24. Vogue

It's pretty earlyin the morning when we set off for Dad's office. More gun training, more cleaning house, more everything mafia. The guys have headed to campus to start the ball rolling for the masked ball and the heist, which is making me nervous but the thrilling kind.

"You okay?" Dad asks, cutting into my thoughts.

"Yeah, just thinking about the ball and stuff."

"You know your role?"

I nod, staring out of the window at the tranquil countryside that surrounds the mansion's grounds.

The engine hums, lulling me into a safety net of peace. Adam's hands are steady on the wheel, guiding the SUV as we glide from the gates of our home toward the city.

"Did you sleep okay?" Aaron asks without looking up.

"Nah," I reply, my gaze staring out the window, watching trees blur into green streaks against the morning light. "I did some more training."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "On your own."

"Yeah, trying to build up some physical strength. I don't want to be one of those women who relies on the men to get her out of situations."

He chuckles. "That's my girl. But don't overdo it and tell us when you plan on doing this. If we don't know, Adam will work you hard, and it might cause an adverse reaction if you're already tired."

"Okay, that's fair."

"Have you spoken to the Admin office about downgrading to a part-time course yet?"

"No, not yet. I will. Things have been a bit hectic."

"Don't forget. I know this is important to you, but I'm glad you have chosen to stand by my side now."

We exchange a smile as a shadow cuts across the road, quick and sudden. Adam's body tenses, his grip tightens, and before I can process it, everything changes. The world tilts on its axis as a black van barrels into us with a violence that turns my stomach. Metal screams, and glass shatters. We're thrown sideways, off the road, the SUV spinning out of control until we come to a dead halt. My head snaps to the side, smacking against the glass, stars burst behind my eyes, but pain is distant, a problem for later.

"Out, now!" Adam's voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, sharp and urgent. He's already moving, gun drawn. I fumble with the seatbelt, heart racing, trying to keep up with the chaos that erupted in what should have been an ordinary moment.

Dad's out of the car already too, his face set in lines of grim determination. They stand side by side, firing towards the van that ran us off the road. Without being told, I know these are the moments that define us, the ones we train for, the ones we dread. This isn't some nightmare; this is real, and it's happening now.

Move, Vogue, move.

I blink fast, trying to clear the fog in my head. The seatbelt cuts across my chest as I press against it, struggling to get out.

"Stay down," Dad yells.

The world outside the car tilts and wobbles as I push the door open. Gravel digs into my palms. I'm on the ground, not sure how I got here, but the cold bite of little rocks tells me it's real.

Gunshots echo a staccato rhythm that jolts through me. My breath comes too fast, too shallow. I glance up; Adam and Dad aren't far away, guns aimed at the van where men pour out like ants from a kicked hill. "Vipers," Dad grits out. That one word sends a chill down my spine, ice in my veins. They're not just any gang; they're a nightmare made flesh—the ones who abducted me and have caused all this grief for the guys.

If anything was going to get me on my feet to fight, it was that one word.

A movement catches my eye—Dad stepping forward, his body shielding mine. "Get down!" he shouts at me, but there's no time.

A sharp crack splits the air, and he stumbles. The world slows down. My heart doesn't beat; it stops, waiting, suspended.

Dad falls, and there's red on his shirt, spreading rapidly.

"No!" I scream and drop to my knees. "Adam!" He moves, a blur of motion, dragging Dad behind the cover of our wrecked SUV. I crawl closer, hands useless, shaking. Dad's eyes find mine, fierce even now. "You'll be okay," I whisper, but the words are a platitude. I don't know shit.

Adam doesn't hesitate to keep moving, fluid like some kind of dark avenger. I watch him, part horror, part awe, as he ducks and weaves between the bullets that slice through the air. His return fire is precise, each shot finding a mark. One by one, the Vipers fall, their threats silenced mid-shout.

"This is my fault," I murmur, pressing down on Dad's wound, my hands sticky and warm with his blood. "This is my fault. They're after me."

"No," Dad croaks.

"Shh," I murmur automatically. Nothing he can say will change the fact that he was shot because of me.

"Vogue!" Adam yells, snapping me out of the daze. A gun skids across the ground to me. I fumble with it, my hands slick with blood. It's heavier than I remember from the range yesterday. I aim in the general direction of the enemy, my arms trembling. I squeeze the trigger, but it's like I'm all thumbs, the gun jerking in my hand more than it should.

