21. June

Chapter twenty-one

June

T he walls of Dante's safe house close in on me, a gilded cage not unlike the one Cara's trapped in. I pace the length of the room, five steps, turn, five steps back, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The luxury surrounding me is a mockery of the freedom I'm supposed to have.

"Fuck!" I snarl, slamming my fist into the wall. Pain explodes across my knuckles, a welcome distraction from the constant ache in my chest. Blood trickles down my fingers, the coppery scent filling my nostrils.

"You okay in there, brother?" Dante's voice filters through the door, concern barely masking his wariness.

I laugh, a harsh, broken sound. "Oh yeah, I'm fucking peachy. My wife's being held captive by my psychotic mother, I can't leave this goddamn room without risking everything, and for all I know, Faulkner's poison is still ticking away in my brain. But sure, I'm okay."

The door opens, and Dante steps in, his eyes quickly scanning the room for potential weapons. Smart man. "June," he says, his voice low and steady, "we're doing everything we can. You know that."

I turn to face him, letting him see the storm raging behind my eyes. "Is it enough? Is it fucking enough, Dante? Because from where I'm standing, Cara's still in danger, our child is still at risk, and I'm still useless!"

Dante doesn't flinch, doesn't back down. It's one of the things I've always respected about him. "You're not useless," he says firmly. "You're our ace in the hole. Elaine thinks you're still broken. That's our advantage."

I want to argue, want to rage against the logic of his words, but he's right. And I fucking hate it.

"Any word?" I ask instead, the fight draining out of me. "From Marta, or Judith?"

Dante's expression softens slightly. "Nothing new. Cara's holding up, but..." He hesitates, and my blood runs cold.

"But what?" I demand, crossing the room in two quick strides. "Dante, what aren't you telling me?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "There might be some complications with the pregnancy. High blood pressure, maybe preeclampsia. Judith's trying to get more information, but-"

I don't hear the rest. The world narrows to a pinpoint, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Cara. Our baby. In danger, and I'm not there. I'm not fucking there.

"I need to see her," I growl, already moving towards the door. "I don't care about the risks. I need to-"

Dante's hand on my chest stops me, his grip like iron. "You can't, June. You know you can't. One sighting, one whisper that you're free, and Elaine will lock everything down. We'll lose what little access we have."

I want to hit him. Want to break his arm and charge past him, consequences be damned. But the rational part of my brain, the part not consumed by fear and rage, knows he's right.

"Then what?" I spit, my voice raw with desperation. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, Dante? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs while Cara and our child are in danger?"

"No," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "You're going to help us plan. You know Elaine better than anyone. You know how she thinks, how she operates. We need that insight if we're going to pull this off."

I laugh again, bitter and hollow. "Oh, that's rich. Use the fucked-up family dynamics to our advantage, huh?"

But even as the words leave my mouth, my mind is already racing. Elaine's paranoia, her obsession with control, her desperate need to maintain the perfect family image... there's something there. Something we can use.

"Judith's engagement," I say slowly, the pieces starting to click into place. "Elaine won't be able to resist making a big show of it. It's the perfect chance to-"

"To create a diversion," Dante finishes, a grim smile spreading across his face. "A way to get Cara out without Elaine realizing until it's too late."

For the first time in weeks, I feel a flicker of something dangerously close to hope. It's a fragile thing, as delicate as a butterfly's wing, but it's there.

"We'll need to be careful," I warn, already seeing the potential pitfalls. "If Elaine suspects anything, if she thinks I might show up..."

"She'll use it as bait," Dante nods. "Try to draw you out. We'll have to be smarter than that."

We spend the next few hours hunched over maps and blueprints, plotting and planning. It's almost like old times, back when Dante and I used to run cons together. Except now, the stakes are infinitely higher.

As night falls, Dante finally leaves me alone with my thoughts. I sink onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. The burst of adrenaline from planning is fading, leaving me hollow and aching.

I close my eyes, and immediately wish I hadn't. Because there she is, Cara, her face etched with pain and fear. I can almost smell her, that intoxicating mix of jasmine and something uniquely her. Can almost feel the swell of her belly beneath my palm.

"I'm coming for you," I whisper into the empty room. "Both of you. I swear it."

