And, fuck me, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

I don’t know what kind of past she has, but I’m starting to think I seriously underestimated her. She moves like someone trained. Someone used to clearing spaces and handling weapons.

Sleeper agent.

Fucking noted.

We advance, sweeping each section of the warehouse. Every turn, every blind corner, I expect to run into someone, but there’s nothing. Just silence.

Until we hear it.

Voices.

Amanda signals to me, pointing toward a door at the far end of the warehouse. I nod, pressing forward.

As we get closer, the voices become clearer.

Not just Evan.

Izzy.

She’s yelling at him, voice full of fire. That’s not good. Fuck, Izzy. She shouldn’t be doing that. Shouldn’t be goading him. But of course she is. She’s fearless. She’s reckless. She’s the strongest woman I know. And right now?

She’s in so much fucking danger.

We reach the door, flattening against the wall beside it.

Now we can hear everything.

“I am not helping you, Evan,” Izzy spits, her voice firm. “I don’t care what you do to me. I would rather die than let you use me for this.”

A long pause.

Then Evan’s voice, darker, nastier than I’ve ever heard it.

“You will do this,” he growls, “or you will die right now.”

Amanda meets my eyes, nods once.

We don’t wait.

We don’t hesitate.

We move.

I raise my boot and kick the fucking door in.

The second the door slams open, chaos erupts.

Izzy’s bound to a chair in the middle of the room, hands tied behind her back.

Evan’s in front of her, a gun in one hand, the other curled into a fist like he was about to hit her.

Not a fucking chance.

But before I can move⁠—

Amanda does.

She launches herself at Evan like a goddamn panther, grabbing his arm, twisting his wrist so fast and hard that the gun clatters to the floor. And then, in a move straight out of a fucking kung fu movie, she takes him down.

A spin. A kick. A pivot.

And then she’s got him pinned, her thighs locked around his neck and shoulders, his arms trapped in a way that no matter how much he struggles, he’s not getting free.

And just to add insult to injury?

Her bright pink gun is pressed squarely against his temple.

I would be impressed if I wasn’t so fucking focused on Izzy.

I grab my knife, cutting through the zipties at her wrists.

She sucks in a breath, flexing her fingers as soon as she’s free. I grab her hands, gently, turning them over, inspecting them.

Cuts.

Bruises.

Marks that don’t belong on her.

Marks that I wasn’t here to stop.

Rage surges inside me, but I push it down. Because right now, she is all that matters.

“Izzy.” My voice is careful. “Are you okay?”

She meets my eyes, and fuck.

She’s not just okay.

She’s furious.

A deep-seated, visceral rage burns in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she says, but there’s murder in her tone.

I believe her.

I believe her completely.

But still, I tuck a hand under her chin, tilt her face up, searching. Just to be sure. Just to see if there’s any fear.

There isn’t.

I squeeze her hand, then turn to Evan, still struggling beneath Amanda.

I grab the rope he used to tie Izzy up and yank it forward.

“Let him go,” I tell Amanda. “I’ve got him.”

She nods, pressing the barrel of her gun into Evan’s skull before finally releasing him.

I twist the rope around his wrists tight, securing him to one of the rusted metal poles in the center of the room. He groans as I wrench it a little harder than necessary.

“Sit tight,” I growl.

I turn back to Amanda, who is now face-to-face with Izzy.

And that’s when it hits Izzy.

Her eyes widen as she takes in Amanda.

Her slightly smudged mascara. The dead serious look on her face. And most importantly⁠—

The fucking pink gun still in her hand.

“Wait—WHAT?” Izzy sputters, looking between me and Amanda. “Why are you here? And why the fuck do you have a pink gun?”

Amanda cocks a hip. “Why wouldn’t I have a pink gun?”

Izzy stares at her. Blinks. Then rubs her temples.

“You know what? Actually? This strangely makes sense to me.”

Amanda grins, shoving the gun back in her purse.

I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. “Amanda, take Izzy to the car. Call 911. I need a minute alone with our friend here.”

But this time?

It’s not Amanda who argues.

It’s Izzy.

She stands, stepping closer, her breath still coming fast, her body still radiating pure, unfiltered fury.

“Wait,” she says, her voice calm but deadly. “I need to do something first.”

Amanda and I exchange a glance.

I nod, stepping aside, watching.

Izzy turns to Evan. Her whole body is loose, but I know better.

She’s not relaxed.

She’s dangerous.

Evan sneers. “What the fuck are you⁠—”

Izzy punches him.

Hard.

His head snaps to the side. Blood spurts from his nose.

He grunts, groaning in pain, but Izzy is not done.

Not even close.

She leans in. “You thought you could ruin me?” she whispers, her tone pure venom. “That you could control me? That you could manipulate me into being some tool for your pathetic fucking crime ring?”

Evan’s breathing hard now, struggling against the ropes, but she keeps going.

“You spent years grooming me, trying to break me, trying to mold me into your perfect little pawn.” She lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “And you thought you were so fucking smart.”

She leans in closer. “But look at you now.”

Evan growls, jerking against the ropes.

Izzy?

She just steps back.

Turns to me.

And lifts her chin.

“I’m ready to go now.”

If I didn’t already love this woman, I would now.

Amanda grabs at Izzy’s wrist. “Let’s go, rage queen.”

I watch them leave, my chest aching with pride.

And then?

Then it’s just me and Evan.

And he is about to experience a very different side of me.

I LET HIM TALK. THEN I MAKE HIM BLEED

CAL

I release the rope.

Evan slumps forward, groaning, shaking his wrists out as he spits blood onto the concrete floor. He coughs, looking up at me through swollen eyes. "What the fuck is going on?"

I tuck my hands into my pockets, the cool metal of my knife pressing against my thigh through the denim. I tilt my head slightly. "Simple. I'm here to clean up your mess."

His brows furrow. "What?"

I shake my head like I'm disappointed. The fluorescent light above flickers, casting momentary shadows across his bruised face. "They sent me in."

His face twitches, confusion giving way to a glimmer of—hope.

"Who?"

"You know we don’t say who."

I see the exact moment he starts to believe me.

His shoulders drop slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of his posture. He wants to believe me. He needs to believe me, because that means I'm not here for vengeance. That means I'm not here for her.

It's almost too easy.

I roll my shoulders, stepping closer, the concrete floor cold and hard beneath my boots. "You were supposed to break her down, Evan. That was the job. You were supposed to find someone we could use, get inside, gain her trust. Make her need you. And for a while, it was working."

Evan wipes at the blood under his nose, his lips twitching slightly. The collar of his once-pristine button-down is now stained crimson. "She was tough," he admits. "Took longer than expected. But I had her. I had her. Just needed a little more time."