Page 142 of Bound By Revenge

I hope the venom in my voice cuts deep because it should. I want every useless fool in mybratva—including the idiots scurrying outside my door—to hear me and understand the consequences of their failure. Once Kat is safe, I’ll make it my personal mission to ensure every single one of them pays for their incompetence.

Through gritted teeth, I manage, “Stop staring at me and get your worthless asses out there. Spread the word: every single man in mybratvawill scour this city until she’s found. No one will rest, eat, or sleep until she’s back. And if any harm has been done to even one hair on her head, I will personally ensure that the same pain is inflicted tenfold on every man on watch tonight. No one has ever known pain like what I will unleash if anything happens to her. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

They scramble to leave, the door slamming shut behind them, but I’m already moving.

The first thing I try is tracking Kat’s phone. Waste of time. The tracker says it’s still at the penthouse. She didn’t bring it. I knew I should’ve implanted a sub-dermal tracker while she slept. This is exactly what I get for going soft.

I grab my car keys, taking the stairs two at a time, too impatient to bother with the elevator.

For a moment, I consider calling A.J., but I push the thought aside. She won’t tell me anything, and I don’t have time to waste threatening her into cooperation.

Instead, I drive. No plan, no destination—just pure adrenaline as I search for any trace of Kat. Every darkened street and shadowed corner feels like a dead end.

McGuire’s men are watching the penthouse—I know that much. My only hope is that they haven’t found her yet. Maybe McGuire will contact me for ransom, demand something in exchange. I can only pray it’s not his daughter. If it is… well, that’s a problem I’ll deal with when the time comes.

Hours pass. Each tick of the clock feels like a countdown to disaster. My fear curdles into frustration, then anger. Why does she have to be so goddamn reckless? Doesn’t she see I’m trying to protect her? After everything we’ve been through, how could she do this?

She knows what she means to me. She knows she owns me, has me wrapped around her finger, and yet she uses that power to torment me.

Finally, I admit defeat. Driving aimlessly is wasting time I can’t afford. Kat is too clever for me to stumble upon her by chance. If I’m going to find her, I need to be smart. And if McGuire has her, I need to be ready to meet his demands.

I return to the penthouse. The silence is oppressive, the empty space almost mocking. No one’s back. No news. No leads.

I head to my office, shutting the door behind me like it might block out the eerie stillness. Sitting at my desk, I think of Lucien. If anyone can help me, it’s him. I grab my phone, scrolling for his number, praying he picks up immediately.

But before I can press the button, the door to my office flies open with a crash.

Startled, I look up, my breath catching in my throat.

And there she is.

Kat stands in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the shadows of the room behind her. For a moment, I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

My heart stutters, then slams against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out. She’s here. She’s safe.

And for the first time in hours, the crushing pressure eases, and I can finally take a full breath.

I stand up so fast I slam into the desk. My chair rolls back with a screech, but I barely notice. My hands grip the desk's warm mahogany surface for support as my legs threaten to give out beneath me.

“Kat…” That one word falls from my lips as a prayer, a benediction, and a thank-you all rolled into one.

Her blue eyes lock onto mine, burning hotter and brighter than I’ve ever seen. Her jaw clenches, her teeth grinding audibly as she growls, “You.”

I want to run to her, to wrap my arms around her, and never let her go. I want to drop to my knees, beg for her forgiveness, and swear I’ll spend the rest of my life fixing everything—just as long as she stays with me forever. Hell, I’d crawl if it would make a difference. But I can’t move.

My body has betrayed me. The adrenaline that kept me going all day abandons me. My legs feel like jelly, and I don’t trust them to carry me to her. As relief floods my veins like poison, I don’t even trust myself not to pass out like a goddamn idiot.

“You,” she repeats, her voice sharper this time, cutting like a blade.

She looks different. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s never looked more beautiful—or more furious. Her flushed skin practically glows, and her dark hair—normally so sleek and composed—is a wild halo of waves around her face.

She’s fire and ice, looking almost otherworldly as her glare, filled with fury and life, steals the air from my lungs.

Her blue eyes, dark and endless like the ocean, never leave my face as she stalks toward me, every step deliberate and full of purpose.

I can’t move. Can’t speak. All I can do is watch as she closes the distance between us, stopping just inches away.

She digs into her pocket and pulls something out, her movements sharp and precise. Before I can process what’s happening, she flicks her wrist, and the object hits my chest. I catch it reflexively.

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