CHAPTER 6

A Line Crossed

Tension is rising as Ethan and Isla's world continues to unravel. With Adrian kidnapped, the stakes are higher than ever. Isla is no longer just a target—she's the reason the war is escalating. As they prepare to fight back, secrets begin to surface, making it clear that nothing will ever be the same again.

The tension in the room was suffocating. The air between Ethan and Isla felt heavy, thick with unsaid words and barely restrained emotions. The dim lighting cast long shadows on the walls, making the safehouse seem smaller than it was. Isla sat stiffly on the edge of the worn-out couch, her fingers clutching the hem of her sweater, as if holding onto something tangible could steady the chaos in her mind.

Across from her, Ethan was a storm barely contained. He paced the length of the room with short, sharp movements, his hands repeatedly running through his dark hair. The muscles in his jaw were tight, his expression dark.

"We can't stay here," he muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for Isla to hear.

She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest. "Ethan—"

"I should've seen this coming," he cut her off, his voice low and tight. His fists clenched at his sides, the frustration practically radiating off of him. "Daniel isn't just trying to hurt me—he's after control. He wants leverage."

Isla felt her stomach drop. Her voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable truth. "I am the leverage."

Ethan stopped pacing. His head snapped toward her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"No," he said firmly.

Her heart clenched at the way he said it—like he was willing it to be untrue, like he was trying to deny the reality staring them both in the face.

"But it's true," she whispered.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His silence was deafening.

The reality of their situation was crushing. Adrian had been taken. Daniel was closing in. And now, there was no doubt—Isla was in the center of it all.

Ethan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but no less urgent. "We need to move."

He turned toward the door, his entire body tense, his mind already working through the next steps. But Isla wasn't looking at the door.

She was looking at him.

And in that moment, she realized something terrifying.

Ethan wasn't just trying to protect her.

He was preparing for war.

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke. It was the kind of place where secrets were traded like currency, where danger lurked in every shadow. Isla followed Ethan inside, her pulse quickening as she took in the scene.

Men sat hunched over their drinks, some whispering in hushed tones, others laughing too loudly. The bartender, a rough-looking man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barely spared them a glance.

Ethan led her toward the back, where a single booth sat against the far wall. The man waiting for them leaned back against the worn leather seat, his fingers lazily tapping against the rim of his glass.

Jaxon Cole.

His reputation preceded him. Ruthless. Unpredictable. The kind of man you only dealt with if you had no other choice.

Ethan slid into the seat across from him, his movements controlled, calculated. Isla sat beside him; her shoulders tensed.

Jaxon's gaze flickered to her, his lips curling into an amused smirk. "Didn't expect you to bring company, Alden."

Ethan didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his tone even but laced with something dangerous. "I need information."

Jaxon chuckled, shaking his head. "That's a first. Last I checked, you weren't exactly in the business of asking for favors."

Ethan's jaw tightened. "I'm not. This is a trade."

Jaxon raised a brow, clearly intrigued. "A trade, huh? And what exactly do I get in return?"

Silence stretched between them. Isla could feel Ethan's energy shift—his body language remained composed, but there was an unmistakable edge to him now.

"You name it," Ethan said.

Jaxon's smirk widened. "Now that is a dangerous thing to offer."

He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "See, Alden, I know exactly what you're after. You want Daniel. You want to tear him down. But what I don't understand is—why now? You've spent years avoiding this war. What changed?"

Ethan didn't hesitate. He turned his head slightly, just enough that his gaze landed on Isla for the briefest of moments.

Jaxon followed his line of sight, and then something clicked in his expression.

"Ah," Jaxon said slowly, his smirk deepening. "So, she's the reason."

Isla stiffened.

Ethan's voice was cold. "Stay out of it, Jaxon."

Jaxon chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax. I don't need to know the details. But it does make things more interesting."

His fingers drummed against the table, considering.

"You need my resources, my connections," Jaxon mused. "And in return, you're offering…what, exactly? Loyalty? A future favor?"

Ethan's expression didn't waver. "Yes."

Jaxon exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. "You must really be desperate."

