They barely made it three steps inside before the shadows moved.
A dozen men materialized from the doorways, guns gleaming in the dim light. The metallic clicks of cocked weapons echoed through the air, sending a spike of fear down Livvy’s spine.
Her breath stuttered. Fingers twitched toward the knife at her thigh, but before she could reach for it, Storm’s grip clamped around her wrist, yanking her behind him.
A man stepped forward from the group, tall and lean, a jagged scar slicing through one eyebrow. He smiled, slow and mocking, his gaze dragging over Livvy with too much interest.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Looks like we caught ourselves a little party.”
Luca’s glare could’ve peeled paint. “Move,” he snarled.
The man chuckled. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t let you do that.” His eyes flicked to Livvy, something dark and amused curling at the edges of his smirk. “And who’s this? Boss didn’t mention we’d be having guests.”
Storm’s snarl was pure violence. “Touch her and die.”
The scarred man’s smirk widened. “Big talk,” he mused. “Let’s see if you back it up.”
Then he lunged.
Fingers like iron clamped around Livvy’s arm, yanking her against him.
She choked back a cry, the knife slipping from her grasp as her world tilted. His grip was bruising, breath hot against her ear.
Storm roared, the sound inhuman, pure murder seething beneath his skin. He moved—too fast, too reckless—only to be met with the sharp click of a dozen guns aimed directly at his head.
The scarred man chuckled, his grip on Livvy tightening. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging her closer. “But you’re coming with me.”
***
They were herded down a narrow hallway. Hands bound. Guns pressed into their backs. The air reeked of smoke and copper, the walls lined with peeling wallpaper, muffled screams creeping through the cracks of distant rooms.
Livvy’s wrists ached, her pulse hammering like a caged bird’s.
A heavy door groaned open, and they were shoved inside a dimly lit room. Storm and Luca were forced into chairs beside her, their faces shadowed and bruised—but defiant.
She swallowed hard.
Michael’s voice whispered in her mind. Show no fear.
But Michael wasn’t here.
***
A man leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a wolf’s grin stretching wide across his face.
It was the same scarred man who had dragged her here.
“So,” he drawled, his voice filled with sick amusement. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with scum like them?”
Livvy’s glare was pure venom. “Go to hell.”
He chuckled. “Feisty.”
Stepping forward, he tilted her chin up with a gloved hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. The touch seared, a reminder of all the times she had been handled like an object, all the nights Stanley had loomed over her with his sweet voice and cruel hands.
Storm lunged, chair scraping against the floor.
“Touch her again—”
A gun cracked against his temple.
Livvy’s breath caught, panic twisting sharp and fast as blood trickled down Storm’s face.
The scarred man clucked his tongue. “Shame.” His grip on her chin tightened. “Guess you’ll just have to learn some manners.”