Chapter 20:A Dangerous Proposition...

The SUV sped through the darkened highway, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the tense silence inside. The city lights were still miles away, but Isabelle barely noticed. Her thoughts were fixated on the weight of the flash drive in her hands.

Inside it were secrets—proof of her father's dealings, the reason he had been killed, and the reason she was now being hunted.

And beside her, gripping the steering wheel with a silent intensity, was the man who had been sent to end her life.

Damian Cross.

The assassin who had defied his mission.

Isabelle had known for days now—she had overheard his conversation, and he had admitted it. But the reality of it still sat heavy in her chest. How was she supposed to feel? Betrayed? Relieved?

She should hate him. Fear him. Run from him.

And yet, she hadn't.

Instead, she was still here, with him.

She turned slightly, watching him as he kept his eyes on the road. His face was a mask of cold focus, but she had spent enough time with him to notice the small tells—the way his fingers flexed against the wheel, the tension in his jaw.

He was just as conflicted as she was.

"You're quiet," she said finally.

His grip on the wheel tightened. "You should get some rest."

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "How am I supposed to sleep after everything that's happened?"

From the backseat, Steele shifted, letting out a low groan as he adjusted his wounded arm. "You two should figure out whatever mess is going on between you after we survive this."

Isabelle ignored him, keeping her gaze locked on Damian.

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

Damian didn't turn, but she noticed the slight twitch in his fingers. "Regret what?"

"Not killing me."

Steele let out a low whistle. "Alright, I'm definitely sitting this conversation out."

Damian was silent for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Then, finally—

"No. I don't."

Isabelle's heart clenched at his words. She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say, but the certainty in his voice sent a strange warmth through her chest.

She should have been terrified. But instead… she felt something else.

Something she wasn't ready to name.

The city finally came into view, distant but drawing closer with each passing second. The tension inside the car hadn't lessened.

Damian spoke again, this time directing his words at Steele.

"This contact of yours—how do we know we can trust him?"

Steele exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "We don't. But he's the only shot we have at leveling the playing field."

"Who is he?" Isabelle asked.

Steele shifted, wincing slightly at the pain in his shoulder. "Vincent Kade. Powerful, connected, and not exactly the kind of guy you want to owe favors to."

Damian's entire posture stiffened at the name. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the wheel.

"Kade is a fixer," he said darkly. "A broker of secrets. He doesn't help people out of kindness—he does it because it benefits him."

Steele let out a rough chuckle. "Sounds like someone you'd get along with."

Damian ignored the jab. "What's his stake in this?"

Steele sighed. "Let's just say Kade's had his fair share of run-ins with the people behind all of this. If we give him leverage, he might help us. But we'll be walking a tightrope."

Isabelle frowned. "And if he decides we're not worth the risk?"

Steele's smirk faded. "Then we're as good as dead."

The SUV rolled into a dimly lit underground parking lot beneath an abandoned building. The air was thick with the scent of oil and concrete. The city above was alive with flashing lights and distant sirens, but down here, it was eerily quiet.

Damian shut off the engine and turned to Steele.

"Where is he?"

Steele reached into his pocket, pulling out a burner phone. He pressed a number and put it on speaker.

The line rang twice before a smooth, amused voice answered.

"Steele. Thought you were dead."

"Not yet," Steele muttered. "We need to meet."

A pause. Then a chuckle. "You don't call me for years, and now you suddenly want my help?"

"We have something you'll want," Damian cut in.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then—

"Damian Cross. Now, that's a name I haven't heard in a while. Should I be honored or concerned?"

"Both," Damian replied coolly. "Meet us. The Crimson Lounge. One hour."

Another pause. Then, "Fine. But if you're wasting my time, you won't be leaving that lounge alive."

The line went dead.

Steele sighed, tucking the phone away. "Well, that's reassuring."

Isabelle's fingers tightened around the flash drive. Every step forward felt like stepping deeper into the lion's den.

She looked at Damian. "Do you trust him?"

Damian met her gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. "No. But we don't have another choice."

Isabelle swallowed hard. The truth was, she trusted Damian.

Even though she shouldn't.

And that terrified her more than anything.