But the words feel empty, impotent. Because the truth is, I'm terrified. Terrified that I'll fail, that I'll give in to the darkness Faulkner planted in my mind. Terrified that even if we succeed, I'll be too broken, too damaged to be the husband and father Cara and our child deserve.

A sharp pain lances through my skull, and suddenly I'm back there, strapped to that chair, Faulkner's oily voice in my ear.

"She doesn't love you, Juniper," he croons, his words dripping with false sympathy. "She never did. It was all a lie, a beautiful delusion we let you believe. But now it's time to wake up. Time to be the son your mother always wanted."

I gasp, clawing my way back to reality. My shirt is soaked with sweat, my heart racing like I've run a marathon. This is what I'm afraid of, what keeps me up at night. The possibility that at any moment, I could lose myself. Could become the monster Faulkner tried to create.

With shaking hands, I reach for the burner phone hidden beneath the mattress. I shouldn't use it, I know I shouldn't. It's for emergencies only. But right now, hearing Cara's voice feels like the only thing that can keep me sane.

I dial the number from memory, holding my breath as it rings once, twice...

"June?" Cara's voice is barely above a whisper, but it hits me like a physical blow. "Is that you?"

"It's me, baby," I rasp, drinking in the sound of her breathing. "God, I miss you. Are you okay? The baby-"

"We're fine," she cuts me off, but I can hear the strain in her voice. "June, listen to me. We don't have much time. Elaine, she's planning something. I overheard her talking about making sure you can't interfere, about raising the baby without your influence."

Cold fury washes over me, pushing back the lingering shadows of Faulkner's conditioning. "I'll kill her," I growl, meaning every word. "If she so much as looks at you or our child wrong, I'll-"

"No," Cara says firmly. "No, June. We can't sink to her level. We have to be smarter than that. I have a plan, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

I want to argue, want to insist that I should be the one protecting her. But I swallow my pride, my fear, my rage. "Always," I whisper. "I trust you with my life, Cara. With everything I am."

She lets out a shaky breath, and I can almost see her nodding, that determined set to her jaw that I love so much. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do..."

As Cara outlines her plan, I feel a shift within me. The helplessness, the crippling fear - they're still there, but they're no longer in control. Because Cara, my brilliant, fierce Cara, has found a way to fight back. And I'll be damned if I let her down.

"It's risky," I say when she finishes. "If anything goes wrong-"

"It won't," she insists. "We won't let it. June, this is our chance. Our only chance to end this, once and for all."

I close my eyes, seeing not the darkness of Faulkner's lab, but the future we've dreamed of. Cara, round with our child. A home filled with laughter and love, free from Elaine's poisonous influence.

"Okay," I say, resolve hardening my voice. "Let's do it. Let's burn it all down."

As I end the call, slipping the phone back into its hiding place, I feel a change come over me. The broken, frightened man I've been these past weeks is gone. In his place is someone harder, someone willing to do whatever it takes to protect what's his.

Elaine thinks she's won. Thinks she's broken me, molded me into the puppet she's always wanted. But she has no idea what's coming for her.

I am a fucking Deveaux. And I'm about to show the world exactly what that means.

I've never been a religious man, but as I slip into the church, my heart is a prayer, a desperate plea to any god who might be listening. Let her be safe. Let our child be healthy. Let this nightmare end.

The disguise itches, the starched collar of the caterer's uniform chafing against my neck. But it's a small price to pay for the chance to see Cara, to be near her after so many weeks apart.

I stick to the shadows, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. Elaine's here, of course, holding court in the front row like the queen of some twisted fairy tale. The sight of her makes my blood boil, my fingers twitching with the urge to wrap around her throat.

But I force myself to stay calm, to remember the plan. Judith's wedding is the key, the distraction we need to get Cara out. I just have to play my part, bide my time until the right moment.

And then I see her.

She's radiant, even in her obvious exhaustion. The lavender dress drapes over her swollen belly, and for a moment, I'm transfixed by the sight. That's my child in there, the product of our love, growing stronger every day.

Our eyes meet across the room, and it's like a jolt of electricity, a livewire connection that sets my every nerve ending ablaze. I want to go to her, to gather her in my arms and never let go. But I can't. Not yet.

