My body feels like lead as I'm dragged down the hallway, every step echoing in the suffocating silence. My legs barely cooperate, but I force them to move, too afraid of what will happen if I stumble. Logan's grip on my arm is bruising, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulls me along.

The air is thick, heavy with the scent of damp wood and stale smoke. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else. I try to take in my surroundings, searching for anything — any possible way out — but the walls feel like they're closing in.

"Keep up," Logan mutters, his tone low and threatening.

I don't respond. I know better than to say anything. My throat is dry, and even if I wanted to speak, the words would get caught in the lump that's been sitting there for days. I focus on breathing, keeping my steps steady, even though every instinct is screaming at me to run.

We pass through another hallway, the dim lighting barely illuminating the peeling wallpaper and cracked floors. I don't know how long we've been walking, but the deeper we go, the colder it gets.

I can still hear the faint murmur of voices from where we just came, but they grow quieter with each step, fading into nothingness.

Logan leads me out of the room, the faint sound of the other voices fading as we move deeper into the building.

As Logan drags me down the hall, my mind is racing. The faint murmurs of voices echoing in the distance become clearer as we approach the double doors, but I can't make sense of anything. My wrists ache from the ropes, my every step feels heavier with each moment. Logan doesn't seem to notice my discomfort. He's too focused on what's ahead.

A voice suddenly cuts through the air, and a nervous Devil's Blood steps up to Logan. "Uh, hey boss, there's some pretty important men here to see ya. Said they were friends of yours." The kid looks uneasy, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.

Logan grins, his teeth flashing, and looks down at me. "It's probably Chris's buddies here with the plane," he says nonchalantly. He drags me faster down the hallway, as if eager to get whatever this is over with.

Chris. I faintly remember that name, back when Logan and I were together in New York. Chris was always in Logan's office, sniffing coke, trying to make moves on me whenever Logan wasn't around. He was an insufferable human being—sleazy and completely disgusting. Logan seemed to rely on him more than I ever thought he would.

We finally reach a set of large double doors. Logan stops abruptly in front of them, causing me to bump into his back. He pauses, visibly stunned. "Oh, uh..." Logan stammers, his voice unsure for the first time since I've seen him. The shift in his confidence makes me uneasy.

He slowly opens the doors, pulling me behind him, and that's when I catch sight of the three men inside. They're dressed in sharp suits, all business, and their presence fills the room with an almost tangible air of authority. These men are important, serious, and their gaze is sharp.

One of them, the man smoking a cigar, looks over at Logan with an air of impatience. "Have a seat, Mr. Jackson," he commands smoothly, his voice deep and rich, like he's used to being obeyed. As he speaks, the other two men walk around the room, admiring the old paintings on the walls, as though they're trying to appear uninterested in the conversation at hand.

Before I can even process what's going on, one of the men walks behind me. He places a firm hand on my shoulder and guides me to a chair. For some strange reason, I don't feel the overwhelming fear that should be coursing through me in this moment. In fact, I feel oddly comforted as I glance over my shoulder, and to my shock, I see my lawyer—Sam—standing there.

I don't speak. I just sit down, my hands still bound tightly behind my back, staring at the man who's now sitting before me, puffing on his cigar. He gives me a warm, almost reassuring smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The smile could be my savior, or it could be part of some plan where I'm just another pawn in this game. I can't tell.

"Do you have our money?" the man asks Logan, his tone dripping with expectation.

Logan, visibly nervous, lets out a jittery laugh. "Yeah, it's coming. Trust me, it's coming," he says, desperately trying to reassure the man. But there's an edge to his voice that makes it clear he's lying—his anxiety is palpable.

And then it hits me—the realization crashes over me like a wave.

This is the mafia. Logan owes money to the mafia.

And that's when everything starts to make sense, in the worst way possible. My lawyer, Sam, is apparently involved in this world too. He's not just my lawyer; he's part of this underground network. My mind spins. What does this mean for me? Did I really get divorced? Was everything a lie? Every thought crashes into the next, leaving me dizzy and confused.

The man with the cigar takes another drag, his gaze still fixed on Logan, never once acknowledging me. His tone is deliberate as he leans back, the silence hanging between them. "Really? Because a little birdie told me that you were ready to skip town. Bad enough you already did in New York and ran down here for some reason."

Logan's eyes widen, and his hands tremble slightly as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. The man flicks the ashes from his cigar, his stare never leaving Logan. It's like he's savoring this moment—like he's enjoying Logan's discomfort.

Logan, trying to salvage the situation, stammers, "Look, she's the one with the money—" He points at me, but the man doesn't even glance in my direction. Instead, he lets out a low, guttural laugh.

"Ah, yes, your wife. The one who got the life insurance policy on her. That's not going to do us much good, Logan. She divorced you." The words are sharp, final, and they hit Logan like a punch to the gut.

The color drains from Logan's face. He looks like he's been struck dead in that moment—his hopes, his escape, everything slipping through his fingers. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words falter.

"Even though we're divorced, you—you can still get the money!" Logan stammers, his voice breaking.

One of the other men stands, moving swiftly behind Logan, gripping both of his arms to keep him still. The silence in the room thickens, and the tension feels like it could snap at any moment.

"You took a lot of money from me, Mr. Jackson," the man says, his voice low and menacing. "And I'm going to make sure it's paid back in full. I'm also quite certain you owe Miss King as well." He gives me a reassuring smile, but the unease growing in my chest refuses to subside.

