AN: Sorry this is so late! With the Christmas holiday and all and me wanting to finish my Christmas fic (check it out if you want a quick holiday read ;))! Anywho, here's the next chapter. I am also hoping to get Catalyst Rising out soon. Thank you for your reviews and engagement! Thank you! :)
The convoy slipped through Seattle's late-night traffic like a phantom, headlights off to avoid drawing attention. In the lead vehicle, courtesy of Darrington's police force, Solomon hunched over the wheel, his shoulders tense. Edward sat beside him, jaw clenched so tight it looked as if his teeth might crack, while Jasper, in the back, kept his gaze sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of trouble. Next to him, Alice was glued to her tablet, her nimble fingers dancing over the screen in a desperate search for any digital clue that might keep them one step ahead of Caius.
Trailing a few car lengths behind, was Rosalie, Emmett and Jacob.
The convoy slid to a stop beneath a cracked overpass near the abandoned sawmill. Solomon's voice crackled over the comms, low and calm. "No lights. No sirens. We move silently."
Car doors opened without a single slam, each detective slipping out like a shadow. They fanned into a tight formation, pressing toward the sagging structure. The building towered over them, its broken windows and twisted metal beams telling a story of ruin and neglect.
Inside, the air was stale and laced with the nauseating blend of mold, dust, and rust. Their flashlights cut jagged slices through the darkness, revealing pools of rainwater and shreds of tarps flapping from the rafters. Solomon raised a clenched fist, calling them to a silent halt. For a heartbeat, the only sound was their own breathing, sharp and shallow. Then, from somewhere deep within the maze of corroded corridors, came voices—agitated, urgent.
"Bella's here," Edward whispered, his voice tight with a dread-laced hope that made the hair rise on everyone's neck. His fingers squeezed the grip of his sidearm. He could feel her presence, could practically taste her fear in the stagnant air.
Before anyone could respond, the darkness erupted with staccato bursts of gunfire. Muzzles flared like lightning, and the team dropped instinctively behind the nearest cover—pillars, broken crates, rusted machinery. Lead ricocheted off steel with shrieks that echoed in the cavernous space.
"They know we're here!" Jacob shouted above the roar, firing off a volley that forced their attackers to keep their heads down.
Solomon's voice carried calmly through the gunfire: "Stay sharp—move!"
They broke into pairs and scattered, each duo disappearing into a different corridor. Rosalie and Emmett took the left flank, Jacob and Jasper the right, while Solomon and Edward pressed straight ahead. Despite the danger, Edward couldn't tear his mind from Bella—her face, her voice, how she laughed at his worst jokes. Every footstep felt like a race against time, every shadow a possible threat.
As another burst of bullets rattled overhead, Edward ducked behind a stack of rotting pallets. His breath caught, heart hammering. He clenched his teeth and scanned for movement. The fleeting thought of failing her only fueled his resolve.
Bella was in here somewhere—alive, terrified, counting on them. He took one trembling breath, rose, and advanced into the dim corridor where he hoped she still waited to be found.
…
Bella's head throbbed with a sickening rhythm, each pulse a stark reminder of the beatings she'd endured. She was exhausted—her body bruised, her ribs aching from Caius's men kicking her when she'd been too slow or too defiant. Still, she forced herself forward, wrists bound so tightly that blood no longer reached her fingertips.
One of Caius's thugs shoved her along, his beefy hand clamped around her upper arm, right where she was already bruised. Each step jarred her injuries, but Bella refused to let him see her pain. Her eyes darted around, noting every possible exit, every shadow that might hide a chance to escape.
She waited for the right moment. As they turned a corner, she deliberately let her knees buckle, her battered legs giving out beneath her. The guard cursed and jerked her sideways, losing his footing on the slick, decaying floor. They both went down hard in a tangle of limbs. The impact wrenched a gasp from Bella, but adrenaline blotted out the pain.
While he was disoriented, she hooked her bound wrists around his neck. Her arms screamed in protest, raw from the rope's friction, yet she squeezed until her muscles shook. He clawed at her, spat curses, and his elbows slammed into her ribs, sending shockwaves of agony through her body. Still, she held on. She tightened her grip, ignoring the burn in her shoulders, focusing solely on restricting his air.
He thrashed like a rabid animal, nearly throwing her off. Spots danced at the edges of Bella's vision as the reality of her own exhaustion threatened to overpower her. But she thought of everything he and his accomplices had done to her—and with a guttural cry, she poured every ounce of rage and desperation into the chokehold.
At last, his spasms weakened, until finally he went limp in her arms. Bella released him and collapsed against the cold concrete, chest heaving, the tang of blood on her tongue. For a moment, she just lay there, hands shaking so violently that the rope scraped fresh cuts into her wrists.