Bullets kick up dirt around me. I'm not helping. Not really. But I can't just sit here while Adam does all the work and while Dad bleeds out.

We will all die.

I try again, squinting, willing my hands to steady. The gun jerks again with the recoil, and I don't know if I hit anything, but at least I'm trying. Adam's doing his part; I need to do mine, even if my heart is racing and I want to throw up.

"Cover me!" Adam shouts, and I nod, gritting my teeth, knowing he is risking his life for me. I have to at least try.

He's relentless, closing in on the last of the Vipers. There's no mercy in his eyes, only the cold intent to protect, to serve retribution. He uses one as a human shield as he fires off shot after shot, taking them down savagely. As much as this world of violence and blood is new and terrifying to me, I realise it's also now my reality. Dad's legacy is mine, now. Ambushes and all.

So, I stand there, shooting and missing, because that's all I can do right now. That's all I have.

Then sirens cut through the chaos, a shrill alarm call that sends a spike of panic straight through me. "Adam!" I shout, my voice hoarse from the gunpowder and fear.

"Move!" Adam barks, his eyes scanning the wooded embankment for an escape route. Dad's slumped on the ground, holding his hand over the hole in his chest, his face tight with pain. There's so much blood. Too much.

"Vogue, help me get him in," Adam orders, reaching down to scoop Dad up in a swift motion. His arm is around Dad's waist; I take the other side, almost staggering under the sudden weight. Dad grunts, his face contorting, but he stays silent. Tough as nails, even now.

"I meant, clear the backseat," Adam grits out. "I've got your old man, girlie."

"Oh, sorry, sorry," I stammer, feeling like an idiot. Adam is twice my dad's size; of course, he's got this.

I turn to the SUV, its black body dented and scarred from the ambush. The front bumper hangs off like a broken jaw. It'll be a miracle if it will still drive.

I open the door as far as I can and clamber in so I can haul Dad further in as Adam stuffs him inside.

Dad passes out from the pain of being moved, and I let out a sob as I drop the gun I'm still holding and press my bloodied, aching hands over the wound again.

My stomach turns, but I can't let that stop me.

Adam leaps into the driver's seat and slams the door shut, but it bounces open again, too damaged to close. The engine comes to life, more of a gasp than a growl, and we're tearing down the road, back the way we came, leaving behind a cloud of dust, a dozen dead bodies and the distant wail of sirens.

Dad's breathing is ragged, his skin pale as he comes to again.

"Keep pressure on it," Adam says from the front, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, watching for any sign of pursuit. We bounce around with the screwed suspension, but we're moving. That's something, even though every jolt sends a fresh wave of agony across Dad's face.

"Hospital," I mutter. "He needs a hospital."

"No."

The one word from Adam is like a slap. "Adam!"

He doesn't reply, just steps on it faster, pulling back onto the mansion driveway as the gates open.

"Stay with us, Dad," I plead, feeling tears burn hot trails down my cheeks. I never knew how much I needed him until this moment—until I thought I might lose him.

We skid to a halt on the fancy red brick. Adam is out of the SUV before it even stops rocking, yanking his phone from his pocket with one hand while he reaches for me with the other.

"Go, Vogue, inside—now!" His voice is a command, one I have to obey. I'm floundering. He's in charge now. He has to know what he's doing.

I stumble inside, every step jarring my head where I hit it earlier. My thoughts are scrambled, but I know we can't waste a second. Dad's life hangs by a thread, his breaths shallow and ragged in my ears.

Adam doesn't pause as I burst through the front door. He's already barking orders into the phone as he wrestles with my dad again.

I hover near the entrance, useless, watching Adam, grateful for this cool in the face of danger man; this giant of steel and purpose.

His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see the gravity of the situation reflected back at me. There's no room for error, not with Dad's life on the line.

"Vogue, stay with your dad. Make sure he stays awake until the doc arrives," Adam instructs, marching past me with Dad slung over his shoulder. He drops Dad on the couch, pale and gasping.

"Okay." My voice is steady, surprising me. Maybe it's shock, or maybe it's some thread of strength I didn't know I had. I kneel beside Dad, taking his hand just like I did in the car, determined to be his anchor through the pain, my other hand keeping pressure on the wound.

"The doctor is on his way," I whisper to him, trying to infuse my words with hope. My mind races, circling the fact that despite my years of fighting for a future beyond the reach of Westfield's shadows, I've been thrust into something worse. I can only imagine this doctor guy is a back alley type of guy or a vet like they use in the movies.

