Page 24 of Anton

My gaze locked on the bastard gripping Marcie, noting the tattoo snaking up his hand—a jagged mark that set him apartfrom the others. That tattooed hand would be the first thing I took from him. He’d pay dearly for putting his hands on her.

The guy laughed, whispering something in Marcie’s ear before releasing her so suddenly that she stumbled, dropping hard to her knees on the rough ground. She caught herself, chin tilted defiantly. The slight quiver of her bottom lip betrayed her fear, but it didn’t stop her from shooting a glare that could burn.

“If you come anywhere near me, it’s you who’ll be screaming, when I rip that dick off,” she spat at him. The men around snickered, but the tattooed bastard took another step toward her.

“Leave it, Joel. You can make her pay later. The boss is on her way,” another man said, stepping in front of him, blocking her from his sight and grabbing her arm.

My brave, defiant Marcie. Pride and fear warred inside me. I loved seeing her stand tall, but I feared her defiance would only make things worse.

I ached to be by her side, to shield her from this, but the fuckers wouldn’t let me get close. Not yet. But I could still let her know she wasn’t alone.

“Marcie,” I murmured, my voice low and steady, keeping any trace of desperation locked away.

Her head jerked toward me, eyes widening as she registered my presence. For a fleeting moment, the tension in her features eased, and I saw something more than fear—hope, relief, and beneath those, a fierce determination.

I smiled at her, and she returned it, a small but defiant gesture.

The men holding me down loosened their grip, but before I could move, the cold press of metal dug into my temple.

“Don’t even think about it,” a voice growled behind me, the barrel pressing harder into my skull.

I stilled, every muscle locked. I didn’t flinch. My focus never left Marcie. She saw the weapon at my head, and her breath caught, panic flashing in her eyes.

“Anton—” Her voice cracked, but before she could say anything more, the man holding her jerked her to her feet, making her stumble. She gasped, her hand clutching his arm, but he only tightened his grip.

The urge to kill him surged through me. To rip him apart for daring to touch her. But all I could do right then was kneel there, unable to move, my chest tight with a suffocating mix of fury and frustration.

Around us, men stood in a tight formation, each one armed, faces obscured behind black masks. The sharp gleam of metal flashed in the sunlight, a stark reminder that this was no random kidnapping. This was planned—carefully orchestrated. Whoever they were, they didn’t look like amateurs.

Their attention shifted toward the hacienda-style house in front of us and I followed their gaze. The heavy main door swung open, and a woman emerged. The shadowed porch kept her features obscured and at first, I didn’t register who it was. She looked older, her dark hair pulled back in a tight, severe bun. But as she stepped fully into the light, her features came into sharp focus. Recognition slammed into me, leaving a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

Marcie gasped, and I felt the same wave of disbelief crash over me.

Elizabeth Traynor.

The high court judge who, until recently, had been behind the bench of so many high-profile cases—until she retired, disappearing abroad before her corruption could be brought to light.

And now… now she was here, standing in front of us like some twisted queen, her eyes cold, her lips curving into a smile that sent a chill straight through me.

“You,” Marcie whispered, horror creeping into her voice.

Elizabeth’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Marcie, darling. Anton. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

I could hear the venom in her voice, the satisfaction as she watched us kneel before her like prisoners of war. This wasn’t just about power. It was personal. Her cold gaze scanned us both before settling on Marcie, and I saw a flicker of hatred flash in her eyes.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, helping the Rominovs…” she shook her head at Marcie, her chiding tone mocking. “But you’ll pay for that.”

Her attention moved to me. “You too, Anton DuPont. My Timmy may be gone, but I’ll continue his legacy and see that everyone who took part in his demise pays dearly.”

The pieces fell into place then, snapping together with brutal clarity. The Rominovs had been dealing with enemies for years, one after another, but it had all led back to the corrupt MP they’d exposed. The same man we’d both helped bring down. Elizabeth had been his lover. How hadn’t we known that?

When he’d been killed in prison only a few days ago, we had breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was all over. But obviously, there was even more to his operation than we’d known. And a secret lover. Even though we knew Judge Traynor was linked to the MP and had ensured he was initially bailed despite his horrific crimes, we’d obviously missed the depth of their relationship. How had we missed it?

“You’re doing this for him?” Marcie asked, her voice trembling. “For the MP?”

Elizabeth’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glare. “He was a great man. Misunderstood. And thanks to you, not only was his life destroyed, but he was murdered in prison.”

Marcie shook her head, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts. “You know what he was doing. The hunts he was running. How can you defend him?”

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