The ceremony seems to drag on forever, each second an eternity. I watch as Judith and her "husband" exchange vows, as the officiator pronounces them wed. It's all background noise, a distant buzz compared to the pounding of my heart.

And then it happens. The moment I've been dreading, the moment I've been preparing for.

Elaine makes her move.

I watch, my breath caught in my throat, as she takes Cara by the arm, her smile sharp and poisonous. I can't hear what she's saying, but I can read the fear in Cara's eyes, the tension in her body.

Every instinct screams at me to act, to intervene. But I force myself to hold back, to trust in the plan. Dante and Natalie are here, watching, ready to step in if needed. I have to believe that.

But as Elaine steers Cara away, as the crowd closes in around them, I feel my control slipping. The rage is a living thing, clawing at my insides, howling for release.

I'm moving before I can stop myself, weaving through the throng of well-wishers and hangers-on. I catch a glimpse of lavender, of dark hair, and my heart lurches.

I'm close, so close. Just a few more steps and I'll -

A hand closes around my arm, yanking me back into the shadows. I whirl, ready to fight, but it's Dante, his face grim.

"Not here," he hisses. "Stick to the plan."

I want to argue, to shove him aside and go after Cara. But the look in his eyes stops me. He's worried, more worried than I've ever seen him.

"What is it?" I ask, my voice rough. "What's happening?"

"Elaine's on the move," he says. "She's got Cara in the back room, and she's not alone. Her security team is with her."

Fear turns my blood to ice. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? We have to get in there, we have to-"

"We will," Dante cuts me off. "But we have to be smart about it. If we go in guns blazing, it'll be a bloodbath. Is that what you want for Cara? For your child?"

I deflate, the fight draining out of me. He's right. Of course he's right. But the thought of Cara alone with that viper, of our baby in danger…

"So what do we do?" I ask, hating the tremor in my voice.

Dante's smile is grim. "We wait for Natalie's signal. She's got eyes on the room. When the time is right, we'll make our move. Until then, we stay put."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Every second feels like an eternity, every heartbeat a countdown to disaster.

Please, I find myself praying, though I don't know to who. Please let them be okay. Please let me get to them in time.

The minutes drag by, each one a small eternity. I pace the shadows, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if Elaine hurts Cara? What if she tries to take the baby? What if-

A flicker of movement catches my eye. Natalie, slipping through the crowd, her face set with grim determination. Our eyes meet, and she gives a single, sharp nod.

It's time.

I'm moving before I can think, before I can breathe. Dante is beside me, his presence a solid reassurance as we navigate the twists and turns of the church's back hallways.

And then we're there, outside the room where Elaine has Cara. I can hear voices from within, Elaine's sharp and venomous, Cara's strained with fear and defiance.

I reach for the handle, but Dante stops me. "Remember," he says, his voice low and urgent. "We need Elaine alive. She's no good to us dead."

I nod, even as every cell in my body screams for her blood. For what she's done to me, to Cara, to our family... death is too good for her.

Dante counts down silently. Three. Two. One.

I burst through the door, every nerve singing with adrenaline. The first thing I see is a wall of black suits - Elaine's security detail, no doubt. They turn as one, reaching for their weapons, but I'm already moving.

The first guard goes down with a sickening crunch, my elbow connecting with his nose. I feel the cartilage shatter, taste the coppery tang of blood in the air. But there's no time to savor it. They're on me in an instant, a storm of fists and fury.

I let the rage take over, let it fuel my muscles and sharpen my reflexes. These men, they're just obstacles, barriers between me and Cara. And I'll tear through a hundred of them if that's what it takes.

Dante is a whirlwind at my side, his movements brutal and efficient. We fall into a rhythm, a deadly dance of strike and counter, cover and advance. The floor grows slick with blood, the air heavy with the grunts and groans of pain.

A bullet grazes my arm, a white-hot lance of agony. I barely feel it. My focus is absolute, honed to a razor's edge. Each blow, each bone-shattering impact, brings me one step closer to Cara.

The last guard falls with a gurgling cry, his throat crushed beneath my fingers. I drop him, already scanning the room, my heart pounding a wardrum in my chest.

There.

