Page 40 of Stormy Knight

The air was thick, stagnant in the dim space beyond the door. Her breath came in short bursts, shallow but fast. She forced herself to slow down, her feet stumbling for a moment as she regained control of her steps. She pressed a hand to the raw spot on her back, feeling the blood seep through her shirt.

“Focus,” she whispered to herself, trying to steady her mind. This wasn’t the time for mistakes.

26

The old chair rocked as Paul tittered to the side, his groans spilling out in uneven bursts. The creaking wood groaned under the shift of his weight, as though it, too, was weary from the years it had endured. Paul’s hands gripped the arms tightly, knuckles white, as if to steady himself against the unpredictable motion of the chair.

His eyes were full of fear as Reeves came closer, the tension thick in the air.

Every breath Paul took seemed to reverberate in the silence, a shaky, uneven rhythm that betrayed the panic welling up inside him.

The knife in Reeves’ hand felt natural, with one quick thrust he stabbed Paul between the collarbone and top of his shoulder. Stepping back, he watched the blood soaking the man’s shirt. Everything that he’d done to Stormy, Paul would receive from him. Sliding the knife into his pocket, Reeves wrapped his hand in a discarded rag from the floor. Satisfied when the fabric was tight around his fist, he slammed it into Paul’s face breaking his nose on impact.

The old chair beneath Paul creaked again, but it wasn’t the sound of comfort or safety, it was a reminder that he was helpless, of how little distance there was between him and the man about to deal out his fate.

The air felt oppressive, heavy with the scent of dust and something darker, something that tasted like fear. Reeves could almost hear Paul’s heart pounding in his chest. He could see the flutter of his pulse in his neck. He could see the guy

instinctively trying to push himself back, his palms sweating against the worn arms of the chair, but the back of the chair trapped him.

Reeves watched Paul’s eyes flickerd from him to the door, the windows, anywhere—anywhere that might offer him an escape. But there was nowhere to run. No room to hide. Only the heavy, inevitable fate that awaited him.

“Jackson, you and Monroe need to take Stormy to the closest hospital,” Reeve’s voice was sharp, low, a mixture of command and urgency. His eyes flicked to Stormy, barely conscious, her face pale and streaked with blood. Every second that passed was another second she wasn’t getting the help she needed, and the clock was running out.

Jackson looked torn, his jaw clenched in frustration as he glanced between Reeves and the door. Monroe stood a few paces away, his stance stiff, still holding Stormy, processing the chaos of the moment. Both knew the situation wasn’t ideal, but they were used to making split-second decisions in tight situations.

“Reeves, you sure? I mean, I can stay behind,” Jackson stated, his voice low but laced with concern.

Reeves didn’t let him finish. “I’ll handle it. You need to get her to a hospital.Now.”

Monroe gave a curt nod, his face set in a mask of determination. “Jackson, go grab the car and I’ll meet you outside with Stormy.”

Stormy’s breathing was shallow, her eyes fluttering, barely able to keep them open. Reeves could see the blood and the bruising, the gash on her arm deep and angry.

“Go,” he urged, voice tight. “Don’t waste a second.” His mind was already ticking through his next moves.The door shut behind them, leaving him alone. The silence pressed in, but his focus was already back on the man who had hurt Stormy.

Reeves stood motionless in the dimly lit room, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he replayed the events in his mind. The betrayal was fresh… Stormy’s pain, the way she’d been left vulnerable, and the scum who had been behind it all.

Retrieving his phone his fingers moving swiftly over the screen, broke the silence as he dialed Marco’s number.

The hard, rhythmic ring in his ear seemed to echo his heartbeat, quickening with every passing second. “Marco, meet me at the location I’m sending you,” Reeves said once the call connected, his voice low and controlled.

A brief pause from the other end, then Marco’s voice, gravelly, like someone who’d just woken up but was already fully alert. “Understood. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Reeves hung up without another word, his mind already calculating the steps ahead. He wasn’t just going to make the guy pay for what he’d done to Stormy. He was going to make sure he understood what it meant to cross the wrong people. This wasn’t about justice. This was about vengeance.

The walls of the room seemed to close in, the silence heavy now with anticipation.

Reeves exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his chest bleed out with each breath. The silence around him was deafening, the weight of it pressing in on him like the calm before a storm. Every second seemed to stretch, each tick of the clock louder than the last. He was used to this feeling, the quiet momentsbefore things spiraled into chaos, but that didn’t make it any easier.

His fingers twitched, itching to finish the job ahead, solely focused on the man before him. He latched onto the anger that had taken root inside him the moment he saw Paul holding Stormy captive. His emotions were a steely resolve.

Reeves moved closer, looking down at the scumbag that had hurt Stormy, his gaze was a mask, a mix of who he was and who he needed to be. The pain in Stormy’s eyes, the helplessness that had stained her voice when she’d called out to him at the moment Paul had shot him echoed in his mind. Reeves let out a breath. Letting the mask completely disappear, showing the man tied to the chair who he was.

A black haze dropped over Reeves as he pulled the knife out, holding it in his left hand, his right still wrapped in the dirty rag. He slammed his fist into Paul’s face repeatedly as blood splattered from his nose and mouth. Plunging the knife into Paul’s chest, Reeves twisted it back and forth.

Screams and moans echoed in the room, louder at first then grew faint as they cut through the silence of the room.

Reeves paused, his muscles tightening, instinctively shifting into a state of readiness. The sounds were familiar… intimate in their dread. Stormy being hurt had stirred something far darker in him. Something primal. He relished in the sound of her attacker’s anguish. Rearing his hand back Reeves struck out letting his fist strike Paul again. His face battered into an unrecognizable image was satisfying. Blood soaked the rag, his hand, even his shoes were dotted with red.

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