Ethan's POV
The sky was still black when I stepped out of the farmhouse.
Cold wind bit at my skin.
The estate lights flickered once, the storm pushing its knuckles against the horizon.
Mike handed me the McLaren keys.
The small silver AirTag glinted at the base of the keychain, invisible unless you knew where to look.
"Backup channel stays open," Mike said. "If the AirTag stops moving, we come in hot."
I nodded.
"Sir- Ethan..," he added quietly, "don't die."
I smirked, just slightly.
"Not today. I have paperwork to file."
Then the McLaren roared awake beneath me, the kind of sound that could tear open a vein of silence.
I sped through the iron gates before they had fully opened.
The tires kissed the asphalt like a promise.
The burner's last ping tracked to the outskirts, a warehouse district half-dead, half-awake, the kind of place that smelled of old money laundering and new violence.
The AirTag sync lit up on my dashboard.
I followed the signal.
Left.
Right.
After driving for thirty minutes, I stopped at the factory, which is not operational. I know that's quite obvious. I don't want to draw attention. So i know Mike must have already send someone in here,
Past an abandoned shipping yard.
Past a stack of rusted containers that whispered histories no one wanted to tell.
For twenty minutes, nothing happened.
Just the hum of the engine and the taste of anger sharpening behind my teeth.
Time is everything for me. Whosoever they are, has wasted enough.
Then, a shadow moved where no shadow should be.
I paused, everything was dark just one yellow street light,
Three men stepped out of the darkness.
Black masks.
Heavy boots.
Confident strides.
Professionals.
One of them clapped slowly.
"Well done, Ethan," he called, voice altered by a modulator. "We expected you earlier. Traffic?"
I stepped towards him, wearing My confidence and ready to give them a fight,
Calm.
Calculating.
"You sent three?" I said dryly. "I'm insulted."
One of them laughed.
"Arrogant. Cute."
The first punch came fast.
I blocked it.
My elbow met someone's ribs, he grunted.
Another swung a metal rod.
It grazed my forearm before I twisted and slammed him into the hood of my car.
The impact dented the metal.
He slid off with a groan.
The third man attacked from behind.
Amateurs think you can't anticipate the blind spot; professionals know the pattern.
"Predictable," I muttered, sidestepping.
His punch hit air.
Mine hit his jaw.
But I wasn't immune to their strategy, they weren't trying to kill me.
They were trying to tire me.
And in the split second my attention shifted
A boot collided with my ribs.
Hard.
Pain rippled through me.
I tasted iron.
"First blood goes to us," the masked man crooned.
I wiped my lip with the back of my hand.
Blood.
Warm.
"Congratulations," I said. "You managed what eight board members couldn't."
He lunged again.
I ducked, drove my shoulder into his abdomen.
We hit the gravel.
Another swung the metal rod.
This time, it connected.
Sharp pain cracked across my back, vibrating down my spine.
My knees buckled for a second.
Not long, but long enough.
"You hit harder than the rumors say," I muttered through clenched teeth.
They laughed.
Sarcasm was easier than the truth:
I was bleeding.
And they knew it.
The tallest one leaned close, voice low.
"She's awake soon, Ethan," he hissed. "Imagine her pretty face when she sees the headlines. Imagine her face when she sees yours… covered in her history."
Rage snapped through me like electricity.
"She won't see you," I growled.
My fist collided with his throat.
He gagged, staggered back.
I grabbed the metal rod and cracked it against another's knee.
He went down screaming.
But the third one landed a blow square to my side,
pain shot through the muscles like a knife being twisted.
Still, I didn't fall.
"You should know," the voice-modulated one panted, "this is just a message. Nothing more."
I raised an eyebrow despite the pain.
"You hit like a message. Not a threat."
He hissed.
And then,
The sound of engines approaching.
Mike's backup.
The masked men exchanged a look — a silent command.
Retreat.
They ran.
They vanished into the container maze before the backup SUVs screeched into the lot.
Mike jumped out, eyes wide.
"Sir! Ethan, are you—"
"I'm fine," I said, wiping blood from my cheek.
That was a lie.
Pain radiated in sharp pulses down my ribs and left shoulder.
He scanned the area. "We need to get you back. Now."
"No," I said. "We need to secure Raina. They know our timeline."
My knees almost buckled on the way back to the McLaren.
Mike steadied me without a word.
The drive back to the farmhouse blurred, adrenaline fought fatigue, pain fought clarity, anger fought restraint.
By the time we reached the estate, the sky had softened into early dawn.
Gold bleeding into blue.
Beautiful.
Cruel.
I stepped inside.
The house was too quiet.
My boots left faint marks on the floor, blood or dirt, I couldn't tell.
As I passed the hallway camera feed on the monitor, movement caught my eye.
Raina's door opened.
She stepped out.
Her hair was messy from panic-sleep.
Her eyes swollen from tears.
Her expression confused and scared.
Her gaze traced the floor.
The hallway.
The drops.
Her breath hitched.
Then she saw me.
Her eyes widened ,
horror blooming across her face.
"Ethan..."
Her voice broke.
"Oh my God."
Her hand covered her mouth.
I stood there.
Breathing hard.
Bleeding.
Trying to look like a man in control and failing at it.
"Good morning," I said hoarsely, attempting a smirk that hurt too much.
"Sorry about the mess."
Her eyes filled instantly.
"What happened?" she whispered, stepping toward me.
"Who did this to you?"
I didn't answer.
Because behind her,
a phone buzzed on the table.
A notification lit the screen.
Mike turned, eyes widening.
The first leak had hit.
Raina hadn't seen it yet.
But she would.