Forbidden Desires: A DARK ROMANCE NOVEL

Chapter 19

The scarred man barely has time to process Mickey’s movement before a sharp crack echoes through the warehouse. Mickey’s fist connects with the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling into a stack of crates that topple like dominoes.

"First mistake," Mickey says, his voice gravelly through the voice enhancer. "Underestimating me."

The room erupts into chaos. Guns are drawn, shouts fill the air, and men charge toward Mickey, who moves with lethal precision. He disarms one attacker with a swift twist of the wrist, shattering the man’s elbow before flipping him to the ground. Another rushes in with a crowbar, only for Mickey to duck under the swing and counter with a brutal knee to the ribs.

Ziana watches, her wrists still bound but her sharp eyes taking everything in. "You’ve got to be kidding me," she mutters under her breath, half in awe, half in irritation. "Who brings a voice changer to a fistfight?"

Mickey spins toward her for half a second, catching her comment. "Focus on staying alive, Montana. Comedy can wait."

"Noted," she snaps, yanking harder at the ropes around her wrists.

More men flood into the warehouse, their heavy boots echoing against the concrete floor. Mickey grabs a nearby wrench and swings it like a weapon, the clang of metal against skulls ringing through the air. The odds are stacked against him, but he doesn’t falter. His movements are calculated, relentless, as if he’s fighting for something far more important than his own life.

One of the men pulls a knife and lunges at Mickey. He sidesteps, grabs the man’s wrist, and slams it against the edge of the table. The knife clatters to the ground, and Mickey drives an elbow into the man’s throat, sending him gasping to the floor.

"Alright, boys," the scarred man snarls, stumbling to his feet. He grabs a pistol from his waistband and points it at Mickey. "Enough of this nonsense. Drop the wrench, or I’ll—"

Mickey throws the wrench with pinpoint accuracy, hitting the scarred man’s wrist and causing the gun to fly out of his hand. "You were saying?" Mickey taunts, stepping closer.

The scarred man growls in frustration, rubbing his wrist. "You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you?"

Mickey stops inches away from him, the mask making his voice even more chilling. "No. I’m the monster they call to kill other monsters."

Before the scarred man can respond, the butt of a rifle slams into the back of Mickey’s head. He stumbles forward, momentarily disoriented, and another man delivers a vicious kick to his ribs. Mickey hits the ground but rolls to his feet quickly, his hands clenched into fists.

The scarred man picks up his pistol and strides over to Ziana, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet. She winces but doesn’t resist, her glare searing into him. He presses the tip of the gun against her temple, his grip tight and unyielding.

"One more move," he sneers at Mickey, "and I swear, I’ll blow her brains out."

Mickey freezes, his chest heaving as he assesses the situation. His hands slowly lower to his sides. "You wouldn’t dare," he challenges, his voice ice-cold.

The scarred man c***s the gun, pressing it harder against Ziana’s head. "Try me."

Ziana’s lips curl into a defiant smirk, despite the weapon aimed at her. "You’re going to regret this, Scarface. Trust me."

"Shut up," the man snaps, shaking her roughly.

Mickey finally raises his hands in surrender, his mind racing. "Alright. Just don’t hurt her." He bends down and places his gun on the ground, then kicks it across the floor as instructed.

The scarred man smirks victoriously. "That’s more like it. Now, let’s talk about—"

His words are interrupted by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoing through the warehouse.

A man in a pristine white suit steps into the room, his lion’s head mask glinting under the dim light. The voice enhancer he wears distorts his words into a low, commanding growl. "Enough."

Everyone turns toward the masked figure, the room falling into an uneasy silence.

Mickey’s eyes narrow beneath his dragon mask. "You," he growls, venom dripping from the single word.

Even through the voice enhancer, Mickey recognizes the man. The same man who was bold enough to confront Mickey in his turf the same man who has tried to get him (Mickey) to join him and when he couldn't, resulted to blackmailing him. The same man who had been blackmailing him with threats against Ziana.

The lion-masked man tilts his head, his presence radiating power and control. "Well, well," he says, his distorted voice chilling. "I was hoping we’d meet again, Morningstar."

The tension in the air is palpable as the two masked men face off. The scarred man glances nervously between them, his grip on Ziana tightening.

"You’ve made a mistake coming here," the lion-masked man continues, his voice calm but dangerous. "This isn’t your fight to win."

Mickey takes a step forward, his fists clenched. "It stopped being your fight the moment you dragged her into it."

The lion-masked man chuckles darkly. "Oh, Mickey. You still don’t understand, do you? This was never about her. It’s about you."

Mickey’s jaw tightens. "Then let her go. Now."

The lion-masked man doesn’t answer. Instead, he snaps his fingers.

