1. Victoria

Engulfed in darkness,the small space pressing down on me, I struggle. He slams me into a chair and zip-ties my wrists behind me before I can take my next breath. I hear a click, and then a low light comes on, making me squint. It's a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying back and forth menacingly.

I look around as he zip-ties my ankles to the chair legs, trying to see Quinn so I can find the rage that is being engulfed by the fear that is descending rapidly. If I try hard enough, I should be able to reach my knife in the back of my pants, under my coat, but there isn't going to be anything surreptitious about it. He will know and take it from me, and then I'll be defenceless.

Not that I'm exactly armed and dangerous right now. But the thought of the thin steel blade is a comfort, nonetheless.

"Are you going to tell me who you are or make my guess as part of this pathetic attempt to make me submit?"

He sighs. It's heavy and world-weary, catching me slightly off-guard. He drops to his knees, staring at me from behind that mask. "I don't want you to submit, Victoria."

"Then what?" I spit out.

"Shh. Now isn't the time for that."

"Now isn't the time for any of this." I open my mouth to scream, but he claps his hand over it.

"Don't make me hurt you."

I get the fright of my life when something passes over my face, and my abductor removes his hand from my mouth.

"No one will hear you scream," he murmurs as a second person gags me with a piece of cloth.

As I struggle like crazy, burning my wrists on the zip ties, I falter for a second when he places his head on my lap, gripping my thighs tightly as he makes a contented sound.

Snapping my head to the side, I can't see the person who gagged me, but it has to be Quinn.

"You don't recognise me, do you?"

I blink rapidly. If he expects me to answer, he has another thing coming.

He frowns when he looks up at me and then seems to remember his mate gagged me. "Answer me," he demands. "Do you recognise me?"

I shake my head because I haven't got a clue who this idiot is, and if he will hand that information over, I will know this fucker's name when I gut him.

Slowly, he reaches up to his mask and pulls it from his face.

He drops the gag enough to free my mouth and stares at me with grey eyes that make my blood run cold, but the face they belong to isn't Quinn's. At least not Asher's.

"Andrew?"

He smiles. "I knew you'd remember."

"What the fuck is this?" I snap.

"I'm protecting you. From him. We are."

"We?"

I strain my neck to see the other guy in this cramped space filled with drum kits and other stage-type paraphernalia.

"My brother, Edward. You don't know him yet. But you will."

Brother.

I rack my brains trying to remember Andrew from my childhood. He is around the same age as me, and we hung out a couple of times when our dads were in meetings and shit. He was a bit too much of an obedient wanker for me to ever take him seriously, but he used to follow me around like a puppy dog. "Protecting me from who?" I ask quietly because I think I know the answer already.

"Our father," he murmurs back.

I suck in a breath as the confirmation hits my guts like a punch from my dad's enforcer. "Why?" I rasp.

"We know what he did to you and that he wants you back now."

"What?" Nausea swells up, and I hold back the urge to barf up the scotch churning around in my stomach.

"You don't want him to have you," Andrew states, standing up. "You are mine. Not his."

"I'm not yours either."

A flash of steel at my throat gives me pause.

"Don't make me hurt you, petal."

"Don't fucking call me that," I hiss through gritted teeth.

"That's what he called you. You don't like it. It makes you feel sick, doesn't it?"

He's not wrong. My skin crawls, and my pulse races with panic and revulsion. But I can't let them see the fear, and I can't give them the satisfaction.

Andrew's gaze softens, like he's deluded himself into believing he's helping me and that I should be fucking grateful. "You're mine," he insists, pressing the blade just a fraction tighter against my throat. "And no one, not your daddy, not Cian or his friends?—"

The mention of Cian ignites that spark I am desperately searching for—a searing, hot blade of fury that cuts through the fear. My voice comes out low and vicious. "You don't know what you've started, Andrew."

Edward moves into view but stands back in the shadows, silent, but his posture screams readiness. He's the unknown variable here, a wildcard.

"Started?" Andrew's laugh is cold, hollow. "This is just an escalation."

I snort, even with the steel at my throat. "An escalation? You've fucking abducted me." I strain against the zip ties, but it's useless; they bite into my skin like teeth.

"No! We are helping you. We will keep you safe."

"By tying me up?"

"You were fighting."

"Because you abducted me!"

He presses the blade into my skin but then draws it back sharply, his eyes narrow. "We are keeping you safe from him. He is here, he is trying to get to you."

"But you were helping him!" I've lost all reason now. None of this makes any sense.

