Page 100 of Doomed
As I reach my front door, I find it broken in, part of the frame splintered. Anger hits first. If someone hurts her, I’ll kill the mother fucker. With the urgent need to lay eyes on Bianca, I enter my place, the only thought in my head—getting to her.
I place my keys onto the marble counter quietly, moving further into the apartment. There’s no sign of Bianca, and my anger is flooding my veins faster than lava spilling from a volcano.
As I move through the living room, I catch a scent in the air that doesn’t belong—cologne, unfamiliar and sharp.
The door to the bedroom is ajar. I push it open and freeze.
The sheets are torn from the bed. A lamp lies shattered on the floor. And Bianca—my Bianca—is gone.
I scan the room, taking in every detail. The balcony door stands slightly open, curtains billowing in the breeze. Bianca would never leave it that way.
A flash of blue catches my eye. I kneel down, picking up a length of silk ribbon from where it’s twisted on the floor. The same blue as in her photos. The same blue she was wrapping herself in for me.
My fingers tighten around the ribbon until my knuckles turn white.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the wall, drywall crumbling under the impact. Pain shoots through my hand, but I barely notice it.
This isn’t just a break-in. This is personal. Someone took her—took what’s mine.
I find another ribbon near the door, partially torn like she’d been fighting. I can picture it—Bianca struggling, these fuckers ripping at the ribbons she’d so carefully arranged for me.
The playful Knox, the joker my brothers always dismiss, evaporates. In his place stands the monster I’ve always kept caged except in the most extreme circumstances.
I press the ribbon to my face, inhaling her scent mixed with something foreign. Something I recognize
Orlov’s strong fucking cologne.
My vision blurs red. The tightness in my chest isn’t panic—it’s pure, focused rage. I don’t shout. I don’t throw things. I go dangerously still.
They didn’t just take Bianca. They took her while she was preparing a surprise for me. While she was vulnerable. Waiting for me.
I pull out my phone and dial Xavier.
“They have her,” I say, my voice unnaturally calm. “Orlov has Bianca.”
I pace the bedroom, ribbon clutched in my fist, inhaling Bianca’s scent mixed with that bastard’s cologne. My cock hardens despite my rage—or because of it. The thought of another man’s hands on her, touching the skin only I should touch, seeing what only I should see—it ignites a savage fury in me.
She was waiting for me. In blue silk. On my fucking bed.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Xavier says. “Get back here. Now.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s right. Going in blind means Bianca pays the price.
“I’ll be there in ten.”
When I walk into the warehouse, Vane and Xavier are already waiting. Xavier’s eyes narrow at the blood on my knuckles from punching the wall.
“Sit down,” Xavier commands.
I remain standing. “We’re wasting time.”
“We need a plan,” Vane says. “You charging in there like a bull will get her killed.”
“They touched my woman. If a single hair is out of place….” My voice is barely human. “They took her when she was—” I can’t finish. The image of Bianca wrapped in ribbons for me, only for me, floods my mind again.
“Remember the Hunt,” Xavier says, his voice cutting through my rage. “How did you find her then?”
The memory hits me—tracking Bianca through the maze, the thrill of the chase, my absolute certainty I would find her.