The lights in the warehouse flicker off, plunging the room into darkness.

And then, chaos erupts.

The darkness is absolute, swallowing the room in an impenetrable void. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoing of ragged breaths and the distant hum of machinery. Then, a gunshot rings out, piercing the silence like a dagger.

Ziana flinches instinctively, her heart pounding in her chest. "What the hell is going on?" she mutters under her breath. She can't see a thing, only feel the clammy hand of the scarred man gripping her arm like a vice.

"Stay still," he hisses, his voice laced with panic.

Meanwhile, Mickey is already moving. Darkness is his ally, his training making him lethal in low visibility. He slips silently through the chaos, listening, calculating. A grunt of pain to his left. A muffled cry behind him. He's dismantling the scarred man's crew, one by one.

"You can’t hide forever, Mickey!" The lion-masked man’s voice booms through the darkness, distorted and commanding. "You think the shadows will save you? They belong to me!"

Mickey smirks under his dragon mask, his movements fluid and precise. "Funny," he murmurs to himself. "Last I checked, the shadows didn’t pick sides."

Ziana is still tugging at her restraints when a hand brushes her shoulder. She gasps, swinging her bound hands in a desperate attempt to fight back.

"Relax, Montana," Mickey’s voice growls softly in her ear. "It’s me."

Her head snaps toward his direction, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Could’ve led with that," she snaps, her voice trembling slightly. "And, wait—how do you know my name? Especially my last name? I’d definitely remember if I had a friend with a thing for dragon masks!"

Mickey glares at her through the darkness, his masked face unreadable. "Focus on staying alive," he mutters, cutting through her question like a blade.

"Noted," she bites back, not letting her irritation falter.

"Hold still." Mickey pulls a knife from his belt, slicing through the ropes in one swift motion. Ziana rubs her wrists, the circulation slowly returning.

"About time," she mutters. "Now, care to explain why I’m in the middle of some bizarre Halloween-themed shootout?"

"Not now," Mickey replies, his tone clipped. He grabs her arm, guiding her toward cover behind a stack of crates.

Before Ziana can press him further, the lights flicker back on, revealing the c*****e. Bodies litter the floor, groaning men clutching wounds or lying unconscious. The lion-masked man stands in the center of the room, flanked by heavily armed guards. His posture is calm, almost bored, as if the chaos around him is nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"You’ve lost, Mickey," the lion-masked man says, his voice a low growl. "You’re outnumbered. Outgunned. And let’s not forget..." He gestures toward Ziana. "You have a liability."

Ziana bristles. "Excuse me?"

"Ignore him," Mickey says, stepping in front of her protectively.

The lion-masked man chuckles, a sound that sends chills down Ziana’s spine. "Touching. But misguided." He raises a hand, and his guards level their weapons at Mickey and Ziana.

"Any last words, Mickey?"

Mickey tilts his head, his stance relaxed despite the odds. "Just one."

The lion-masked man waits, clearly intrigued.

"Boom."

The explosion rips through the warehouse, sending a shockwave that knocks everyone off their feet. Ziana screams, covering her head as debris rains down. Smoke fills the air, obscuring everything in a choking haze.

When the dust begins to settle, Ziana blinks through the fog, her ears ringing. She can barely make out Mickey, who’s already dragging her toward an open exit.

"What the hell was that?" she coughs, stumbling over the rubble.

"A distraction," Mickey replies curtly.

"For what?"

"To level the playing field."

Behind them, the lion-masked man emerges from the smoke, his suit singed but otherwise unharmed. His voice booms, more menacing than ever. "You think you can escape me, Mickey? This isn’t over!"

Mickey glances back, his grip on Ziana tightening. "It’s not about escaping."

The lion-masked man tilts his head. "Oh? Then what is it about?"

Mickey smirks under his mask. "Making sure you remember who you’re dealing with."

Before the lion-masked man can respond, Mickey yanks Ziana out of the warehouse and into the night.

As they sprint toward a waiting car, Ziana glances at him, her face a mixture of confusion and frustration. "You’ve got a lot of explaining to do."

"Get in line," Mickey mutters, shoving her into the passenger seat.

But as he slides into the driver’s seat, his smirk fades. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, where the warehouse looms in the distance.

The lion-masked man is standing in the doorway, watching them. And even from this distance, Mickey can feel the promise in his gaze.

This is far from over.

---

The car screeches away from the chaos of the warehouse, the distant echoes of shouting and sirens fading into the night. Ziana glares at the masked figure in the driver’s seat, her arms crossed tightly, her mind racing.

"Alright, Dragon-Man, spill," she snaps, her hazel eyes blazing. "Who the hell are you? Why the hell was I kidnapped? And what type of twisted hellscape did I just stumble into?"

