Chapter 174
Chapter 174:
I shifted gears, the car tearing through a red light. “Duncan. Liquidate whatever you must. I need fifty million in untraceable bearer bonds and cash. Meet me at the vault in twenty minutes p>
“Consider it done,” my Beta replied, his tone grim.
Twenty minutes later, the air in the underground vault of the Marshall Estate was frigid, smelling of steel and old money. Duncan and I worked in silence, shoving stacks of bills and bonds into two black tactical duffel bags.
My hands moved with mechanical precision, but my mind was a battlefield. Ragnar paced and snapped at the edges of my consciousness, flooding me with images — blood, Adella crying, the life draining from her eyes.
“Dallas p>
I froze. I had crushed a stack of bonds in my grip.
Duncan was watching me, his expression tight. “You’re vibrating. Pull it back, or you’ll shift before you get there p>
I released the crumpled paper and smoothed it out with trembling fingers. Then I looked at my Beta — the only man who had seen me at my worst and lived.
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“She’s not just my Mate, Duncan,” I whispered, the confession tearing out of my throat. “She’s the anchor to my soul. Without her, there is only Ragnar p>
Duncan’s eyes widened slightly. He understood. This wasn’t a rescue mission — it was a battle for my sanity. He nodded once, a solemn vow of support. “Then go get her p>
I grabbed the bags and headed for the garage. I bypassed the Maybach this time, going straight for the matte black Aston Martin. It was faster, quieter — a predator’s car.
As I threw the bags into the trunk, Vance’s voice broke through the Mind-Link.
“Alpha, no visual on the target vehicle. They’ve gone dark. But our intel confirms Solder has ties to Rogue camps near the old shipyard. He knows how to disappear p>
My burner phone buzzed against my hip.
I pulled it out. A single text message. A GPS pin.
The Old Shipyard, Pier 4.
The tension in my chest snapped. The waiting was over. The fear evaporated, replaced by a singular, deadly focus.
“Let’s hunt,” I commanded through the link.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life like a beast answering its master’s call. I didn’t know what awaited me at Pier 4, but I knew one thing: Jared Solder had just signed his death warrant in blood.
Braydon
The library of Hyde Manor was steeped in shadows, the only light emanating from the disposable phone in my hand. The air smelled of aged whiskey and the metallic tang of my own anticipation.
I pressed play.
The video was grainy, but the image was sharp enough to slice through my composure. Adella was tied to a chair, her wrists bound with cruel zip ties. Her hair was a mess, but her eyes — those defiant, hazel eyes — burned with a fire I intended to tame.
“Dallas, it’s a trap! Don’t come!” she screamed at the camera, her voice raw.