Page 47 of Claimed By the Damned
Her breath hitches, a ragged, tearing sound."I... I only got out because one of his guards... he couldn't stand it anymore. Hehelped me. Disabled cameras, got me a car... He told me to head for Yachats. Said his brother lived here."Her voice is almost a whisper now, the effort of speaking, of reliving, draining the last of her strength."I just... ran. Didn't look back."
A guttural snarl rips from Ryker. He pivots and slams his fist into the solid oak desk with bone-jarring force. The monitor’s jump. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. “I’ll fucking kill him,” Ryker screams, his body vibrating with furious energy. “I’ll tear him apart with my bare fucking hands.”
Then his gaze snaps towards the couch, catching her recoil. The murderous rage instantly recedes, replaced by sharp self-reproach and immediate concern. "Shit. Lila," he breathes, crossing the room quickly.
He doesn’t tower over her. Instead, he drops to his knees on the rug beside the couch, putting himself below her eye level. His hands hover, wanting to touch, to soothe, but clearly hesitant. "Baby Girl, I'm so sorry," he says, his voice rough with remorse, stripped of its earlier violence. "Fuck, I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to scare you. That wasn't... that wasn't for you. Never for you." His eyes plead for her understanding.
Lila slowly opens her eyes, her breathing still shallow. She looks at him kneeling there, the genuine regret plain on his face. She gives a small, jerky nod, acknowledging his apology, though the tension doesn't completely leave her shoulders.
Ryker stays kneeling for another moment, his intense gaze locked on hers, seemingly needing confirmation she's okay. Then, he lays her legs flat against the couch with a quiet exhale, and leans forward carefully, lowering his head to rest it gently against her lap, his messy blond hair brushing the worn fabric of the t-shirt she wears. It's a strangely vulnerable gesture coming from him – a silent plea for grounding, perhaps, or a way to offer comfort without demanding anything in return. His large frameremains tense, radiating protective furyoutward, away from her, but his contact is surprisingly gentle.
Seeing Lila allow the contact without pulling away seems to break through to Ethan. He looks like he might be sick, his face ravaged with empathy. “Lila… Angel… fuck,” he whispers, the words thick with horror at what she endured. He pushes away from the console and crosses the room. He settles carefully onto the couch cushion beside her free side, not crowding her, but offering the solid, reassuring presence of his body near hers. He doesn’t touch her, just sits there, a silent guard against the encroaching darkness of her memories.
I move towards them with deliberate, controlled purpose. She’s endured recounting this. She needs reassurance, from all of us. She needs to know the scales have tipped. I come to stand directly before her, now flanked by all three of us, our protective stances creating a physical barrier around her. My focus narrows on Lila. Bending down, I come close enough to feel the tremors still running through her small frame. I fight the urge to pull her into my arms, to shield her. Instead, I gently cup her face.
“He willnevertouch you again,” I tell her, my voice dangerously soft, each word a blood oath. “He willneverlay his hands on what belongs tous. I will personally ensure his existence is wiped from this earth.” I meet her eyes, pouring every ounce of conviction I possess into the look. “You are safe now, Little One. Completely. That is my word.”
Relief wars with exhaustion in her eyes. My promise seems to land, sparking a fragile flicker—trust, maybe hope—in their depths. She nods, unable to speak past the lump in her throat, leaning almost imperceptibly into my hold. She’s letting us take the weight.
The confession has clearly cost her. She sways slightly, the adrenaline fading, leaving her exposed and drained. Ryker moves immediately. He gently disengages her from my hold, hiseyes meeting mine for a brief second. We don’t need words. He cups her cheek, his touch surprisingly tender.
“Okay, Baby Girl,” he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for her ears, the rage momentarily banked. “You did good. You're so damn brave.” His eyes, sharp and assessing, take in her exhaustion. “But you’ve done enough for tonight. More than enough. Let me get you settled back in bed, safe and sound where he can’t even reach you in your nightmares. We’ll handle everything from here.”
He crouches slightly and slides one arm beneath her knees, the other securing her back. He lifts her into his arms, her small, trembling body held securely against his broad chest. Lila makes no protest, simply lets her head fall against his shoulder, seeking refuge in his hold.
