Page 205 of The Owner's Temptation

The screen flickers, then the footage loads.

I nearly drop to my knees.

Sienna.

She’s slumped in a chair—metal, rusted, cold. Her wrists are bound to the arms, her ankles strapped to the legs. Her head hangs limp to the side, auburn hair dull and tangled, a curtain of dirt hiding her face.

She looks... lifeless.

“Please,” I whisper to no one. “Please be alive.”

A shadow passes across the frame, and a bucket of water is thrown over her. She jerks awake with a cry, sputtering, blinking against the light. My lungs finally expand.

Until Lorenzo fucking DeLuca steps into view.

He grips the top of her head and yanks it back. Her face tilts up—split lip, swollen eye, a knot the size of a fist on her forehead.

My heart beats so hard I swear it’s going to tear through my ribcage.

He looks straight into the camera. Into me.

“You took my son,” Lorenzo says, voice smooth, venomous. “So, I took your girl.”

I blink. What?

“I don’t have his fucking son.”

I might be a monster, but I wouldn’t go after a kid. That’s a line I’ve never crossed.

Lorenzo pulls a switchblade from his pocket. Clicks it open. Presses it to Sienna’s throat.

She whimpers, swallows—but stays still. Brave little rabbit.

A thin line of red appears on her skin where the blade kisses too hard. My world narrows to that drop of blood.

“I want him back,” Lorenzo growls. “You have twenty-four hours. Or I start sending you pieces of your whore-for-hire in bloody boxes.”

The screen goes black.

But I’m already moving.

Killian and Jaxon are right behind me as I storm out of the office, adrenaline crackling beneath my skin like wildfire.

I turn to Jax first. “Wipe everything. I want full diagnostics. Clean every fucking server, every terminal, every file he could’ve touched. If he downloaded anything, I want to know how much and how fast—and I want it ten minutes ago.”

Jaxon nods, already flipping through security clearances on his tablet.

Now Killian. “Call Wolfe. I need his helicopter.”

Killian’s eyebrows lift. “You planning on asking nice?”

“He owes me.” I growl.

We’re out of the gym in seconds, the cool blast of outside air doing nothing to temper the fury roaring through me. We pile into my Aston Martin, tires screeching as we peel into traffic, Killian’s phone already to his ear.

“Who else are we calling?” he asks as Wolfe picks up on the first ring.

“Everyone.”

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