Silence fell over the table. The weight of the decision settled like a storm cloud above them.

Then, Jaxon leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

"Fine," he said at last. "I'll help you."

Ethan didn't move. "What's the catch?"

Jaxon's smirk never wavered. "No catch. Not yet anyway. But when the time comes, I'll be collecting. And when I do, you won't say no."

Ethan held his gaze. Tension crackled between them; unspoken agreements layered beneath the words.

Finally, Ethan nodded.

Jaxon lifted his glass in mock salute. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Isla swallowed hard, her heart hammering. She wasn't sure what terrified her more—Daniel's wrath or the debt Ethan had just created.

Either way, there was no turning back now.

The ride back to the safehouse was silent. The tension between Ethan and Isla thickened with every passing second. Isla sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her fingers clutching the seatbelt as the car sped through the dark streets. The neon lights of the city blurred past the window, but she wasn't paying attention to them. Her mind was reeling.

Jaxon's words echoed in her head.

"So, she's the reason."

He had figured it out so easily.

And the way Ethan had looked at her…

Isla turned her head slightly, stealing a glance at him. His hands were tight around the wheel, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. His jaw was clenched, his entire body radiating a storm of barely contained emotions.

"You didn't have to do that," she finally said, breaking the silence.

Ethan didn't respond. His eyes remained focused on the road ahead, unreadable.

Isla's frustration simmered. "You offered him a favor in return, Ethan. Do you know what that means? Jaxon isn't someone you make deals with lightly—"

"I know what I'm doing," Ethan cut in, his voice sharper than she expected.

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're walking straight into a trap."

The car jerked slightly as Ethan pulled it to the side of a deserted street, slamming on the brakes. The sudden movement made Isla's breath hitch as she turned toward him, startled.

Ethan finally looked at her. And when he did, she felt her stomach tighten. His eyes were dark, intense, burning with something she couldn't quite name.

"Do you think I had a choice?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "Daniel is closing in. Adrian is gone. And you—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before gripping the steering wheel again. "You are in the middle of this whether you like it or not."

Isla's chest tightened.

"This isn't just about me," she argued. "You've spent years keeping your distance from all of this, Ethan. And now, you're throwing yourself back into a war you swore you'd never fight again. Why?"

Ethan looked away, his grip on the wheel tightening.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Then, his voice dropped to a near whisper.

"Because I can't lose you, too."

Isla's breath hitched.

The words hit her like a punch to the gut.

Ethan wasn't just fighting for revenge.

He was fighting for her.

For the first time, the reality of what that meant sank in.

And it terrified her.

Back at the safehouse, the air was thick with tension. Isla sat at the edge of the couch, her mind racing. Ethan stood near the window, staring outside as if expecting danger to come crashing through the door at any moment.

The dim light from the single lamp in the corner cast shadows across the room, stretching between them like an invisible barrier neither of them could cross.

Isla's voice broke the silence.

"You don't have to do this alone."

Ethan turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "I've always done this alone."

Her throat tightened. "Then maybe it's time you stopped."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You don't get it, Isla. People who get close to me end up hurt. Or worse."

She stood up, her frustration boiling over. "And you think shutting me out is the answer?"

Ethan finally turned to face her fully, his expression stormy. "I think keeping you safe is the answer."

She took a step closer, her heart pounding. "And what if I don't want to be kept safe? What if I want to fight? What if I want to stand beside you instead of being shoved into the shadows?"

His jaw clenched. "That's not an option."

"Why not?"

Ethan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His defenses were crumbling, she could see it—the way his body tensed, the way his eyes darkened with something raw and unspoken.

"Because I can't handle the thought of losing you," he admitted, his voice rough.

The confession sent a jolt through her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The space between them was charged, crackling with an energy that neither of them could ignore.

Then, Isla took another step closer.

"Then stop pushing me away," she whispered.

Ethan's eyes flickered to her lips. His breath was uneven.

Isla could feel the heat radiating from him, the storm brewing just beneath his carefully controlled exterior.

For a second—just a second—he wavered.