Fuck. This is surreal. What is going on? What am I thinking?

"Stay with me, Dad," I urge softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. He nods faintly, his grip on my hand like a lifeline.

The front door slams open with force enough to shake the walls, and Cal bursts in first, his face hard as stone. Quen is right on his heels, eyes darting around, taking in the scene like he's ready for a fight. Thayer follows, taut with urgency, and Harry steps in last, his silence more unnerving than any words.

"Guys!" I shout. "Fuck!"

"Adam called us," Quen says, coming over and kneeling down, immediately taking over for me as he rips off his tee and bunches it up over Dad's oozing wound.

"Shit," Thayer mutters, running a hand through his hair. "How bad, Quen?"

"Bad enough," he says absently.

I feel Harry's gaze on me, a silent offer of empathy.

"Some doctor is coming," I murmur.

Quen nods, taking it in. "Good."

"Let's clear some space," Thayer says, practicality taking over, moving furniture with Callum and Harry to make a path for when the doctor arrives. It's action, something tangible in the midst of helplessness, and I'm grateful for it.

"Thanks," I whisper, and they look at me with a nod. No platitudes or false promises; they understand as well as I do now that words are flimsy shields against the reality of a bullet wound.

"He's tough," Quen mutters to me.

"Damn straight," Dad croaks. "Had worse."

"Yeah, not so much, asshole," Callum states, looming over us to stare down at my dad. "You look like hell."

"And you're a little punk who needs his ass kicking. Let me get right on that."

"It's the one time I'd be able to kick your sorry ass, so stay down, old man."

Their banter is shocking to me. They're acting like this is no big deal. But to me, this is everything. If I lose my dad now after just finding him, I'll…

Callum's hand lands on my shoulder as I let out an ugly sob. He crouches down next to me and turns my face to him. "He's going to be okay."

"Vipers," I blurt out with nothing left to say.

"Yeah, Adam told us," he grits out.

I glance up at Adam, returning to the room with a first aid box the size of a tool kit. He nods once, and I feel a rush of gratitude. He knew I needed them.

"We'll sort those bastards out. Don't worry about revenge. We've got this," Cal says, and it's not a comfort, but it's a promise of retribution that feels right.

"First things first," Adam interjects, his voice commanding attention. "We get Aaron stable. Then we plan our next move."

We all fall silent, waiting. The tension coils tighter with each passing second as Quen, our resident medic by all appearances, works to slow down the bleeding with gear from the box Adam handed to him. These guys—they're my unexpected fortress, their determination a shield against the uncertainty bearing down on us.

As the wait stretches out, each of us is lost in our own thoughts, yet together in this strange new reality, the only certainty is the sound of my dad's laboured breathing and the collective will surrounding him, begging him to hold on.

"It's not enough," Thayer says, breaking the silence. "The set-up. They just started something they will wish they'd kept in the back of their brains, which, by the way, are about to be splattered all over."

"Took out about eight on the scene," Adam says, arms folded. "But there's a hundred more. What did you have in mind."

A car door slams outside, and footsteps approach through the entrance hall. This is it—the dodgy doctor vet man is finally here.

He's not what I expected—he's dressed in dark jeans and a hoodie.

"Step back," the doctor says, voice clipped, all business.

We all scuttle backwards, giving him space to work.

"Get out," the doctor mutters, and we waste no time moving our asses out of the living to reconvene in the kitchen.

Thayer flicks the kettle on as Harry takes me gently to the sink, running water to just the right temperature before he washes the blood from my hands.

"You okay?" he asks.

"No."

"I get that."

"But thanks for asking."

We share a smile as the rest of the guys bustle about, keeping busy.

Outside, the mansion grounds are silent, too silent—it's the calm before the storm, and we all know it.

"How did you leave the scene?" Callum asks.

"With a bunch of dead bodies strewn about," Adam grits out.

"Not good," Cal mutters.

Adam's hard gaze pins his. "You don't say."

Cal grimaces and turns to Thayer. "So, what did you have in mind for payback?"

"We're going to blow them to kingdom come," Thayer states.

"You and your explosives," Quen mutters. "You got a plan to back up that statement?"

Harry's lips twist into a grim smile. "I was hoping you'd ask that. I'll take this one, if you don't mind?" Thayer shrugs, so Harry continues, "After last time, I've been keeping some eyes on them." He taps into his phone and brings up something on the screen, which he shows Adam first. "I've been tracking their movements, their cash flows. They think they're ghosts, but you've gotta be better than that in this game."

