Page 87 of Knuckles & Knives
His dark eyes burn with promise and barely contained need. “I’m going to need you. All of you. The adrenaline, the way you looked at me during the fight?—”
“I know,” I interrupt, understanding exactly what he means. Battle has a way of stripping away civilization, leaving only the most fundamental needs. Survival. Victory. And the primal drive to claim what’s yours.
“Later,” I promise. “After we finish this.”
His nod is sharp, professional. But the heat in his gaze promises that our victory celebration will be anything but civilized.
The final assault on Sterling’s position unfolds with the precision of a perfectly orchestrated symphony. Dom kicks in the reinforced door like it’s made of cardboard, his massive frame filling the entrance as bullets spark off his tactical vest. He moves through gunfire like it’s rain—acknowledging its presence but refusing to let it slow him down.
Two bodyguards go down before they can properly aim. The third manages a shot that grazes Dom’s shoulder, tearing fabric but not slowing his advance. Sterling himself cowers behind an antique desk, his face pale with the realization that his carefully constructed empire is crumbling around him.
“Richard Sterling,” I say, stepping through the doorway once Dom has secured the room. “We need to talk.”
The man who ordered my father’s death looks every one of his sixty years as he stares at me with growing recognition and terror.
“Vincent Blackwood’s daughter,” he whispers. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Disappointed?” I ask pleasantly. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to that. But first, you’re going to tell me everything about the night my father died. Every detail, every conspirator, every dirty secret you think you’re taking to the grave.”
Sterling’s gaze shifts to Dom, who stands behind me like a monument to controlled violence, blood from his shoulder wound creating dark stains on his tactical gear.
“He’s going to kill me anyway,” Sterling says with the fatalism of a man who’s finally run out of options.
“Maybe,” I agree. “But how quickly depends entirely on how cooperative you are. Dom here has very strong feelings about people who threaten his family.”
Dom steps closer, his presence filling the room with barely contained menace. Sterling shrinks back, finally understanding that his money and connections can’t save him from the reality of physical dominance.
“The warehouse on Fifth Street,” Sterling babbles, his composure cracking completely. “That’s where we’re holding your civilian targets. Thirty-six people, mostly families of your father’s old allies.”
“How many guards?” I ask.
“Twelve. Maybe fifteen. I don’t?—”
“Wrong answer,” Dom growls, and Sterling actually whimpers.
“Fifteen!” he corrects quickly. “Fifteen guards, armed but not military trained. They’re expecting backup that isn’t coming.”
I glance at Marcus, who nods. “Confirmed through electronic surveillance. Fifteen heat signatures, civilian prisoners secured in the basement level.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” I tell Sterling pleasantly. “Dom?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Make sure Mr. Sterling remains… cooperative… while we complete our rescue operation.”
Dom’s smile is utterly without mercy. “My pleasure.”
The rescue operation itself unfolds with surgical precision. With Sterling’s intelligence, we bypass most of the warehouse defenses, neutralizing guards before they can raise alarms or threaten hostages. Dom leads the breach, his reputation alone enough to make three guards surrender without firing a shot.
By the time we extract the last civilian family, dawn is breaking over the city, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that seem fitting for the end of our war.
But it’s not celebration I see in Dom’s eyes as we secure the extraction point. It’s hunger—raw, primal need that’s been building since the first moment he shed blood in my defense.
“Raven,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion and adrenaline. “I need?—”
“I know what you need,” I interrupt, understanding completely.
The safe house we retreat to is spartan but secure, hidden in the industrial district where we can decompress without interruption. My other three men busy themselves with tacticaldebriefing and securing our perimeter, but Dom has only one priority.