"So we could keep apprised of what he wanted and what he was doing. It's a classic double-cross, Victoria. Don't you know how this game is played?"

I draw in a sudden breath. This game is more twisted than I thought. Everyone's a pawn or a player, and I've just been yanked to the other side of the board. "And Cian? What does he have to do with any of this?"

Andrew's face hardens, his expression turning to stone. "He's part of the problem." He leans in close. "He doesn't love you, Victoria. He can't. Not like I can."

The words are a gut punch to my insecurities and doubts that anyone could love such a fucked up, broken mess like me, but I can't let them land. I can't let him see how deep they cut. "You don't know shit about love."

Edward shifts in the shadows, his eyes calculating, as cold as Andrew's are hot. "We know enough," he says, his voice reed-thin but dangerous.

"You're fucking deluded if you think that this is going to make me grateful to you for saving me. Newsflash. I don't need saving." Okay, so I realise the absurdity of my words right now. I do, in fact, need saving from this particular situation unless I could just…

I shift, bending my wrists back as far as they will go to reach for my blade, but my ass is too far forward. Sitting up straighter, the zip ties bite into my ankles, but I need my back as close to my hands as humanly possible. But even then, it's a long shot. There are too many variables.

As I plant my feet against the cold ground, I swallow hard, steadying my breath. The zip tie cuts deeper, drawing a line of fire around my wrists. One chance. My fingers brush the handle of the knife, the familiar smoothness is a small comfort in this clusterfuck of a situation.

Edward watches me, his piercing gaze trying to dissect my intentions. "What are you doing?" His words are laced with suspicion and the faintest trace of admiration.

"Getting out," I spit back through clenched teeth.

"You should know," he says, his voice taking on an edge, "there's no way out."

Andrew chuckles, a sound that chills me to the bone. "You're underestimating her."

They both underestimate me. They think they know me, but they can't begin to grasp the hell I've lived through.

With every ounce of strength left in my body, I twist and pull at the zip tie, feeling a trickle of blood as it slices into my flesh. But it doesn't give. Fucking thing.

Pain is supposed to be a deterrent, isn't it? Not for me. The stinging in my wrists only serves to drive me into action. I take that pain and use it to focus.

Edward hasn't moved, but his eyes are different now. Watching me struggle has piqued something in him. Curiosity? Respect? Doesn't matter.

I manage to hook the blade with my fingertips, dragging it closer. I'm so close now, just need a bit more purchase. I grip the sharp blade with my fingers, feeling them slice to ribbons, but who gives a fuck if it gets me out of this dump? Making a sawing motion, I feel the hard plastic give way.

It's now or fucking never, Victoria. Get it together.

With a grunt, I yank hard at the knife with everything I've got left.

The zip tie snaps.

Blood floods from my raw wrists and cut fingers, but I'm free—I lunge forward, crashing into Andrew and knocking us both to the ground as Edward launches himself towards us. I've still got my knife, but my ankles are bound, and I'm burdened by this fucking chair tied to me. Struggling, fighting like a hellcat, I'm ready to kill these motherfuckers before I go after their father.

My body's a live wire, every muscle fired up. Andrew grunts underneath me. He tries to shove me off, but I'm past giving him any sort of advantage now. My hand tightens on the knife, slick with my own blood, as I bring it down into his chest, pushing hard as Edward reaches me and grabs my hair, yanking me off his brother.

But one down and all that. I take the opportunity of Edward being distracted by pulling me off his brother to lash out with the stiletto, hoping to cut the tie on my right ankle.

It gives but not completely as Edward slams the chair still attached to me, upright on the floor, before he shoves me back in it. How my ankles aren't broken by all this is a fucking miracle. Or maybe they are, and I just can't feel it.

"Fucker," I snarl, lashing out wildly with the blade. It keeps him at bay, but it also does nothing to cut the ties. I take a moment, one precious moment, as I duck hard and roll with the chair to the right as I get the blade under the zip tie and slice clean through it in one swift yank.

I kick out at Edward, hearing Andrew gurgling a few feet away, catching him in the face with my shoe. He stumbles back, giving me valuable seconds to get my other leg free. My hands are steady, my motions are precise. This is life or death, and panic, fear, will get you killed. Every single time.

One second after the other, Vic. You've got this.

I can't think too far ahead. I can't imagine breaking free or killing Edward. Not yet. My next move is to get on my feet.

One step at a time.

I'm on my feet in record time.

Edward's wiping blood from his face, eyes feral. There's a feral growl in his throat as he lunges at me again.

Not today, you sick bastard.