I'm not sure what to think in this moment. Everything feels surreal. My hands are still tied behind my back, and I can't escape this strange, uncomfortable feeling building in my gut. Is Sam on my side? Or am I just another part of the game?

The man's gaze never leaves Logan. He's in control here, and I'm just an observer, helpless to do anything about it.

"Take him," the man commands coldly, and two of his men step forward, hauling Logan out of the room. His screams echo down the hallway, filled with frantic pleas and excuses, but they don't stop.

The room falls quiet, leaving just me, the mob boss, and Sam. Sam approaches, cutting the restraints off my wrists, and I rub them, trying to ease the sting of the pain. "I like the hair. Nice touch," he says with a friendly smile, his tone almost calming. I let out a small breath, feeling some of the tension leave my body.

"Thank you..." I reply quietly, looking up at the mob boss as he extinguishes his cigar on the desk. He spins his chair to face me, standing up and walking toward Sam.

"He'll be taken care of. Won't be a problem for you anymore," he says, then exchanges a brief look with Sam before walking out of the room.

I look up at Sam, unsure of what to say. He meets my gaze with reassurance in his eyes. "Everything's gonna be okay now, Avery," he says, his words soothing. Finally, I let out a long, shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. But then the reality of everything hits me all at once, and I instinctively place a hand on my stomach, praying that everything is truly okay.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

EVEREST'S POV:

"Sin!" Ghost's voice echoes behind me just as I'm about to head toward the abandoned mansion where they've been keeping her. I've already let that bastard have her for a week — a week too long — because we've had to wait on these damn mob bosses. I was ready to ride in guns blazing, with no care for anything but getting Avery back.

I stop in my tracks, turning to look at Ghost as he calls me out in front of the brothers. I glance around at everyone, leaning against their bikes, the sun beating down on us, all just waiting. "Where the fuck are these guys?" I snap, throwing my hands in the air. Frustration simmers beneath my skin as I pace the middle of the road, hands on my hips.

We're posted up near an abandoned factory. This whole side of town's been dead for as long as I can remember. Ghost's been keeping us on a tight leash, repeating over and over that this wasn't our fight. But I know the truth. He's scared of the mob.

"I think this is them," Austin mutters, nodding toward two blacked-out BMWs pulling up.

I don't move. I stand there, heart pounding, as five men step out — all of them dressed sharp, like they're heading to a goddamn funeral. The last guy to get out is taller than the rest, and it's obvious he's the one in charge.

"Hello, boys," he says casually, lighting a cigar. I watch as Ghost approaches him, shaking his hand like they're old friends.

"What the fuck are we waiting for?" I growl, my patience wearing thin. Everyone goes quiet, all eyes on me. I don't care. I'm done waiting. Every second we waste makes me more restless.

"You must be Sin — Vice President of this fine organization," the man says, his tone dripping with arrogance as he walks toward me, that damn smug grin plastered on his face.

"Tony," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. I eye it for a moment before reluctantly shaking it.

"Don't worry," Tony smirks, "I'll make sure you get your fun."

He and Ghost start discussing the plan, how we're going to move in. Apparently, we're backup — meant to handle our "own kind," as Tony so kindly puts it. But I don't give a damn about any of that. My focus is on one thing: Avery.

When we finally pull up to the mansion, they walk in like they own the place, not a care in the world.

"I'm Sam," a smaller man says, appearing at my side and eyeing the house.

"Sin," I respond, lighting a cigarette, keeping my eyes locked on the building.

"Avery's a good girl."

His words catch me off guard, and I glance down at him, surprised he knows her name — like he knows her personally. Before I can ask, he disappears through the doors, and I stomp out my cigarette, following close behind.

Inside the hall, chaos is already unfolding. Some of our brothers have Devils Blood members on their knees at gunpoint.

"She's the one you want!" I hear Logan's voice echo through the space, filled with desperation.

A moment later, I see him being dragged out by two of Tony's men, the boss himself casually following behind, still puffing on his cigar. As they drag Logan past me, I don't miss the look of pure terror on his face.

Tony stops in front of me, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "The girl's fine," he says, his thick Yankee accent cutting through the tension. "But I figured I'd give you the chance to have your fun."

I smirk, not wasting another second.

I head upstairs, knife in hand, ready to finish this.

When I walk into the room, Logan's tied down, still crying, his face pale as he realizes who's standing in front of him. He's pissed himself.

"You really thought you could take her from me?" I say coldly, stepping closer.

"You said I could have her!" His voice shakes, but his words come out like he actually believes them.

"And you thought you'd be able to raise my baby?" I sneer, my grip tightening on the knife. His eyes widen in horror.

"She's pregnant, you know!" He sobs, thrashing against the restraints, but it's useless.

I chuckle, pulling the blade from my pocket. "You couldn't be more fucking stupid."

And with that, I get to work.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

AVERYS POV:

Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Avery."

Without thinking, I spin around, my heart racing as I take in the sight of Everest—blood soaked and standing in the doorway. Without a second thought, I run to him, falling into his arms like I'm 16 again, remembering how safe I felt with him all those years ago. The world seems to stop as he holds me, and I feel like I'm finally allowed to break down. Tears fall freely as I bury my face in his chest.

Adrenaline that had kept me going all this time is fading, and now I feel the pain throughout my entire body. My vision begins to blur, and Everest's voice seems so far away. I hear him calling my name, but it feels distant. And then, everything goes black.