Mickey doesn’t even glance her way. His hands grip the wheel, steady and precise, as he maneuvers through the darkened streets. "You’re welcome," he says flatly, his voice distorted by the enhancer.

Ziana blinks, momentarily thrown. "Welcome? Are you serious? You dragged me out of a building that exploded, and you think that counts as an explanation?"

"You’re alive, aren’t you?" he replies, his tone still monotone.

"Alive, yes. Informed? No!" she shoots back. "I didn’t ask for this! I was living my life, minding my own business, and then bam—kidnapped by goons, tied to a chair, and now I’m in a getaway car with a wannabe comic book villain. So, forgive me if I’m not throwing you a parade."

Mickey’s jaw tightens under the mask. "You talk too much."

"And you don’t talk enough!" she retorts. "Seriously, what’s with the voice changer? Are you trying to be Batman, or is this just a side gig to fund your cosplay hobby?"

He lets out a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. "Focus on staying quiet."

"Not happening," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "What’s your deal, huh? CIA? FBI? Some underground cult that collects creepy masks? Are you even on my side, or am I just trading one set of psychos for another?"

Mickey cuts a sharp corner, the tires squealing. "You’ll find out soon enough."

"Oh, fantastic," Ziana says, throwing her hands up. "I love cryptic riddles. Very comforting."

For a moment, the car is silent except for the hum of the engine. Ziana stares at him, her mind churning with questions she can’t stop herself from asking. "Why me?" she finally demands, her voice softer but no less urgent. "Why did they take me? What do they want?"

Mickey hesitates, his grip on the wheel tightening. "You were leverage."

"Leverage for what?" she presses, her frustration mounting. "Against who?"

He doesn’t answer, his silence only fueling her anger.

Ziana groans, slumping back in her seat. "Unbelievable. I’m stuck with a masked mute who thinks brooding is a personality trait."

"You’ll thank me later," Mickey mutters.

She barks out a laugh, sharp and humorless. "Oh, sure. Let me just write a thank-you card right now. ‘Dear Mr. Dragon-Head, thanks for rescuing me from a kidnapping I never asked for and leaving me with more questions than answers. Sincerely, your favorite hostage.’"

Mickey pulls the car into an abandoned alleyway and cuts the engine. The sudden silence feels heavy, almost suffocating. He turns to her, his dark eyes visible through the slits of the mask. "We’re here."

Ziana blinks. "Where’s here? And don’t say something vague like ‘safe.’ I’m not in the mood."

Before he can respond, the faint sound of footsteps echoes down the alley. Mickey stiffens, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun holstered at his side.

Ziana notices his reaction and narrows her eyes. "Oh, great. More surprises. What now?"

Mickey doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens his door and steps out, scanning the shadows. The alley is empty—or so it seems. Ziana follows, despite her better judgment, her arms crossed as she glares at him.

"If this is some kind of trap—" she starts, but Mickey holds up a hand to silence her.

"Stay close," he orders.

Ziana rolls her eyes. "Like I have a choice."

The sound of footsteps grows louder, closer. Mickey shifts his stance, his body tense, ready for a fight. Ziana peers around him, her heart pounding.

A figure steps into view at the far end of the alley, their silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Ziana squints, trying to make out the details, when a low, distorted voice echoes toward them.

"Mickey," the figure says, their tone dripping with menace. "Did you really think you could escape me?"

Ziana’s stomach drops. She turns to Mickey, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Mickey? Who the hell is that? Is he talking to you?"

Mickey doesn’t answer. His focus remains locked on the approaching figure, his hand tightening around his weapon.

Ziana grabs his arm, her frustration boiling over. "Hey! Answer me! What’s going on?"

He finally glances at her, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. "Stay behind me."

"Like hell I will," she snaps. "You owe me answers, and I’m not taking another step until—"

Her words are cut off by the sharp click of a gun being c****d. The figure in the alley raises their weapon, aiming it directly at Mickey.

Ziana freezes, her breath catching in her throat. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," she mutters.

Mickey steps forward, shielding her with his body. "This isn’t your fight," he says quietly.

The figure chuckles, the sound cold and sinister. "Oh, but it is now. You made sure of that when you brought her into this."

Ziana’s eyes dart between Mickey and the stranger, her mind racing. "Wait a second," she says, her voice rising in panic. "Brought me into what? What the hell is going on?"

Mickey doesn’t answer. His focus is entirely on the figure, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The figure tilts their head, their grin visible even in the shadows. "Care to explain, Mickey? Or should I?"

Mickey’s silence is deafening, and Ziana feels the ground shift beneath her.

"Mickey," she whispers, the name tasting foreign on her tongue. "Who are you?"

Mickey doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t move.

And in that moment, Ziana realizes the answer might be more terrifying than she ever imagined.