Isaia: Chapter 14

Ilight a cigarette and lean against the thick oak tree, watching her house.

She thinks I left. I didn’t.

Smoke curls from my lips, my gaze following her silhouette slipping from room to room. God, I want to fuck her so badly, and I almost did, right there on her goddamn kitchen counter.

The memory surges back. Her soft gasps, the way her body melted into my touch—perfect and untouched. And her taste…Jesus, her taste. It’s imprinted on me, like a brand burned into my tongue, sweet and addictive, with a hint of something I’ll never be able to name but will crave until the day I die.

I close my eyes, the phantom sensation of her trembling beneath me crawling under my skin, and it’s all I can do not to storm back into her house and finish what I started. To push her to that edge again, hear her cry my name as she falls apart in my hands.

My cock aches at the thought, at how close I’d been to claiming her completely, to carving my name into her soul in a way no one could ever erase.

She doesn’t realize what she’s done to me. How she’s crawled under my skin and made herself at home. And now that I know the truth—her truth—that she’s never been taken, possession claws in deep, and it’s pulsing with nothing but wicked intent.

I’ll break her. Be her first. Take everything. But as desperate as I am to feel her virgin pussy strangle my dick, there’s a darker part of me that craves her on her knees, begging, pleading for me to take her innocence and make it mine.

I want her unhinged with lust, her eyes wide and glassy as she realizes how deep this goes, how far I’ll take her. I want her wrecked—every gasping breath, every trembling cry, a tribute to the grip I have on her body and soul.

I drag on my cigarette, the burn doing little to temper the storm raging beneath my skin. She’s in there, moving around like she doesn’t have a clue what she’s done. Like she didn’t just become my fucking obsession, my goddamn undoing.

She’s not ready for what I want to do to her. Not yet. But she will be. She’ll be begging for it, for me, for every dark promise I’ve whispered to consume her completely. And when that moment comes, when she’s trembling, pleading, and broken open in every way that matters, she’ll finally understand what it means to belong to me.

My fingers tighten around the cigarette, the ember flaring as I inhale, trying to calm the storm inside me. It doesn’t work. Nothing ever does when it comes to her.

Her light flickers off, plunging the house into darkness. My chest tightens, the sudden loss of her silhouette sparking a possessive tension in my gut. She thinks she’s safe behind those walls but has no idea how fragile that illusion is.

I dial Maximo’s number, and he answers on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you?”

“And you call yourself head of security.”

“I swear, I’m gonna AirTag your ass,” he grumbles.

“Our intel was solid. Rinaldi’s in town.”

Maximo curses under his breath. “I’ll get more eyes and ears on the bastard.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Listen, I followed Everly tonight.”

“Let me guess. She met up with him?”

“Not exactly. She was having dinner with her mother. The fucker decided to show up uninvited.”

“So, she’s working with him?”

“No. She says she’s not, and I believe her.”

A beat of silence, then, “Oh, my God, you fucked her, didn’t you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I didn’t fuck her.” But I really, really fucking want to. “While I was outside the restaurant, watching her, a black SUV pulled up.”

“A car in front of a restaurant? That’s not exactly screaming suspicious.”

“At first, I thought the same.” I take a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that disappears into the night. “But it wasn’t just parked. Engine running, tinted windows locked tight. The real giveaway? It didn’t leave. Even after she walked in. It was waiting for something—or someone.”

Maximo exhales sharply. “You think they were packing?”

“I know they were. Driver’s window rolled down just a crack, enough for a hand to adjust the side mirror. I got a glimpse of him. Broad shoulders, dark suit, and a piece holstered under his arm.” My voice tightens. “Passenger wasn’t any friendlier. He kept glancing at the restaurant door like he was counting down.”

“Textbook abduction operation,” Maximo mutters. “They were waiting to scoop her up.”

“Exactly.” Rage simmers. “The second her heels hit the sidewalk, the passenger door cracked open. They were ready to move.”

“Jesus.”

“They didn’t see me.” I drop the cigarette and stomp it. “I got to her first. Pulled her out before they could make a move.”

Maximo’s tone darkens. “Why would he want to kidnap his own stepdaughter?”

“Not sure. But one thing’s clear—there’s bad blood between them. She hates him.”

“Why?”

I glance at her house, her bedroom light flicking off. “That’s what we need to find out.”

“I’m on it.” He hangs up, and I let out a heavy breath.

First, Rinaldi shows up at dinner—an ambush, as Everly called it—using her mother as bait to reel her in. Then, the snatch-and-grab setup. He’s playing games, and I’m not fucking amused. He wants something with her. And I know she knows exactly what it is, but she’s not talking. Not yet.

I light another cigarette, the ember glowing in the dark as I keep my eyes fixed on her house. My mind is a storm of rage, possession, and questions that won’t stop clawing at me.

Her house is quiet now, and so is the street. Peaceful. But I can’t get myself to walk away. I can still see the black SUV in my mind, the slow crack of the door, the driver’s calculated movements, and the passenger’s fucking eyes scanning for his moment to strike.

It does something to me, the thought of anyone taking her, hurting her, simply fucking touching her. It has the taste of death creeping at the back of my tongue, violence curling through my veins, begging to burst.

The faint sound of an engine hums in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts. My body goes taut, every muscle coiled as my eyes snap to the direction of the sound. A car pulls up slowly, headlights dimmed, the sleek silhouette crawling to a stop at the edge of the street.

I narrow my eyes, instinct taking over as I step deeper into the shadows. My hand brushes the handle of the knife tucked at my hip, and my pulse pounds with the steady thrum of adrenaline. This isn’t someone who’s lost. This is someone who’s waiting. Watching.

