Page 41 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

She’s always been one to dive headfirst into whatever chaos comes her way. But this time, it’s different. She’s not just here because she wants to be. She’s here to deal with her grief. I can’t blame her for that, but I can’t help but worry about what happens when she finally sees it all—when she sees the bodies and the blood and the violence that I’ve lived with for so long.

I can’t stop looking at her. My eyes keep drifting to her, watching the way her face hardens, the way she grips the gun like it’s the only thing that’s real to her right now.

“You don’t need to do this,” I say quietly. My voice is low, almost lost beneath the sound of the engine running through the streets. “You don’t have to come. You could stay back.”

I can almost feel her weighing her options, and then, after a brief pause, her voice breaks through—soft yet steady. “Yes, I do.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. Nothing that will change her mind. I want to pull her out of this world. I want to protect her from everything. But I can’t. Not when she’s already made this choice. Not when she’s already stepped into it.

I look over at the second SUV, where Ethan, Aaron, and the rest of the team are. I trust Ethan with my life—just not with her. I trust no one with her.

Before we left, I pulled Ethan aside, lowering my voice so only he could hear. “She wants this,” I muttered, my eyes darting towards Calista. “But if she gets hit, you pull her out. Quietly. No arguments.”

Ethan looked at me for a long second with a confused look. He didn’t argue, didn’t ask why. He just nodded, his face hardening. “And if she refuses?”

I met his gaze, my gaze unwavering. “Then knock her unconscious if you have to.”

I don’t want to go that far. But if she gets in over her head, if she gets hurt… I won’t forgive myself.

Ethan watched her from across the lot, the way she checked her weapon like she’s done it a thousand times.

“She’s not like us, Laz,” he said, voice low—quiet enough only I could hear. “You bring her too deep, she won’t come back. You sure she’s still choosing this?”

Heat rushed up my neck. I didn’t answer right away. Because part of me knows—she’s already too deep. And part of me hopes she’ll never want to crawl out.

Each minute on the road stretches longer than the last. I keep stealing glances at Calista, my chest tightening with every look. I want to tell her she shouldn’t be here. I want to tell her to go back, to get out of this life before it’s too late. But I can’t.

This is her fight too. And no matter how much I wish I could protect her, I know she won’t let me. Not anymore.

We’re getting closer to the district. I can feel it. I can feel the heat of the battle coming, the adrenaline starting to build in my veins. But no matter how many times I’ve done this, no matter how many raids I’ve led, my mind keeps coming back to one thing: Calista.

The warehouse looms ahead—a dark, imposing mass of steel and shadows, nestled at the edge of the industrial outskirts. Its very existence feels like a challenge, a threat. This is where the De Corsi think they can hide their weapons, their men, their power. I’m about to take that away from them.

The engines of the SUVs roar to a halt. The team disembarks in swift, practiced motions, forming up in a coordinated spread. My crew is a machine, every member moving with the precision of a weapon in perfect sync. I stand at the front, issuing signals with a few quick hand gestures, my fingers flicking out precise commands, the radio clicks answering them with near-instant efficiency.

Right now, everything is understood without speaking.

The first charge hits the door. The metal doors of the warehouse shudder before the explosion rips through the air, sending a shockwave of sound and force across the parking lot. The chaos erupts instantly. Gunfire cracks like thunder, shouts fill the silence, and flashbangs detonate, lighting up the dark space in blinding bursts of light.

I’m already in motion, the adrenaline in my veins sharpening every movement. I’m not just leading the charge—I am the charge. My body moves with a lethal grace, like a predator in the night. Headshots come first, one, two, three. My pistol barks, its noise drowned by the chaos around me. There’s no hesitation, no mercy. Every movement is calculated, my knife flashing out in a blur of motion to disarm a man who thought he could draw on me. His scream is cut short as I break his arm with a sickening crack, the sound muffled by the intensity of the moment.

Blood stains the concrete, but there’s no reaction. No feeling. This is war—and it’s what I’m made for.

Behind me, the rest of the team follows suit—Ethan, Cain, the enforcers—all of them moving in sync, taking out targets as we move deeper into the building. I don’t need to look back to know that Calista is with us. I can feel her presence, the pulse of her energy as she moves with the team.

I see her briefly, crouched behind cover, her eyes scanning the room as the chaos of battle unfolds around her. Her hand grips the gun like it’s a part of her now, her knuckles white as she waits for the right moment to strike.

She doesn’t wince. Not at the gunfire. Not at the blood. Not at the screams that echo through the warehouse.

She’s not the same woman I found in that tattoo studio. She’s becoming a different person. And I’m not sure whether that thought thrills me or terrifies me.

The battle rages on through the open areas of the warehouse, but I need information. I need to know where the De Corsis are hiding their stash. I make my way down a narrow corridor, the walls slick with sweat and the smell of fear. The team clears the area as I move, pushing forward with calculated determination. Then, I hear it.

A scuffling sound, a weak, panicked breath. A boy.

I round the corner, and there he is—barely sixteen, his face a mess of blood and dirt, hands trembling as he clutches a satchel tightly to his chest. His wide eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the terror in them. He’s just a kid. A pawn in this fucked up game. But a pawn who knows too much.

Without hesitation, I corner him, my gun trained on his chest. He freezes, his back pressing against the concrete wall.

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