Ashton’s POV
I was reviewing surveillance footage from the warehouse district—grainy images of Donovan meeting with men Kian's people had identified as mid-level operatives from the rival organization—when my phone rang.
Angel's name flashed on the screen.
My blood ran cold before I even answered. Angel had no reason to call me unless something was wrong.
"She's gone." Her voice was panicked, high-pitched, cracking. "Lyra went somewhere tonight and she hasn't come back. She's not answering her phone. I've checked everywhere—the library, the rink, the coffee shop—and no one's seen her."
I was already moving, grabbing my keys, my gun, my jacket.
"When did you last see her?"
"Around seven. She said she had something to do, wouldn't tell me what." Angel's breath hitched. "She was acting weird all day, like she was planning something. And when I went to her room, I saw the file. Seems like She was looking at those photos again. The ones that got you fired." A pause. "I think she figured out they were fake."
My heart stopped.
If Lyra discovered the truth, she would have tried to find proof. And the only place to find proof would be Donovan's office.
"I know where she went," I said, already out the door. "Call Kian. Tell him Donovan has her. Tell him to mobilize everyone."
"Donovan? The club owner? What does he—"
"Just do it, Angel. Now."
I broke every speed limit getting to campus.
The athletics building was dark when I arrived. Too dark. Too quiet.
I drew my gun and moved through the shadows, every sense on high alert. The back entrance was unlocked—wrong. The stairwell was empty—wrong. Everything about this screamed trap, but I kept moving anyway. Because Lyra had been here. And if there was even a chance she was still inside...
Donovan's office door was unlocked, hanging slightly open.
Inside, I found signs of a struggle. Papers scattered across the floor. A chair overturned. The painting behind the desk pulled aside, revealing a wall safe hanging open and empty. And near the desk, crumpled on the carpet—Lyra's baseball cap. The one she'd been wearing when she slipped out of her dorm.
I picked it up. Brought it to my face. It still smelled like her shampoo.
And on the desk, her phone.
Screen cracked. Showing a failed text message to my old number.
Ashton, please. I think I made a mistake.
She tried to reach me. She figured it out. She believed me.
And I wasn't there. I'd changed my number for security reasons, and she couldn't reach me when she needed me most.
I picked up the phone, staring at those words until they blurred. She'd come here alone, trying to prove my innocence, trying to fix what she thought she'd broken. Brave, stubborn, reckless—so perfectly Lyra.
And Donovan had been waiting for her.
Rage filled me—cold, focused, lethal. The kind of rage that had made me useful to Kian all these years. The kind that turned men into weapons.
I pocketed her phone and headed for Kian's safehouse. This wasn't a conversation for phones. This required face-to-face.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into the warehouse Kian used as his base of operations. He was already there, surrounded by monitors showing security feeds and maps, his lieutenants moving with urgent purpose around him.
He looked up when I entered. His face was granite.
"I just got a call," he said. "Donovan's demanding a meeting. He says he has my daughter—" His jaw tightened. "And my grandchild."
The room went silent.
Kian's eyes locked onto mine. I saw the moment understanding dawned—the realization, the betrayal, the fury building behind his controlled expression.
"Grandchild?" His voice was dangerously quiet.
I didn't look away. Didn't flinch. "Yes. She's pregnant. It's mine."
Kian moved faster than I expected.
His fist connected with my jaw before I could react—fifteen years of combat training useless against the rage of a father who'd just learned his best friend had touched his daughter. I staggered backward, tasting blood, but I didn't raise my hands to defend myself.
I deserved it. I knew I deserved it.
"You son of a bitch." Kian grabbed my jacket, slamming me against the wall hard enough to rattle the monitors nearby. His face was inches from mine, years of friendship crumbling in his eyes. "I trusted you. I asked you to protect her, and you—you put your hands on my little girl."
"She's not a little girl anymore."
He hit me again. This time I saw it coming and let it land anyway.
"I treated you like a brother." His voice cracked—the first time I'd ever heard Kian's control slip. "I gave you everything. A purpose. A family. And this is how you repay me?"
"I love her."
The words stopped him cold.
"I love her," I repeated, blood dripping from my split lip. "I didn't plan it. I didn't want it. But I love your daughter, Kian." I met his eyes without wavering. "And right now, she's in the hands of a man who wants to destroy everything you care about. You can kill me later. But first, let me bring her home."
Kian's grip tightened on my jacket. For a long moment, I thought he might hit me again. Might put a bullet in me right there.
Then he released me and stepped back, his face still hard as stone.
"My people are tracing the call," he said, his voice clipped. "We think they're holding her at an abandoned warehouse outside the city. Same location Donovan's been using for meetings with Crestwood."
"Send me the address."
"Wait for backup. We need to do this right—"
"Send me the address, Kian." I wiped blood from my chin. "I'm not waiting while that psychopath has his hands on her. On them."
Our eyes locked. Father to the man who'd impregnated his daughter. Two men who'd been brothers for fifteen years, now standing on opposite sides of a betrayal that might never heal.
But Lyra was more important than any of that.
"If she dies because you went in too fast—" Kian started.
"She won't." I grabbed my keys from where they'd fallen. "I'll die before I let that happen."
Something shifted in his expression. Not forgiveness—we were far from that. But maybe recognition. Maybe understanding that whatever I'd done, my feelings for Lyra were real.
The address came through on my phone thirty seconds later.
I was out the door before anyone could stop me, flooring the accelerator, weaving through traffic. My jaw throbbed where Kian had hit me. Blood still tasted copper on my tongue. None of it mattered.
My mind ran through scenarios as the city lights blurred past. How many guards Donovan typically used. Entry points based on the warehouse's layout. Weapons I had in the trunk. Everything I'd learned from years of surveillance, years of violence, years of protecting people who meant nothing to me.
Now I was protecting someone who meant everything.
I didn't care about Donovan's network anymore. Didn't care about evidence or the bigger picture or dismantling Crestwood. Let Kian handle the politics. Let his people trace the connections and build cases and tie up loose ends.
All I cared about was Lyra.
Her face. Her voice. The defiance in her eyes when she told me she wasn't going anywhere. The way she'd kissed my bloodied palm after I beat Nate. The way she'd chosen to stay instead of running to safety, because she refused to let fear control her life.
And the child growing inside her.
Our child. Created in a moment of weakness that had become the most important thing in my life. A life I didn't deserve but would die to protect.
My family. The family I never thought I'd have. The family I'd given up on years ago when I decided that men like me didn't get happy endings.
I will burn that warehouse to the ground. I will kill everyone who stands between me and her. I will tear Donovan apart with my bare hands if that's what it takes to bring them home.
And God help anyone who gets in my way.