Bella's POV
Damien's safe house is a lie.
The moment we step inside the abandoned warehouse, every instinct I have screams danger. But Luis is bleeding from a head wound, and we need shelter. We have no choice.
"There's a medical kit upstairs," Damien says, locking the heavy door behind us. "I'll get it."
The second he's gone, I grab Luis's arm. "We need to leave. Now."
"What? Why?" He touches his head and winces. "I can barely walk, Bella."
"Because something's wrong." I pull out my phone, showing him Elias's warning text. "What if Damien's the killer? What if he's been playing me this whole time?"
Luis reads the message, his face going pale. "But he saved you five years ago—"
"Or so he says. I only have his word for that." My hand moves to my ankle holster. "Think about it. The cards are from his company. He shows up right when the murders start. He knows too much about my past. And his own brother is warning me against him."
"But why would he kill those people?"
"I don't know. Revenge for his parents? Some twisted game? Maybe he's framing Elias—" I stop. Footsteps on the stairs. "Act normal. Don't let him know we suspect anything."
Damien returns with a first aid kit. His eyes immediately go to my hand near my ankle—where my backup gun is hidden.
"Planning to shoot me, Detective?" His voice is calm, but there's something dangerous underneath.
"Should I be?" I straighten up slowly. "Your brother just told me not to trust you."
"My brother is mentally unstable and possibly a serial killer." Damien sets down the medical kit. "Of course he'd try to turn you against me. That's what manipulators do."
"Or he's trying to protect me from you."
"From me?" Damien laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "I'm the one who saved your life. Twice now. What has Elias done except murder people and send you cryptic texts?"
"He stopped those men from killing us!"
"After leading them to us in the first place!" Damien's calm mask cracks. "Don't you see? He's been watching you for five years. Obsessing over you. Killing people in your name. That's not love, Bella. That's possession."
I want to argue, but his words make horrible sense. Elias's behavior does sound obsessive. Stalker-like.
But so does Damien's.
"How did you know where to find me five years ago?" I ask suddenly. "In that alley. How did you know exactly where I was?"
Damien goes very still. "I told you. Elias called me—"
"But how did HE know where I was? I ran randomly. I didn't know where I was going. So how did your dying brother find me in a random alley in a city of millions?"
Silence.
"Answer me, Damien."
He turns away, his jaw tight. "Because I was already following you."
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"I was at your engagement party." The words come out harsh. "Not as a guest. I was investigating Marcus Sterling for fraud. When everything happened—when they destroyed you publicly—I followed you when you ran. I was going to help, but then Elias appeared out of nowhere. He got to you first."
"You watched them destroy me." My voice shakes. "You were there. You saw everything. And you did nothing?"
"I couldn't intervene without blowing my investigation—"
"I was bleeding on the street!" Rage explodes through me. "You watched me get humiliated, assaulted, and you did NOTHING because of an investigation?!"
"I saved you afterward!" Damien grabs my shoulders. "I made sure you got medical care. I gave you an apartment, money, a chance to start over—"
"After you let me suffer!" I shove him away. "You could have stopped it. You could have exposed Marcus's fraud before the party. But you didn't. Why? What were you really investigating?"
His face closes off. "I can't tell you that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." He steps closer, and I draw my gun, aiming at his chest.
"Stay back."
"Bella, please—"
"Tell me the truth!" My hands don't shake. They never shake anymore. "What were you investigating Marcus for? Why were you really at that party? And why do I feel like I'm still just a pawn in whatever game you're playing?"
Damien stares at the gun, then at me. Something in his eyes looks broken.
"You want the truth?" His voice drops to barely a whisper. "Fine. I was investigating Marcus because he was connected to the man who murdered my parents. The original killer—the one who carved the 'R' mark. I've been hunting him for fifteen years, and Marcus was my best lead."
The gun wavers slightly. "What?"
"Your fiancé worked for the killer. Helped him cover up crimes, destroy evidence, ruin anyone who got too close to the truth." Damien's fists clench. "When I found out Marcus was engaged to you, I saw an opportunity. Get close to him through you. Gather evidence. Finally bring down my parents' murderer."
Understanding crashes over me like ice water. "You used me. I was bait."
"Yes." No hesitation. No apology. "And I would do it again. Because catching that monster was more important than anything else."
"Than my life?"
"Than everything." His eyes burn into mine. "I've spent fifteen years hunting the man who killed my parents. Who carved them up and left me orphaned. I'm not going to apologize for doing whatever it took to find him."
The warehouse door explodes inward.
Men in tactical gear pour in, weapons raised. Not police—military-grade equipment, professional movements.
"Drop your weapons!" the leader shouts. "Hands in the air!"
I keep my gun on Damien. "Who are they?"
"I don't know." But his face says he's lying.
The leader steps forward, pulling off his helmet. He's older, maybe sixties, with cold eyes and a cruel mouth.
"Hello, Damien." His voice is smooth, cultured. "It's been a long time."
Damien goes absolutely white. "Uncle Victor."
"Uncle?" I look between them. "You know these people?"
"Victor Crowe," Luis says weakly from where he's slumped against the wall. "I've heard of him. Head of Crowe Enterprises Europe. Damien's uncle and business rival."
Victor smiles. "Business rival. That's one way to put it." He looks at me with interest. "And you must be the famous Detective Hartley. The woman my nephews are both so obsessed with."
"What do you want?" I demand.
"What I've always wanted." Victor pulls out a knife. Not just any knife—I recognize it immediately. The same blade type used on the murder victims. "To finish what I started fifteen years ago. When I killed Damien's parents."
Time stops.
"You?" Damien's voice breaks. "You're the Reckoning Killer?"
"I prefer 'family cleaner.'" Victor examines the knife lovingly. "Your father was going to expose our family's real business—the trafficking, the murders, the corruption. So I eliminated him. Carved my signature mark to make it look like a serial killer. It worked perfectly."
"You killed your own brother?" I breathe.
"Half-brother. And he was weak. Just like you, Damien." Victor signals his men. "Grab them both. Kill the partner—he's useless."
"No!" I spin and fire at the men advancing on Luis. Two drop. But there are too many.
Damien lunges at Victor, but three men tackle him to the ground. They beat him viciously until he stops fighting.
Someone grabs me from behind. I fight, kicking and screaming, but a needle stabs into my neck.
Drugs flood my system. My vision blurs.
"Sleep, Detective," Victor says, his voice echoing. "When you wake up, you'll watch Damien die the same way his parents did. Then Elias will come running to save you, and I'll kill him too. Three birds, one stone."
"Why?" I slur, the drugs pulling me under. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because fifteen years ago, I made the mistake of letting two witnesses live." He strokes my cheek with the bloody knife. "I won't make that mistake again."
My eyes fall on Damien. He's barely conscious, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Our eyes meet.
"I'm sorry," he mouths. "For everything."
Then darkness swallows me whole.
But just before I lose consciousness completely, I hear Luis's phone buzz. A text message notification.
And I recognize the sound—it's the same notification sound as the texts I've been getting from "E."
Luis has been getting messages from Elias too.
Which means either Luis is working with the killer...
Or he IS the killer.
And I just got both of us captured because I trusted the wrong person.
Again.