She forced herself upright, her breath ragged. Her captor's gun lay a few inches away, half-hidden under the edge of a broken pallet. Bella reached for it, awkwardly maneuvering her bound hands around the grip. It felt heavy, foreign in her trembling fingers, but there was no time for hesitation.
Gunfire echoed from somewhere deeper in the old factory, a jarring reminder of how perilous her situation remained. Bella pressed her back to the wall, gulping in breaths as she willed her limbs to keep moving. She had to survive, had to find a way to get out—because she refused to spend one more minute under Caius's control.
Bella crept along the dim corridor, hands shaking from the cold and the lingering terror. The pistol felt impossibly heavy between her bound wrists, but she kept her finger near the trigger, determined to survive. Each step forward sent her heart hammering painfully against her ribs.
She turned a corner and collided with something solid—no, someone. Pure terror blinded her. She instinctively raised the gun, adrenaline spiking in her veins like lightning. In the split second before she squeezed the trigger, a voice tore through her panic.
"Bella!"
That one word shattered her fear like glass. She froze, heart drumming against her chest. The scent of cedar and worn leather filled her nostrils, familiar and comforting. Her trembling hands suddenly went slack, and the gun slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor.
Her vision wavered, tears hot and relentless on her cheeks. "Edward?" she managed, barely able to form the word.
"It's me," he said, voice strangled with relief.
In a single desperate motion, Bella threw herself against him. She buried her face in his chest, sobs flooding out as though a dam had burst inside her. Every bit of pain, fear, and despair she'd bottled up now spilled free. She scarcely remembered how to breathe, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
Edward's arms came around her instantly, crushing her against his body. "I've got you," he whispered, his breath hitching. She felt the tremor in his voice, the quiver in his muscles that belied the calm he tried to project.
Her mind swam, relieved beyond words. The warm press of his chest, the solid grip of his hands—it all felt surreal, like waking from a nightmare only to find a gentle morning light. "I thought…" Bella tried to speak, but her throat closed up, and fresh tears took the words away. I thought I was going to die.
Edward responded with only fierce determination. He scooped her up as though she weighed nothing, one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. There was no time for gentle reassurances; gunfire still rattled somewhere behind them. But in that moment, it was as if all the chaos faded into a distant roar.
He pressed his cheek to her hair, breath ragged against her temple. "You're safe now," he promised quietly. She could feel his heart pounding as hard as hers, each beat a testament to how close they'd come to losing everything.
And then he was running, carrying her through the gloom of the factory halls. Bella let her eyes close, letting herself completely trust him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, safety was tangible—wrapped in Edward's arms, shielded by his resolve.
Every breath burned in Edward's lungs, and his heart pounded so forcefully it nearly drowned out the rattle of gunfire echoing behind them. Still, he tightened his hold on Bella, cradling her limp body against his chest. Her eyelids fluttered, her shallow breaths ragged—but she was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Suddenly, shots split the air, their metallic thunder ricocheting off the factory walls. Edward hissed a curse, ducking behind a toppled crate—rusted metal biting into his shoulder as he tried to shield Bella. The harsh slap of boots on concrete roared closer, punctuated by the deadly pop of rounds. With one hand braced around Bella, he fumbled for his radio.
"I've got Bella, but we're pinned down," he whisper-shouted, voice cracking from exhaustion. "Three hostiles. Need backup—now!"
Alice's voice crackled in through the static, tense but steady. "Copy that. Emmett and Rosalie are on their way. Hang in there."
Edward peered around the corner, spotting silhouettes emerging through the haze of smoke and debris. He clenched his jaw, switching the gun to his other hand not supporting Bella. His first shot found its mark—a kneecap. The man screamed, collapsing into a twisted heap. A triumphant snarl escaped Edward's lips—until a second muzzle flash lit up the murk. A lance of hot pain tore through his upper arm, bone and sinew jolting like they'd been struck by a sledgehammer. Edward reeled, blood spattering onto the concrete.
The gun slipped from his hand as he slumped back, cradling Bella desperately. Fire seared his mind, his vision flickering with black spots. Her weight bore down on him, and over the roar in his ears, Alice's voice came again, "We've got movement above you, Edward! Emmett, Rosalie, you're almost there!"
As another attacker loomed, Edward forced himself to grab the fallen weapon, ignoring the nauseating pain in his shredded arm. With a gasp, he fired point-blank, the second man tumbling backward with a ragged grunt. The last shooter advanced, muzzle flashing, bullets pinging off metal in shrieks of ricochet. Edward rolled, dragging Bella with him, lungs burning from smoke and agony.
The man raised his weapon for the kill shot—then a shotgun roared. The gunman jerked violently, crashing to the floor like a felled tree. Emmett stood behind him, shotgun barrel trailing wisps of smoke. "Damn, Masen," he said, voice tight with adrenaline. "You always gotta make it dramatic."