Elaine, her once immaculate coiffure now disheveled, her eyes wild. And in her grip, a gleaming length of steel pressed against the pale column of Cara's throat.

"Not another step," she hisses, her voice thready with panic. "Or I'll paint the walls with her blood."

Cara's eyes meet mine, wide and terrified. But beneath the fear, I see it. That flicker of defiance, of strength. She's not broken. Not beaten.

And neither am I.

"It's over, Elaine," I say, my voice deadly calm. "You've lost. Let her go, and I might consider making your death quick."

She laughs, a thin, manic sound. "Oh, Juniper. Still so naive. You think this ends with me? You have no idea the forces you're dealing with, the lengths I'll go to..."

I take a step forward, my blood singing with the need to rend, to tear, to destroy. "No, Mother. You have no idea what I'm capable of. The things I'll do to keep my family safe."

Her grip on the knife wavers, her eyes darting between Cara and me. I can see the calculations whirring behind her eyes, the desperate search for an angle, an advantage.

She won't find one. Not this time.

"June..." Cara's voice is strained, but steady. "The baby. Don't let her hurt the baby."

Elaine's grin turns vicious, triumphant. "Yes, June. Think of your child. What would you do to keep it safe? What would you sacrifice?"

Everything. The answer burns in my blood, sears my very soul. I would give anything, do anything, to protect my family.

Even if it means surrendering to the darkness. Even if it means losing myself.

I meet Cara's gaze, seeing the trust, the love, the unwavering faith shining back at me. And I know, with a certainty that goes beyond thought, beyond reason, that she feels the same.

We are bound, she and I. Two halves of a shattered whole. And together, we will always be stronger than the sum of our broken parts.

I let the cold calm settle over me, let the fury crystalize into something hard and sharp and deadly. When I speak, my voice is scarcely recognizable, a guttural rasp of promise and menace.

"Let. Her. Go."

Elaine's face contorts, a rictus of rage and fear and something like madness. For a breathless, eternal moment, I think she'll do it. I think she'll slash that knife across Cara's throat, paint the world red with her hatred.

But she hesitates. A fraction of a second, a flicker of doubt.

It's all I need.

I move, a blur of speed and savagery. The knife clatters to the floor as I wrench Elaine's arm back, the crack of breaking bone lost beneath her scream.

Cara staggers free, one hand pressed to her throat, the other curled protectively around her belly. I want to go to her, to fold her in my arms and never let go.

But first, I have to deal with the monster who birthed me.

I slam Elaine against the wall, my forearm crushing her windpipe. Her eyes bulge, her mouth gaping like a landed fish as she scrabbles weakly at my grip.

"Listen to me," I snarl, my face inches from hers. "Listen, and understand. You will never touch Cara again. You will never come near our child. If you do, if you so much as breathe in their direction..."

I lean in closer, my lips brushing her ear. "I will make you beg for death. I will make you howl for the mercy of oblivion. And I will deny you, again and again, until the very sight of me is enough to make you piss yourself in terror."

I release her, stepping back to watch her crumple to the floor. She's making small, gasping noises, her hands clawing at her throat.

Part of me, the part that's still a scared little boy desperate for his mother's love, wants to kneel beside her. Wants to beg for forgiveness, for absolution.

But that boy is dead. He died in Faulkner's chair, in the endless, aching hours of torture and manipulation.

The man who stands here now, the man who will be a father and a husband and a protector...

He is reborn in blood and pain and the unshakable certainty of his purpose.

"June..." Cara's voice, soft and shaking, cuts through the red haze. I turn, and she's there, her face pale but her eyes shining with love and relief.

I go to her, gather her to me, mindful of the precious cargo she carries. "It's over," I murmur into her hair, a promise and a prayer. "She can't hurt us anymore. No one can."

She clings to me, her tears soaking my shirt. "I knew you'd come," she whispers. "I never doubted it, not for a second."

I close my eyes, breathing her in, letting her presence soothe the jagged edges of my soul. "I'll always come for you, Cara. Always. You're my home. My heart."

In the distance, I hear sirens, the shouts of Elaine's reinforcements. But I'm not afraid. Not anymore.

Let them come. Let them see what happens when they try to tear asunder what God has joined together.

We will fight. We will bleed. We will claw our way through hell itself.