The driver kills the engine, switching off the lights, the faint glow of the dashboard illuminating his face just enough for me to catch the edge of a jawline. I can’t make out much else, but the tension in the air sharpens. Something’s not right.

I move silently, stalking toward the car. Each step is calculated, my focus narrowing to the vehicle, the faint shadow of the driver, the slight twitch of movement from inside.

When I’m close enough, I slip around the back of the car, circling wide. The driver doesn’t see me coming. He’s too focused on Everly’s house, his gaze fixed on her darkened windows. The fucker’s waiting for something—or someone.

The door creaks slightly; he’s about to get out when I make my move. Before he can react, I grab him by the collar, hauling him out of the car with a force that sends him stumbling. His hand shoots toward his waistband, but I’m faster. My fist slams into his gut, knocking the breath out of him, and he crumples with a strangled gasp.

My gaze sweeps the surroundings, scanning for movement, for any shadow that doesn’t belong. The street is still, the air heavy with the kind of silence that feels like it’s holding its breath.

Assured we’re alone, I tighten my grip on the bastard’s collar and drag him deeper into the trees. Branches snag at my sleeves, leaves crunch under my boots, but his protests are muffled and useless, his feet scrambling for purchase as I haul him forward like dead weight.

Once we’re far enough, cloaked in darkness and out of sight, I shove him hard against a tree. His grunts turn into panicked wheezes, but I’m not in the mood for mercy. My forearm slams against his throat, pinning him there, and I lean in, close enough to see the whites of his wide, frantic eyes.

“What the fuck do you want with her?”

“Fuck you,” he spits, and I press harder, cutting off more of his air supply.

“You’ve got one shot to tell me the truth.” My free hand moves to my knife, drawing it, the metallic scrape echoing in the stillness around us. The blade catches a sliver of moonlight as I hold it up, just enough for him to see his fate in the glinting steel. “Who sent you?”

He glares at me, defiance flickering for a second before I shove him harder against the tree, his head smacking the bark. He wheezes, clawing at my arm, but I press harder. “Talk, motherfucker. Or I swear to God, I’ll cut out your tongue and shove it down your throat before I kill you.”

His lips pull in a thin line, and I snarl and cut half his ear off. Before he manages a scream, I shove my arm against his mouth, muffling his pain-filled wail into a choked whimper. It’s sick, the satisfaction that sears through me as his blood warms my skin.

He thrashes against me, his movements frantic as his blood spills down the side of his face, warm and slick. His stifled cries vibrate against my arm, but I don’t loosen my grip. The scent of iron fills the air, sharp and metallic, mingling with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, a thrill slithering down my spine.

“I warned you.” My words come out calm, almost eerily so. “Now you’re going to tell me everything or the next thing you lose will be a hell of a lot worse.”

His teary eyes are wide, darting between the blade and my face, breathing rapidly and finally realizing there’s no mercy here, no bargaining, no escape. I shift my arm, letting him speak, but the knife stays poised, glinting dangerously close to what’s left of his ear.

“It was Rinaldi! He hired me—hired us!”

“Us?” Warning flares. “How many?”

“Two—two more,” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I press the blade lightly against his throat, just enough to make him flinch. “What’s the fucking plan?”

“Jesus, fuck!” he blurts, quivering with what I’d guess is a toxic mix of pain and adrenaline. “I’m supposed to grab her, take her to them, and they’ll get her to the airport.”

“Why the airport?”

“That’s where he’s waiting for her.”

“Who?”

“Rinaldi.” He squirms, eyes pinched closed. “Michele Rinaldi.”

I take a slow breath, my anger coiling tighter with every word. “And what happens when she gets to him?”

“I don’t know, man!” he cries, tears mixing with the blood on his face. “We’re just supposed to get her there. That’s it, I swear on my life.”

His life. What a fucking joke.

I lean in, looking him straight in the eye, unable to control this almost blinding fucking rage. “You were going to take her from me.”

“I—I was just following orders⁠—”

The blade slices cleanly across his throat before he can finish the sentence. His eyes widen in shock as he gurgles, blood pouring from the wound. I release him, letting his body crumple to the ground, lifeless and limp. The stillness returns, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

I wipe the blade on his jacket, the crimson smearing against the fabric as I stand over his body. The rage still burns hot, but there’s a grim satisfaction in knowing Rinaldi just lost another pawn in his fucked-up game.

Rage still boils as I pull out my phone, dialing Maximo again.

“What now?” he answers.

I glance at the body at my feet. “I’m sending you a location. Get a clean-up crew here asap.”

“Jesus, Isaia. What did you⁠—”

I hang up and slip the phone back into my jacket, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth as I pull out a cigarette with blood-slick fingers.

The lighter flares, casting a brief, fiery glow over the streaks of red on my hand. I light up, taking a slow drag, the burn of smoke mixing with the rush in my veins.

I’ve lost count of the men I’ve killed, their faces blurred into a sea of forgotten bodies. But this one…this one feels different. Almost fucking biblical, like it’s written somewhere that I was meant to kill for her. Born to own her. Make her mine in blood and fire.

I make my way back to the street, each drag of the cigarette sinking deep into my chest, smoke curling around the primal satisfaction in my gut.

The blood on my hands is drying, tacky against my skin, but I barely notice. It’s just a reminder—a fucking badge of what I’ll do to keep her. She has no idea how close she came to being ripped from her world tonight. How easily she could’ve been stolen from me.

I settle back against the oak tree, her house bathed in darkness, her safety an illusion she doesn’t realize I’ve given her.

If the devil wants to take her from me, he better come prepared to meet God.