Page 39 of Dark Angel

It's a dangerous game, letting someone in. A game that can have dire consequences. I've always prided myself on my control, my ability to compartmentalize, to keep my focus sharp. But with Rayne, it's different. She's gotten under my skin in a way no one else has, and now Sasha is paying the price.

As I slide into the driver's seat of our armored vehicle, I can't shake the feeling that I'm teetering on the edge of a precipice. One wrong move, and everything could come crashing down. And in this line of work, a fall from grace is rarely a solo affair.

“We’ve tracked the car using CC TV and it looks like they’re headed for the Pandemonium,” Brian says referring to the pit of corruption masquerading as an adult entertainment club. The only people entertained at that club are the sadists. Their victims aren’t so lucky.

Misery and fear obliterate all rational thought, and I pull on my martial arts training to anchor me amidst the chaos.

Crack! The sound is a vile interruption to the still air of The Pandemonium’s basement, a place where shadows cling to corners like cobwebs. I stand at the door of a cell, the noise a grotesque symphony that sends shards of fear skewering through my guts. That low moan of pain’s got Sasha's name written all over it, and it chafes against every nerve ending I possess. With practiced ease, I tuck my Glock into the back of my jeans—a cold, reassuring weight against my skin.

Then, with a thought as sharp as the blade itself, I conjure a knife using my avenging power. The obsidian blade materializes in my palm, its presence both an extension of my will and a testament to the rage simmering within. I balance its heft, fingers adjusting to its contours, ready to throw.

"Where is he, bitch? Tell me, and this all ends." The man’s voice slices through the deathly silence behind the door, each word dripping with malice that curdles the stagnant air. He's unaware of the storm that's about to break upon him—my storm. His question hangs between us, a taunt that only fuels the fire in my chest.

The rage is there, a living entity writhing beneath my skin, but it's shackled by the knowledge of what needs to be done. My thoughts whirl, tempting me with visions of violence and retribution. Yet, I'm not some mindless beast driven solely by instinct. I am control. I am precision. Sasha needs more than blind vengeance; she needs salvation, and I am her deliverer.

Every fiber of my being screams to burst through that door and unleash hell. But hell can wait for a heartbeat longer. I need to be smart, keep my head clear and my movements silent. This isn't about me—it never was. It's about rescuing one of our own from the clutches of a sadistic monster who calls himself Viper.

The knife handle becomes slick with anticipation, my grip tightening just as my resolve does. There's no room for error—not now, not ever. And as I prepare to infiltrate the depths of depravity, I know this is where I belong. On this edge, where darkness meets dark, where my demons serve a purpose greater than their own existence.

I am Jaden, and this is my dichotomy: the man who keeps everyone at arm's length while yearning for a touch that doesn't bring destruction; the protector whose very essence is intertwined with death. It's a precarious balance, one that Rayne has unwittingly tipped. Her presence in my life stirs something primal that threatens to consume the carefully erected barriers around my heart.

But that's for later. Right now, there's only the mission, only Sasha, only the vengeance that courses through my veins like a promise. And when I look into the eyes of the man who dared harm her, he'll see nothing but the abyss staring back at him. For now, though, I focus on the task at hand, steeling myself for what comes next. It's time to move.

"Viper," I whisper to myself with all the venom his name deserves. "Your reckoning awaits."

My nod to Brian and Connor is almost imperceptible, a mere tightening of the skin around my jawline. They recognize the signal instantaneously—years of silent communication in the shadows have honed our instincts to near perfection. Brian's eyes narrow, a glint of resolve flashing within; Connor's posture shifts, muscles tensing like a coiled spring.

The guard by the dungeon door is oblivious to his fate. One moment, he’s a breathing monument to Viper’s cruelty; the next, he’s a crumpled heap on the cold stone floor. My hand moves with lethal precision—an open-hand strike to the nape of his neck—and now he lies motionless, the sound of his spine cracking still echoing off the walls.

A red haze descends over me, filtering the world into stark contrasts of blood and shadow. I'm in automatic pilot now, the well-worn path of vengeance as familiar as the back of my hand. The dam within me strains against the surge of emotions, but I reinforce it with iron will. There'll be time for reckoning later.

"Crack!" The bullwhip's report shatters the hush. A guttural moan follows, muffled and strained, and my heart clenches. "What was that? I don’t hear you," taunts a voice from beyond the door, each syllable dripping with malice. God, let that be Viper. Let me end this.

"Compound. At the compound." Sasha's voice is a shadow of its former defiance, a strained whisper that barely climbs its way through the pain. The words hit me like a shot to the chest, and my grip on the knife tightens reflexively.

In that moment, I'm not just Jaden; I'm an avenger, a storm of retribution brewing with every heartbeat. There's no time for second-guessing, no space for doubt to take root. My soul bond with Rayne might be deepening, but Sasha’s agony carves through the fog of emotion, honing my focus to a razor's edge.

I grasp the door handle with my left hand, feeling the cold metal press against my skin, grounding me. I burst through the door with a surge of fury and fear. A split second—that's all it takes for my senses to absorb the scene, painting a picture in stark, brutal detail.

My eyes scan the room, taking in everything at once—the dim lighting, the stench of blood and sweat mingling in the stale air, the too-quiet murmur of malevolence hanging heavy around us. I don't need to see more; I know what I'll find. My pulse throbs in my throat, a drumbeat of impending violence.

Sasha's response echoes in my mind, "At the compound," her voice now woven into the fabric of this hellish tableau. It's a rallying cry, a call to arms that sends adrenaline through my veins, fueling the fire within. I can't let my guard down, not even for a second. Not with Sasha depending on me, not when every fiber of my being screams for vengeance.

The dam of emotion inside me swells, threatening to overflow, but I force it back. There will be time for rage and grief, but not yet. Now, I am precision incarnate, every move calculated, every breath measured. I am the eye of the storm—calm, collected, deadly.

Jaden, focus, I command myself as I prepare for what comes next. There's no turning back now. My power, darker than any abyss, rises to the surface, ready to be unleashed. And as I stand there, on the threshold of violence, I realize that this—this is where I belong. In the maelstrom, where darkness collides and where my demons dance to the tune of justice.

“I’ve got you,” I say, though it's unclear whether those words are for her benefit or mine. A part of me, a shadow lurking in the recesses of my soul, knows this is a turning point. This is where the façade cracks, where the doubts seep in. Rayne's image flickers in my mind—her warmth, her light—and for a moment, it anchors me amidst the chaos. But then the darkness surges back, stronger, reminding me that nothing good comes from letting people in.

The door bursts open under the force of my shoulder, a silent explosion in the dimly lit chamber. I take it all in—the stench of copper and sweat hits me like a punch to the gut. Sasha, her naked body suspended from the ceiling by chains that dig cruelly into her wrists. Her head is thrown back by Viper's grip, an inch away from snapping.

"Viper!" I growl his name like a curse, the sound cutting through the thick tension of the room.

He turns, shock splashing across his face as he registers my presence. "What the?—"

I don't give him time to finish. My hand moves with superhero speed, the conjured blade spinning from my fingers. It's a dance of death we perform, him with his whip, me with my knife. The blade arcs through the air, whistling its deadly tune, and finds its mark below his right ribs. He crumples, the bullwhip slipping from his grasp, his blood adding to the macabre painting on the dungeon floor.

"Should've known…" His voice is a wet gurgle as he gasps out his last words. "…you'd come for her."

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