"And money leaves a trail," Quentin adds, leaning over to look at the phone.

"Exactly." Harry taps on a location on the on-screen map, circling an area with his finger. "This is their main stash house. We hit them where it hurts most first—their wallet."

Callum steps forward, his gaze dark and calculating. "We'll need a distraction, something to draw them out."

"Like?" Quentin probes.

"Like another hit," Callum suggests. "Somewhere minor but enough to pull their focus."

Harry chuckles lowly, shaking his head. "You're proposing we start a war."

Callum's eyes are like steel when he locks gazes with Harry. "No. I'm proposing we finish one. They started it by taking Vogue."

I swallow thickly, watching these men who've become my unexpected allies plot, destruction as easily as they breathe. Part of me is terrified; another part hums with the adrenaline that comes from knowing you're backed by people unafraid to stand and fight.

Adam nods slowly. "Make it messy," he advises. "Send a message."

"Messy's my middle name," Thayer says with a wry grin before it falls away just as fast. "But first, we need to hit up the storage facility. Can't leave those grenades lying around."

"Let's move," Callum says,

"Wait!" I exclaim as they head for the door. "What about my dad? I can't just leave him!"

"You need to stay here. It's too dangerous for you," Callum says, crossing over and taking me in his arms. He kisses the top of my head. "I know that's not what you want to hear, and I love you for your fierceness and spine of steel, but we can't do our jobs properly if we are worrying about you. These guys have tried twice to get to you. The first time they even accomplished it."

I shoot Harry a glance and thank God the injury he suffered wasn't bad.

"You are their golden egg, baby girl," Thayer says. "You can't be anywhere near this."

Hating that I think they're probably right, I nod. "Okay, but please don't get hurt or worse. I can't… please."

"I'm going with them," Adam states, and I have to say that makes me feel a whole lot better. The man seems to be indestructible.

"Okay," the doctor says, coming into the kitchen. His expression is a mask. "I've done what I can for now. I've removed the bullet. Nothing major was hit. He was lucky. He's stable, but..."

But. The word hangs in the air, a harbinger of uncertainty, a cliffhanging ‘to be continued' that none of us wants to hear.

"Thank you," Adam says tightly, nodding to the doctor. Our eyes meet, and there's a silent exchange, a shared understanding that this is far from over.

"He's a stubborn fucker. Keep him down," the doctor instructs. "I'll check back in a few hours."

He leaves, and with reassuring smiles, the guys leave too as Quen mutters about getting another tee from upstairs first.

I go to my dad, who is still in the living room but looking slightly better than he did a while ago. The silence in the room is a thick blanket, suffocating. I can barely breathe, let alone think straight.

Then, a soft groan from Dad breaks the heavy quiet, and I drop to my knees next to him.

"Vogue?" His voice is weak, but it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

"I'm here, Dad." My voice cracks, but I don't give a shit. Tears blur my vision.

"I'm okay," he murmurs.

"Doctor said you need to stay down."

"Pah, what does he know," he says and tries to sit up.

"No!" I push him back down. "Don't make me tie you to the couch."

He chuckles but then grunts with pain. "Where did everyone go?"

"Revenge mission. They're pissed and are going to take out the Vipers."

He blinks. "Who sanctioned that?"

"Me."

We lock gazes, and for a moment, I think he's going to go mad, but then he smiles. "That's my girl. Your mother… she…"

"I don't want to talk about her."

"I'm not going to kill her. I don't want to leave you an orphan if anything ever happens to me."

"Shut up."

"Vogue, this is serious."

"I know, but I can't right now." Suddenly, I get all the closure I need. I should've realised it before, but was too busy crying over spilt milk. "You know what? Leave her to it. I don't care. Any love or loyalty I had for that woman has vanished."

He searches my eyes. "You sure?"

"I can tell you with absolute certainty, she wouldn't have stepped in front of a bullet to save me. She'd have used me as a human shield to save her own skin." Memories of Adam's actions drift through my head.

"I can't say that I disagree, but I'm sorry it's come to this, Vogue. I can get her back here if you need to ask her why." He chokes back a cough, agony ripping through his features.

"I don't. She made her choice and nothing she can say or do will change that. It's done. I'm done."

He nods and closes his eyes. "Maybe I will rest for a while."

"That's the spirit," I murmur, feeling a weight lift and dissipate into thin air.