Page 87 of Property of Fox

Asher freezes, his gun trained on the man who spoke. I can see the muscles in his jaw working, processing this information. When he speaks, his voice is dangerously calm. "Why?"

The Hellion swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "It was...it was a message," he stammers. “Tank wanted to send a message to your club. To show you he meant business."

Asher's eyes narrow, his grip on the gun tightening. "And you just went along with it? Murdering an innocent woman?"

The man's eyes dart frantically between Asher and the gun. "We...we didn't have a choice. Tank would've killed us if we refused."

A bitter laugh escapes Asher's lips, devoid of any humor. "And now I'm going to kill you anyway. Funny how that works out."

The Hellion's eyes widen in terror. "Please, I'm sorry! I didn't want to do it!"

Asher's face twists into a snarl. "Neither did Kennedy."

The gunshot echoes through the room, and the Hellion slumps to the ground, a look of shock frozen on his face.

Asher turns to the remaining captives, his eyes cold and merciless. "Anyone else want to confess?"

The room falls silent, save for the whimpers of the surviving Hellions. Asher's gaze sweeps over them like a predator deciding which prey to take down next. Azrael steps forward, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Ash," he says softly, "we needsome of them alive for questioning. We still don't know how deep this goes."

Asher's jaw clenches, his finger twitching on the trigger. For a moment, I think he might ignore his brother's words and finish what he started. But then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.

"Fine," he concedes, lowering his gun. "But when we're done with them, they're mine."

Azrael squeezes his shoulder once before turning to the rest of us. "Alright, let's wrap this up. The cops will be here soon, and we need to be long gone by then."

The club springs into action, securing the remaining Hellions and gathering any evidence we might need. I try to help, but my legs buckle beneath me, the adrenaline that's been keeping me going finally giving out.

Orion catches me before I hit the ground. "Whoa there, brother. Let's get you out of here."

“Probably a good idea. I’m about five minutes away from being dead weight.”

As Orion half-carries, half-drags me out of the building, I can feel my body rapidly shutting down. Every step sends shockwaves of pain through my battered frame. The world around me blurs, colors smearing together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

"You know," Orion grunts, adjusting his grip on me, "I always figured I'd be carrying a damsel in distress out of danger someday. Just didn't expect that damsel to be your ugly mug, Fox."

I manage a weak chuckle, wincing as it jars my bruised ribs. "Sorry to disappoint. Left my ball gown at the cleaners."

"Shame," Orion quips, his voice strained with effort. "You've got the legs for it."

BREA

I jolt awake,a scream caught in my throat, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my ribs. The nightmare of Tank's leering face and grasping hands fades, but the terror lingers, clinging to me like a second skin. Gasping for air, I blink rapidly, trying to orient myself in the darkness.

This isn't my room.

Panic surges anew as I take in the unfamiliar surroundings. The bed beneath me is too soft, the sheets smell of lavenderinstead of my usual vanilla, and there's something pressing against my side that definitely doesn't belong.

Before I can fully process what's happening, a tiny wet tongue assaults my face, licking away the cold sweat that's broken out across my skin. I yelp in surprise, my hands flying up instinctively.

"What the—?" I sputter, my fingers connecting with silky fur and a tiny, trembling body.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, I make out the shape of a Chihuahua, its big eyes shining with concern as it continues to shower me with affection. The little dog's tail wags furiously.

"Hello, little one," I murmur, my racing heart beginning to slow as I scratch behind its ears. "Where did you come from?"

The Chihuahua lets out a high-pitched yip in response, circling excitedly on the bed. A sudden creak of floorboards makes me freeze, my hand stilling on the Chihuahua's head. The bedroom door swings open, a sliver of light from the hallway spilling across the floor. My breath catches in my throat as a tall, muscular figure steps inside, his silhouette backlit by the soft glow behind him.

"Bruce, quiet down," a deep, husky voice whispers. "Don't wake her up."

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