Then, with a quiet curse, he turned away.

"Get some rest, Isla," he muttered. "Tomorrow, everything changes."

And just like that, the moment shattered.

Isla swallowed hard, watching as he disappeared into the shadows.

But she knew.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

Isla lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind restless. Ethan's words replayed in her head—his fear of losing her, his refusal to let her fight alongside him. She understood his need to protect her, but she also knew she couldn't sit on the sidelines while everything fell apart around them.

A creak from the hallway made her stiffen.

Slowly, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet making no sound against the wooden floor. She peeked out the door, her heart thudding in her chest. Ethan was standing in the living room, his back to her, talking on his phone in hushed but urgent tones.

She shouldn't listen.

But she did.

"Jaxon, we don't have time for this," Ethan's voice was low, firm. "Daniel's men are moving faster than we expected. If we don't strike first, we're done."

A pause.

"No. She doesn't know."

Isla's stomach twisted.

"Because she doesn't need to," Ethan snapped. "I told you—I won't let her get involved."

Isla clenched her fists.

Another pause.

Ethan exhaled sharply. "I don't care what the plan was before. This is the plan now. I handle it. Alone."

The finality in his tone made something inside her snap.

Before she could think twice, she stepped forward. "You don't get to decide that."

Ethan spun around, his expression hardening the moment he saw her. He ended the call without another word.

"You shouldn't be listening in on my conversations," he said, his voice carefully controlled.

"You shouldn't be making decisions for me," she shot back, crossing her arms.

Ethan's jaw tightened. "This isn't up for discussion."

"Like hell it isn't," she snapped. "I heard everything, Ethan. You're planning to take Daniel down by yourself."

"Because that's the only way to keep you safe!"

The force of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she refused to back down.

"And what if you don't come back?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "What then? Do you think I'd be safer knowing you died alone instead of letting me help?"

Ethan stared at her, his eyes dark with frustration. With fear.

"You don't understand—"

"No," she cut in. "You don't understand. You think pushing me away will protect me, but all you're doing is tearing us apart."

The words hung in the air between them.

Ethan exhaled slowly, his body tense, his gaze locked onto hers. For the first time, his walls weren't just cracking—they were crumbling.

"I can't lose you, Isla," he whispered.

Her heart clenched. "And I can't lose you either."

A beat of silence.

Then, without thinking, Isla took a step closer. The air shifted between them, charged, electric.

Ethan's eyes flickered to her lips.

For a moment, it felt like he might give in.

Then, just as quickly, he turned away.

"Get some rest," he muttered.

Isla swallowed her frustration, watching as he disappeared down the hall.

But deep down, she knew.

This was far from over.

Hours later, the house was quiet, but Isla couldn't sleep.

She sat near the window, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Everything felt different now heavier.

Then, she heard it.

A sharp knock at the door.

Her pulse spiked.

She grabbed the nearest weapon—a small knife Ethan had left on the table—before moving cautiously toward the entrance.

Another knock.

She exhaled, steeling herself, before slowly unlocking the door and pulling it open just an inch.

A man stood outside.

Tall. Broad shoulders. A scar running down the side of his cheek.

Her breath caught.

Daniel's man.

She barely had time to react before he lunged.

Isla stumbled back, but he was faster. His hand clamped around her wrist, twisting it, making the knife fall from her grip. Panic shot through her as she struggled, but he was stronger.

"You shouldn't be here," he sneered. "Daniel wants to talk."

"Like hell he does," she spat, kicking at him.

The impact barely made him flinch.

He shoved her against the wall, pinning her in place. Isla gasped, her heart hammering.

Then, out of nowhere—

A gunshot.

The man stiffened. His grip slackened.

Then, he dropped.

Ethan stood behind him, gun still aimed, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, the only sound was Isla's ragged breathing.

Then, Ethan's eyes locked onto hers, something wild and furious burning beneath the surface.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, still shaken.

Ethan lowered the gun, but his hands were still clenched. He turned toward the fallen man, kicking him over to check for any signs of life. He was dead.

