Page 83 of Unleashed
“I know I am because you need your wife’s friend alive. The last thing you need is another strike, another reason for Everly to hate you.”
“Make no mistake…I will. Kill you.”
He smiles. “Torture is a far worse punishment than death, Isaia. Every day I breathe, I’ll be in your head. But my face? My face will be in every shadow that surrounds your wife. You’ll constantly see me coming for her.” There’s a vicious smirk on his lips as he leans closer. “And it will drive you…fucking…mad.”
Out of fucking nowhere, Anthony's cane arcs through the air—a moment's hesitation, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, then commitment as the marble handle connects with Sean's temple.The crack echoes like a gunshot, and I'm caught between relief and horror as Sean crumples to the floor.
It happens so fucking fast, it takes all of us a split-second to catch up—except Maximo. He's across the room in two strides, going straight for Molly, his face a battlefield of rage and terror, torn between the need to save her and the certainty he’ll get us all killed with one wrong move.
He drops low, his breath a hiss between clenched teeth. His arm carefully curves around her hips while his other hand hovers over the pressure box. The veins in his forearms stand out like ropes as he hooks his fingers beneath her heels and takes her weight, careful to keep her toes against the pressure plate. Her body sags with immediate relief, the strain of standing perfectly still finally lifted from her trembling muscles, and a soft whimper escapes through her sewn lips. Maximo's jaw locks, the muscle there jumping. His eyes never flicker toward us, fixed instead on her face, pupils blown so wide they swallow the color around them.
Sean is fucking out cold, and Anthony stands there, straightening his suit jacket like it’s just another day in the office. “I’m speechless. You guys have guns yet needed a handicapped person to kick his ass.”
“Way to go, you dumb fuck,” I exclaim. “You just knocked out the one man who has the code for that goddamn bomb.”
Anthony slides his palm down his tie. “Lucky for you, I have someone on speed dial who specializes in disarming all manner of explosives.”
“Of course, you do.”Can I shoot him?“How the fuck did you even know?”
“Did you really think I trusted you enough to let you handle this alone?”
I throw a knee into Sean’s back, pulling his arms so fucking hard his shoulders pop.
“The man is knocked out, Del Rossa. Why the brute force?”
“Give me your fucking tie.”
“Excuse me? This tie costs more than you make in a month.”
“I said give me your fucking tie.”
“Fine.” He pulls it from around his neck, and I use it to tie Sean’s wrists—extra fucking tight.
“Guys, need some help over here.” We all look at Maximo where he’s trying to support Molly, but her head’s lolling, like she’s two seconds away from losing consciousness.
“We don’t have time.” Alexius turns to me. “Search his pockets, anything that might be the code we’re looking for.”
“If it’s on him,” Caelian starts. “Then I’m killing this fucker, because no onethatstupid deserves to live.”
I tear through every pocket, rip off his shoes, find nothing. "Son of a bitch!" The words explode from me, shattering the silence. My chest feels like it's caught in a vise, tightening with each second. I rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp before I clasp them behind my neck, holding on like I'm physically trying to keep my head attached to my body.
And then my eyes catch it.
In the corner, a glass display cabinet. Dust coats its shelves, a shrine untouched. A single bottle of Bordeaux sits upright, labelyellowing with time. But it isn’t the wine that snags me. It’s the goddamn picture plastered on, a personalized label with a picture of Melanie. Smiling. Arm hooked through her father’s. They’re at a party, the background blurred with lights and confetti. And on her head, a cheap cardboard crown scrawled with the year in glittering numbers.
2019
Shit.“I think I got it.”
“Youthinkyou got it?” Caelian’s eyes go wide.
Molly’s chest rises as Maximo shifts her weight slightly to keep those toes pressed in perfect, agonized balance. He’s sweating. His jaw is clenched so hard his throat ticks. I can’t tell if he’s holding her up or holding himself together. Either way, he’s not moving an inch.
“Yeah…” I say slowly. “I think.”
Alexius slides in next to me. “What is it?”
I point at the bottle of wine. “Twenty-nineteen.”
