The moment Riley stepped fully into the room, the atmosphere shifted.
The thugs — rough, scarred like they were born for this kind of life — recognized danger, but not quickly enough.
"Who the hell is this?" one snarled, cracking his knuckles.
"Some rich boy lost in the rain?" another laughed.
Riley didn't answer.
The one holding Stephanie's mother — Bruno, a bulked-up baldy with a habit of smiling during beatdowns — smirked and tightened his grip.
"Back off, mister. This ain't a business you should meddle in."
Riley's jaw flexed once.
Wrong move.
Bruno swung first, a wide, sloppy punch.
Riley simply leaned — smooth, minimal, efficient — and seized the man's wrist mid-air.
His hand closed around it like a steel trap.
Bruno's eyes widened. "Wait—"
CRACK.
The wrist snapped cleanly, the sound echoing through the small living room. Bruno dropped to his knees with a howl.
Riley didn't spare him a glance.
Another thug lunged from behind with a knife — Tito, the twitchy one, always eager to prove himself.
Riley caught his forearm, twisted, and slammed him face-first into the wall so hard the drywall split.
Tito slumped, unconscious before he hit the floor.
The third thug, Madsen, cursed and reached for his belt where a metal chain hung — the signature weapon he usually uses when he meets a potential danger.
But he didn't even finish pulling it free.
Riley stepped in, placing one boot on the chain, pinning it to the ground.
Madsen tugged. It didn't move.
Riley's voice lowered to something cold enough to freeze breath:
"You shouldn't have touched her."
He struck — one sharp elbow into Madsen's jaw.
The man dropped instantly, legs folding like wet paper.
Two seconds.
Three men down.
Ethan, watching from the doorway with rainwater dripping off his glasses, whispered, "Sir… that was… you didn't even— how—"
Riley didn't respond. His hands were steady. His breathing didn't change.
He surveyed the room like a battlefield.
Stephanie's mother lay weak and limp against the broken couch. Taylor was on the ground, chest barely rising. Stephanie stood near the doorway, stunned, soaked, trembling — eyes wide with disbelief.
Riley lowered to check her pulse, voice calm despite the wreckage.
"Ethan."
Ethan snapped out of his trance. "Y-yes sir?"
"Call the cleanup team. Tell them we have three people I want collected. Alive."
Riley glanced at the unconscious thugs.
"For interrogation."
Ethan nodded rapidly, already dialing.
"And also— call Crescent City General. We need two ambulances. One for the boy. One for the woman."
He paused.
His gaze moved to Stephanie.
Her breathing was shallow, her lips pale from cold. The adrenaline was fading fast. Rigorously fast.
"—and possibly a third."
Stephanie swayed on her feet.
"Miss?" Ethan called.
But her eyes unfocused.
Riley stepped forward quickly—
Too late.
Her knees buckled as her vision blurred into nothing but noise and rain.
She collapsed forward.
Riley caught her before she hit the floor.
But the moment he did, he eyes quickly grabbed the full structure of Stephanie's face
And for the first time that day, something shifted in his eyes — a faint crack beneath the soldier's armor.
Ethan lowered his phone. "Sir— the ambulances are on their way. ETA seven minutes."
Riley didn't take his eyes off Stephanie's faint face.
"…Good."
The storm outside continued to rage.
But inside the ruined house, the real storm had already passed.
And Riley Styles was at its center.
———
The ambulance lights flashed against the rain-slick streets as Riley stood at the emergency bay entrance, water still dripping from his coat. Nurses hurried past with stretchers — Stephanie's mother on one, Taylor on another — but Riley's focus remained on the unconscious girl in his arms.
Her head rested lightly against his chest, rainwater still clinging to her lashes.
"Emergency bed five is ready!" a nurse called.
Riley nodded once and carried Stephanie inside.
Ethan jogged behind him, shoving wet hair out of his face and adjusting his glasses anxiously. "Sir, I've already processed the admission forms. They'll treat them immediately."
Riley didn't speak.
He laid Stephanie gently on the hospital bed, brushing aside a strand of hair that clung to her cheek. His fingers paused there for the briefest second — the faintest hesitation from a man who never hesitated.
"Hypothermia," the doctor said. "And shock. She'll need rest."
Riley nodded again, jaw clenched.
When the doctor stepped away, Ethan approached from the side, holding a soaked tablet. "Sir… I think you need to see this."
Riley didn't move.
"Not now."
"Sir," Ethan insisted softly, "it's about her."
That got his attention.
Riley turned.
Ethan tapped the screen, revealing a military profile — old, faded, stamped DECEASED.
The name glowed through the dim light:
CAPTAIN MICHAEL ROGERS
Special Operations Division
KIA — 7 Years Ago
Riley's eyes darkened — not with rage, but with memory.
Ethan swallowed. "I… I cross-checked her mother's name on the hospital info with our internal logs. This man — Captain Rogers — he was her father."
Riley looked back at Stephanie, unconscious and fragile under the hospital lights.
"Captain Rogers…" Riley murmured, voice lower than the hum of the machines.
"He was my commanding officer."
Ethan nodded. "And your mentor, wasn't he?"
Riley's expression tightened — the closest thing to pain he'd shown in years.
"He saved my life more times than I can count."
"And now…" Ethan continued, voice gentle, "…his daughter is lying there because the same loan sharks who killed your parents came after her."
Riley inhaled sharply, but his face remained hard stone.
"This isn't coincidence."
"No, sir," Ethan agreed. "Based on the information I was able to gather all through the months I was here, I was able to figure out that this loan shark corporation is widening it's influence. And they're targeting families connected to ex-military."
Riley's gaze sharpened with lethal clarity.
"Then this stops," he said.
"Starting from tonight."
Ethan hesitated. "Sir… are you sure you want to involve yourself this deeply?"
Riley looked at Stephanie once more — the faint tremble in her breathing, the bruise on her wrist, the exhaustion etched into her sleeping face.
"For Captain Rogers," he said, voice cold and resolute.
"And for her."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"…Understood, sir."
He turned to leave but paused.
"Sir… what should I do with the interrogators?"
Riley didn't look away from Stephanie.
"Tell them to prepare a full extraction. Every name, every location… every chain in their network."
"And the thugs?"
Riley's voice dropped to a whisper, deadly enough to chill the sterile air:
"Make them talk."
The room fell silent.
Only Stephanie's soft breathing broke the stillness.
Riley reached toward her hand — stopped an inch before touching it.
Then withdrew.
A soldier's restraint.
A human's struggle.
A man who didn't yet understand the storm she would become in his life.