The warehouse smelled of rust and death. Alexander moved like a shadow, his body screaming in protest, but his mind was razor-sharp. Eve was inside, and that was all that mattered.
Flashbacks crashed through his mind—his first kill, the moment he realized violence would always be his answer, the night he swore he would never love because love made men weak.
And then he saw her.
Tied to a chair, bruised but unbroken. Her eyes met his, filled with something that made his breath catch—not fear. Fury.
Carver grinned, stepping into the light. "A fighter with nothing left to lose is predictable. And predictability gets you killed."
Alexander cracked his knuckles. "You're right. That's why I stopped fighting fair."
The final battle wasn't clean. It wasn't poetic. It was raw, vicious, an animalistic brawl that left the room soaked in blood. Knives flashed, bones snapped, and in the chaos, a single gunshot rang out.
Carver fell to the ground, gasping. But before Alexander could reach Eve, another shot fired.
Eve screamed.
Alexander's world faded to black.