I sidestep and pivot, slashing the blade across his outstretched arm. He howls, but it's not pain—it's anger. Deep, dark, dangerous.

Calculating every step, I back up toward the under-stage doors. There's no turning my back on him; I learned that lesson young and hard. He's circling now, a predator scenting weakness. But I'm no one's prey.

"Victoria," he spits out my name like it's poison. "You're not walking out of here."

"The fuck I'm not."

A surge of adrenaline spikes through my veins as he charges me again. But this time, I'm ready—I duck low and drive the knife into his thigh, twisting the blade with all the savagery of a cornered animal. He screams, a sound so raw it echoes off the walls.

Sweat mixes with blood as I push forward; there's only one way out of this hellscape.

Can't stop now.

Every slash and jab with my knife is a step closer to freedom.

His limping slows him down but doesn't stop him entirely. As I back up, each breath burns in my lungs.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and hands reach down to haul me out of the hole and he's cursing like an enraged Irish sailor and practically throws me to Luke as Gianluca joins Cian, who hasn't wasted a single second in lunging into the cramped space.

I stumble into Luke's embrace, the world spinning and twisting around me. He holds onto me tightly, giving me a sense of stability in the chaos. I gasp for air, covered in blood that may or may not be mine. But it's Luke who keeps me standing when I have no strength left.

Cian and Gianluca. They're a storm of violence back in that hole, sounds of flesh crashing against flesh, grunts and curses.

"Gotcha," Luke mutters, a rare slip in his cold facade. He's looking down at me with a blaze in those forest-green eyes.

I push off him. I can't stand being this vulnerable, even with him.

Cian and Gianluca emerge moments later, faces set hard like carved stone—no sign of remorse or shaken spirits. They're built for this shit and born into it. We all were. The silence after the door shuts is deafening. The dull ache in my hands starts to throb to the rhythm of my pounding heart. Lights flash behind my eyelids as pain roars back into focus.

"I had that, you know," I state.

Cian snorts and wraps his arms around me. "You sure did, killer. But glad you saved some for us."

I collapse against him. "This isn't over."

"No?"

I shake my head as I pull back and stare at him. "Those two pillocks were Asher's sons, trying to ‘save me from him'."

Cian growls loudly. "They weren't working together?"

I shake my head. "Double-cross thing. I don't fucking know. All I know is Asher is still out there, and he is still after me. Are you guys okay?"

Gianluca snorts, rubbing the back of his head, his eyes flashing like a maddened hornet whose nest has been poked at. "That was some fucking dose of tranquilliser," he mutters. "Good thing Luke swooped in to save us."

I grin at our hero. "Need to get you a fucking cape."

"I wouldn't say no," he retorts with a laugh, but then he goes serious, and it affects all of us. "We need to clean up this mess and double down. Quinn Senior now has a clear line to you with his sons out of the way."

"Assuming they were actually trying to save you," Cian grumbles.

His words, though sharp as razors, aren't wrong. Threading through the pain, it's clear. The board's been set, the pieces in play, and I'm the fucking queen they're all after.

Cian's eyes are dark tunnels, secrets and rage colliding in their depths. "We also need to consider that this was a distraction." His hand is tight on my shoulder. "From what I've dug up on Asher Quinn, we need to be prepared. He's crafty."

"Crafty is one word for that twisted fuck," I spit back, trying to straighten up, show I'm not as wrecked as my body feels.

"Speaking of twisted fucks…" Gianluca looks up with a devilish grin spreading across his face. "How about we twist this back at Asher?"

Cian nods, catching Gianluca's drift instantly. "We could use this."

"Yes," Luke suddenly speaks up, strategist mind ticking behind those cold green eyes. "Lure him out."

I exhale sharply. They're circling around an idea, one that has me in the centre again—bait in a deadly game.

"I'm sick of being hunted. It's our fucking turn." I know what I'm saying. They know what I'm saying. I'm about to throw myself into the gauntlet, but I don't fucking care.

Luke steps closer, gripping my hand tightly. "We set a trap. And this time, we finish it."

Cian nods, eyes burning. "We end Asher Quinn."

Gianluca looks at me. "You good to play the queen one more time?"

I wipe off Andrew's blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. "I'll fucking reign."

"We'll keep you safe," Luke says quietly.

"Safety's an illusion," I cough out a bitter laugh even as I lean into Cian's side for support. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

We're in it now—deep into a game where every move could be our last. But we're not backing down—not when we have each other, not when we have everything to fight for.

The plan begins to take shape—a dangerous dance of deception and deceit. If Asher wants me, he'll get more than he ever bargained for.