Rosalie hurried forward, her eyes flaring at the sight of Edward's bloody sleeve and Bella's unconscious form. "She's hurt," Edward rasped, his voice nearly lost in the din. "She needs medics—fast."
Emmett bent to lift Bella gently. "So do you," he countered grimly, glancing at the deep red staining Edward's arm.
Edward tried to rise, but shock slammed into him like a freight train; his legs buckled. Rosalie latched onto his waist, forcing him upright. "Lean on me," she commanded, her voice shaking with equal measures of fear and anger. "We're getting out of here—both of you."
Jacob and Jasper materialized through the swirling smoke, weapons raised, adrenaline etched into every line of their faces. "Status?" Jasper barked.
"Bella's alive," Emmett choked out, pressing his lips into a flat line. "But she's in bad shape."
"And Caius?" Solomon's voice crackled through the comm, cold and lethal.
"No sign," Rosalie growled, bracing Edward tighter as he winced from another spasm of pain.
A tense silence crackled over the radio before Solomon spoke again, his tone low. "Finish securing the scene. I'll handle this." Then, with a sharp hiss, the line went dead, leaving them to face the carnage—and to carry Bella and Edward out of the nightmare that almost claimed their lives.
…
Solomon moved through the building with measured strides, dragging the limp, groaning figure behind him. His usually composed demeanor was replaced with a simmering rage, but now barely held in check. The man's boots scraped against the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks of blood as Solomon pushed open a heavy metal door and slammed it shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space.
The room was dim, lit only by a single, flickering bulb hanging overhead. Solomon threw the man down against the wall, his body slumping with a dull thud. He groaned, coughing up blood, but his eyes—sharp, dark, and full of malice—narrowed at Solomon. Even through the pain, his defiance was palpable.
Solomon's jaw clenched as he pulled the chain from around his neck, the silver links glinting under the weak light. He wrapped it tightly around his knuckles, his eyes never leaving the man. His voice, when it came, was low and deadly calm. "What's your name?"
The man chuckled, a dark, guttural sound that seemed to reverberate in the silence. "Why don't you guess?" he spat, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His voice was deep, rough, and carried a sick confidence.
Solomon didn't flinch. He stepped forward, his boots heavy against the floor, and with a sudden, vicious motion, his fist collided with his face. The impact was sickening—a crack of bone against cold silver. The man's head snapped to the side, but he only groaned, his smile now bloodier but still present.
"You hit like a cop," he sneered, his voice slurred but mocking. "Not enough to kill me. Just enough to make you feel better."
Solomon's breathing was steady, but his fury was barely concealed. "Let's see how long that smug mouth of yours lasts." He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him to his knees. Blood poured from his broken nose, staining his shirt.
"Where's Caius?" Solomon demanded, his voice a dangerous growl.
His lips curled into a bloody grin. "You think I'm scared of you?" he rasped. "You're nothing. Caius? He's everywhere. And you'll never—"
Solomon's fist came down again, harder this time, driving him back against the wall. The sound of bone crunching filled the room, followed by the man's pained howl. He sagged, coughing violently, but his eyes still burned with malice.
"Where. Is. Caius?"
The man coughed, a wet, hacking sound, and spat blood onto the floor. He laughed, though it turned into a wince of pain. "You're asking the wrong questions, sergeant," he said, his voice hoarse. "Caius doesn't need to be found. He'll find you. And when he does, your little family? Gone."
Solomon's face darkened, his knuckles tightening around the chain. He struck again, and again, each blow deliberate, each one fueled by the image of Bella tied and beaten, by the fear of losing another daughter.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the man's ragged breathing. His once-menacing features were now a swollen, bloody mess. Solomon grabbed him by the shirt again, his voice low. "You think Caius will protect you? He's already left you for dead."
The man's eyes flickered with fear for the first time, but he shook his head weakly. "You don't get it. Caius… he doesn't need me. He doesn't need anyone. You can kill me, but it won't stop him. You're already too late."
Solomon's expression didn't waver. "You're right about one thing," he said quietly, dangerously. "You're already dead."
With that, he unleashed a final flurry of punches, each one more brutal than the last. The man's body slumped, head cracked open and lifeless, as Solomon stood over him. His breath came out in heavy pants from the exertion of his assault – his hands bloodied and chain stained crimson.
Solomon stepped back, wiping the blood off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over the comm switch. After a moment, he keyed in.
"Alice," he said, his voice steady but cold. "Status?"
Alice's voice crackled in, full of tension. "Bella's with the medics. No sign of Caius."
"Copy that. Secure the scene. I'm on my way."
He glanced back at the man's lifeless form, his jaw tightening before he turned and walked out. The door swung shut behind him, leaving the room in silence once more.