Page 90 of Claimed By the Damned

Maybe they're moving on. I am nothing but dead weight, chaos they didn’t ask for.

I swallow hard, hands clenching into fists.

If I am out of the picture, they can be safe.

Maybe… maybe it is better this way. Maybe they think I betrayed them. Or they have realized that all I do is bring trouble, drag danger into their lives. Without me, they might finally be safe.

Chapter 27: Ghosts Return with Guns

Ethan

The war room is a chaotic blend of open laptops, maps spread across the table, and weaponry neatly organized like an artist’s arsenal. Tension thickens the air, heavy and suffocating. Every man in this room is ready to burn the world down for Lila. We have the resources; we have the firepower. We just need a target.

And we need itnow.

I scrub a hand down my face, my eyes scanning the city maps marked with potential locations Luke might have taken her. Frustration gnaws at my nerves, pressing down like a vice. Every heartbeat feels like a ticking clock, reminding me of the minutes, the hours, that slip away while Lila is missing. The not knowing is the worst part – is she safe? Is she hurt? My stomach twists into knots at the possibilities. My fingers curl into fists, anger and fear a toxic mix coursing through me.

“Where the hell is she?” My voice cuts through the charged atmosphere, laced with urgency.

Bastian meets my gaze, his jaw tight. “We’ve sent out search parties, checking every known associate of Luke's, every safe house we have access to. It’s like they vanished.” He pauses, his expression grim. “The possibility of Kolya’s involvement hangs over this. If he orchestrated this…”

“That’s the problem,” I snap, frustration boiling over. “We can’t justassume. We need proof. We need to findthem- Lila and Luke. What if this isn't Kolya? What if Luke took her somewhere else for reasons we don't understand?”

I lean closer to my laptop, pulling up the city surveillance network access. “Forget Kolya for a second. Let’s focus on findingthem. What about the city-wide surveillance feeds? We need any sign of Luke’s bike, his car, anything involving either of them since they left.”

“Good idea,” Ryker says, already moving to join me at the tech station, setting up parameters for facial recognition and vehicle tracking. The flicker of desperate hope is palpable as the rest of us cluster around, scanning feeds.

I start fast-forwarding through hours of CCTV footage from cameras covering major routes and areas Luke might frequent, my heart racing with every new frame. The minutes tick by in silence, tension coiling tighter around us.

Suddenly, I still, my finger poised above the mouse. “Wait… let me rewind that. The alley cam behind Blooming Nook… Right there.”

We all lean in closer as the video rewinds, revealing a grainy image of an SUV pulling into the alleyway. I squint at the screen, trying to make out the figures.

“Play it,” Bastian murmurs, his voice low.

The footage resumes, sharpening slightly. The SUV door swings open, and a figure steps out—tall, impeccably dressed, exuding an aura of cold authority. A chill goes down my spine. He exchanges a few quick words with another man who then melts back into the shadows.

Then, my blood runs cold. A motorcycle pulls up to the front of the flower shop, visible just at the edge of the alley cam's frame. I recognize Luke immediately, and behind him… Lila. My heart hammers against my ribs as they dismount. They share a fleeting, tense moment before turning and walking toward the back of the waiting SUV.

Luke opens the back seat door. He gently helps Lila inside. She looks anxious, her eyes darting around, clearly unaware of who waits inside. Luke’s expression is a mask of tension and conflict as he guides her into the seat. I can practically feel the internal battle raging within him as he hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame.

Finally, with one last, quick glance towards Lila—agonized, regretful?—he steps back. My breath catches as he closes the door with a soft click that echoes like a gunshot in the silence of the war room. He turns, walks swiftly back to his motorcycle, mounts it, and drives away, disappearing from view.

Leaving Lila alone in that SUV with someone.

“Damn it,” I hiss, every muscle in my body tensing. The figure in the alley… the way he stood, the cut of that expensive suit… a horrifying suspicion begins to take root. “Wait a second. Let me pull up Kolya’s file.”

An image of Nikolai Mikhailov flashes onto one of the larger screens—icy blue eyes, dark hair, the faint scar tracing his jawline.

We all stare, comparing the photo to the grainy figure frozen on the CCTV footage. Even with the low resolution, the build is the same, the severe posture unmistakable.

My breath hitches. “I'll zoom in on his face in the video, enhance it if I can.”

The image pixelates then slowly reforms, slightly clearer. The sharp lines of the man’s profile in the alleyway footage match the photograph. The expensive suit. The cold, authoritative stance.

There is no doubt.

“That’s him,” I finally choke out, slamming my fist on the table as the full weight of the realization crashes over me like icy water. “That’s Kolya. He has her.”

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