Isla swallowed hard. "How did you—"

"You left your bedroom door open," Ethan said tightly. "I knew something was wrong."

His voice was calm, but his body was anything but.

Then, suddenly, he moved toward her, closing the distance between them in two strides.

"Isla—"

Before she could react, he grabbed her face, his touch rough, desperate. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath warm against her lips.

"I told you, "He whispered, his voice shaking. "I won't lose you."

A lump formed in her throat.

Neither of them moved.

The world outside was chaos. But here, in this moment, they were the only two people that existed.

Isla reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

"I'm still here," she whispered.

Ethan exhaled sharply, his grip tightening just a little.

And then, without warning—

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful.

It was a collision.

A breaking point.

A desperate, reckless admission of everything they had both been holding back.

The war was far from over.

But for this moment, at least—

They had each other.

Ethan pulled away from the kiss first, his breathing heavy, his hands still cradling Isla's face like he wasn't ready to let go. She stared at him, her lips tingling, her heart pounding so hard it echoed in her ears.

Then reality came crashing back.

The dead man on the floor.

The fact that Ethan had just killed someone to protect her.

The war outside their fragile bubble.

Ethan swallowed hard and stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his face unreadable. "You need to pack your things. We're leaving."

Isla blinked, still trying to process everything. "Wait—what?"

Ethan turned, already moving toward the body, his movements sharp and efficient. "This wasn't random. Daniel knows where we are now. If he sent one of his men, there will be more."

She clenched her fists. "And what happens when we run out of places to hide?"

Ethan froze for a split second before glancing at her over his shoulder. "Then we fight."

There was something final in his tone that sent a shiver down her spine.

Isla hesitated. Her entire life had already been upended, and now, once again, she was being asked to leave behind everything she knew.

She should have been afraid.

She should have been hesitant.

Instead, all she felt was the certainty that no matter where they went, she would follow him.

But that didn't mean she would go quietly.

"You don't get to make this decision alone," she argued, stepping toward him. "If we're doing this, we do it together."

Ethan's jaw clenched. "Isla—"

"No," she cut him off, standing her ground. "No more shutting me out. No more acting like I'm fragile and helpless."

Ethan stared at her, his expression hard.

Then, without a word, he nodded.

The tension between them shifted, not easing, but transforming into something sharper. More resolute.

They were in this together.

And there was no turning back.

Night dawns on them

The night air was thick with tension as Ethan guided Isla through the dimly lit back alley. Every shadow felt like a threat. Every sound had her pulse spiking.

They had packed quickly—only essentials, nothing that would slow them down. Ethan had called Jaxon, arranging for a car to meet them a few blocks away. But until then, they were on their own.

"Stay close," Ethan murmured, his hand hovering just inches from hers.

She wanted to reach for him.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

They rounded a corner, and Ethan suddenly stopped, pulling her back into the shadows. Isla's breath caught as she saw why.

Two men stood at the end of the alley, their backs to them, talking in hushed voices. One of them had a gun in his hand.

Daniel's men.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Ethan turned to her, his lips barely moving as he whispered, "We go around. Follow me."

She nodded, moving as quietly as she could behind him.

But as they stepped back, Isla's foot hit a discarded bottle.

The sound of glass clinking against the pavement echoed through the alley.

The men turned.

"Shit," Ethan muttered.

Everything happened in a blur.

The first man raised his gun.

Ethan moved faster.

A single gunshot rang out, and Isla barely had time to react before Ethan shoved her behind a dumpster, shielding her with his body.

"Stay down!" he ordered.

But Isla refused to be a bystander.

She grabbed a metal pipe lying on the ground and, before she could think twice, swung it with everything she had.

It connected with the second man's wrist, making him cry out and drop his weapon.

Ethan took advantage of the distraction, knocking the first man to the ground before turning his gun on the second.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Isla's hands trembled as she looked at Ethan.

His eyes were dark, unreadable. But instead of scolding her for getting involved, he nodded once.

"Let's go," he said, his voice rough.

And just like that, they ran.

Ran toward the unknown.

Ran toward whatever was waiting for them.

Together.