He gives Ethan and me a hard, determined look that needs no words as he straightens, Lila held easily in his embrace. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him carry her out of the office, his large frame dwarfing hers, moving with quiet purpose. She looks impossibly small, utterly trusting in his arms. The protective gesture settles something in my chest. She’s safe. For now.
The door closes behind them, muffling the sounds of the house, which has now become our war room. The horrors Lila just described echo in the silence, fueling a cold, hard fury within me. The need to act, todestroythe source of her pain, is a burning imperative. The temporary peace allows my control to solidify, cold fury sharpening into tactical focus. Mikhailov has crossed a line he can never uncross. He took something precious, tried to break her in horrific ways. Now, he’ll pay the price.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken plans and lethal intent. Ethan is already back at his keyboard, face grimly determined, when the door clicks open and Ryker steps back inside, closing it firmly behind him.
The brief flash of tenderness Ryker showed Lila is gone, eclipsed entirely by the cold, hard fury that settles back over his features like a shroud. His eyes meet mine, then Ethan’s. The air crackles again, charged not just with the echo of Lila's pain, but with our unified, deadly purpose. The gloves are off. The hunt is on.
I process the name—Nikolai Mikhailov— again as it filters through the sickening lens of Lila's confession. The Bratva whispers, the LA power structure – it all snaps into focus, colored by thespecificatrocities she described. This isn't just an enemy; he's a monster who inflicted unimaginable suffering onher.
My voice comes out flat, cold steel masking the inferno unleashed inside me. “Ethan. We needeverythingon him. Every contact, every known associate he might have passed her to, every safe house, every financial trail, every weakness. We don’t just find him. We dismantle his entire world. We burn it to the ground before we even touch him. He needs to understand what happens when you target one of ours.”
Ethan nods, his face pale but set with grim determination, already typing furiously. “On it, Bas. Cross-referencing known Bratva operations, financial institutions…”
Ryker takes an aggressive step forward, vibrating with barely contained violence. “Forget his network right now,” he snarls, raw fury making his voice ragged. “Forget digging. We knowwhathe did. We knowwherehe is. We need to put a bullet between the eyes of the fucker whobeat her, whosold her, whobroke her. Tonight. Before he gets another chance to lay a hand on her.”
Ethan looks up sharply. “Ryker, going in half-cocked—”
“Half-cocked?” Ryker rounds on him, incredulous rage flashing in his eyes. “Did you not fuckinghearher? He paraded her! He let his scum friendsrapeher! He sent her that fucking bracelet knowing it would terrify her! He’stoyingwith her because heenjoys the power, the fear. How long do we sit here planning while she jumps at every shadow, wondering if tonight’s the night he comes back? We end it.Now.”
I take a slow sip of my whiskey, letting the burn center me, anchoring my control against the tidal wave of Ryker’s fury – a fury I share, but cannot afford to unleash recklessly. “And walk right into whatever trap he’s undoubtedly laid?” My voice is dangerously quiet. “He expects an emotional reaction, Ryker. Hewantsus to come at him blind with rage. That’s how men like him stay in power. He played withher. He will not play withus.”
“This isn’t about games, Bastian!” Ryker slams his hand flat on the desk, thankfully missing the monitors. “This is about stopping him before he can inflictone more secondof that hell on her!”
“And the best way to ensure he never touches her again,” I counter, meeting his furious gaze head-on, my own cold anger a palpable force in the room, “is to dismantle his entire world so meticulously that there is nothing left. No allies, no resources, no escape. We don’t just put a bullet in him. We erase him. And we do it without him ever getting close enough to breathe the same air as Lila again. That requires precision. Control. Not blind vengeance, however justified.”
Ryker’s jaw works, his chest heaving. He knows I’m right on a tactical level, but the animal rage fueled by Lila’s pain is screaming for release.
Ethan clears his throat, sensing the slight shift in Ryker’s resistance. “Bastian’s right, Ryker. We need intel to guarantee success and her safety. What’s the focus, Bas?”
I turn back to Ethan, compartmentalizing, channeling the rage into strategy. “Focus the deep dive. We knowwhathe is. Find outhowhe operates on a tactical level. Security details, patterns, preferred methods. And figure outwhyhe hasn’t escalated beyond the note and bracelet. Is he testing ourdefenses? Consolidating power? Hunting for leverage? We need to understand his current objective.”
