate. He took it with both hands, like he was trying to hold it together for the both of us.

“I love you boys,” Grandpa whispered. “Take care of the family… the girls… those babies…”

“Stop it, Grandpa,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “You’re going to make it.”

A weak chuckle, bloody and wet.

Then the final words: “Tell my girls I love them…”

His eyes fluttered. Then closed.

And his hand… went still.

The silence that followed was brutal. Absolute.

I leaned down, resting my forehead against the back of his hand. My jaw clenched so tight it ached, but I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t. My grief was locked behind every muscle, every breath, every shattered beat of my heart.

Ella and Morgan’s sobs echoed through the corridor. Raw. Unfiltered. The sound of women who loved him deeply, losing him too fast. Too violently.

I looked up and found Luca’s gaze. Hollow. Numb.

We stood without a word, as if pulled up by the same invisible thread. Rage simmered beneath our skin, boiling past the sorrow.

Our men were still aimed at what was left of Maxim’s crew. None of them had dared move.

I gave a single nod.

Gunfire erupted. Ruthless. Precise. Final.

Not one of them was left standing.

The blacked-out van pulled up seconds later. Its doors swung open in silence, and our men stepped out, solemn, heads bowed. No one spoke.

They lifted Grandpa’s body with the reverence of pallbearers. Gentle. Careful. As if even in death, he still deserved the respect of a king.

I slid on my sunglasses. Not for the sun, there wasn’t any. But to hide the burn behind my eyes. The grief crawling up my throat, demanding to be let out.

Luca and I exchanged one final look. Our faces said everything our mouths couldn’t.

Then we turned, took our women’s hands, and walked to the car.



The SUV's engine purred low, a quiet growl beneath us as we sank into the back seat. I leaned back into the leather, but I couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything.

Ella didn’t ask me how I was.

She didn’t speak.

She simply turned in her seat, pulled a folded cloth from her bag, and pressed it gently against my side, trying to slow the bleeding. Her fingers were careful, focused. Her eyes tracked the wound like it was a math problem, something she could solve if she just stayed calm.

I winced. She noticed, and her hand stilled.

“I’m okay,” I muttered. My voice was gravel, thick and broken.

“You’re not,” she whispered, not looking away.

I turned my head toward the window. My jaw clenched so tightly, I thought my teeth might crack. The grief inside me had nowhere to go. It burned under my skin, pressed against my ribs like a scream I couldn’t release.

Then she reached for me.

Blood and all.

She pulled me into her, her dress stained, hair disheveled, makeup streaked with tears. None of it mattered. She wrapped her arms around me like a shield and brought my head to her chest.

I froze.

Everything in me locked up.

Then, slowly… I let my arms slip around her waist. My grip tightened like I was holding on for dear life.

Because I was.

“You can let it out, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion. Her fingers brushed gently through my hair, over and over, like she was soothing a storm no one else could see.

But I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

The weight inside me stayed buried, heavy and unmoving. I couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not while the family still needed me.

But she held me anyway.

Steady. Soft. Unyielding.

She kissed the top of my head, her voice breaking as she whispered, “It’s going to be okay… I’m right here... I got you.”