Ch. 5
1174 Words
CASSIAN DRAVEN
I glanced around the apartment fast. My instincts counted heads, exits, weapons. The only thing within reach was the ceramic vase sitting pretty on the coffee table. A gift from Laura. I’d always hated it.
“You want a confession?” I said, voice steady despite the chaos in my veins.
Laura looked at me and for a second, the room dropped away. Not fear. Not blame. Just... trust.
The kind that gutted you when you’d let someone down before.
I wasn’t letting that happen again.
“Then face me like men,” I said. “Leave her out of this.”
The big one holding Laura chuckled, low and mocking. “You really think you can take on all four of us, champ?”
I stared him down. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They didn’t wait for a second invitation.
Two of them lunged.
I moved first, ducked low as the first guy’s fist shot past my face. I swept his legs, sending him crashing into the bookshelf, and as the second charged in, I snatched the vase from the coffee table and slammed it into the side of his head.
The vase shattered.
He didn’t drop.
He staggered, stunned, and I used that second to punch him in the throat—hard. He gagged, crumpling to his knees. But before I could finish him off, the first guy was back on his feet, tackling me to the ground. My back slammed into the hardwood with a sickening thud.
Laura screamed.
I barely heard her over the adrenaline roaring in my ears.
The guy on top of me threw a punch. I twisted, taking it to the side of my face instead of my jaw. My head spun, pain bursting behind my eye. I drove my elbow into his ribs, once, twice, until he grunted and rolled off.
But the third man was already coming.
Another kick, this time to my gut. I curled in, clutching my side.
Somewhere in my skull, a stupid memory surfaced. Laura humming in the shower, off-key, always Adele. Said she wasn’t afraid of anything except being forgotten.
Not tonight.
I forced myself up, blood in my mouth, rage in my throat.
“Cassian!” Laura sobbed. “Please—”
The fourth guy, the big bastard still holding her, was smiling now.
“Your girl’s got a front-row seat,” he said. “Keep performing, champ.”
I growled, barreling into the guy closest to me and slamming him into the wall. His head cracked against the plaster. He went limp.
One down.
Another wrapped his arm around my neck from behind, trying to choke me out. I gritted my teeth, grabbed his arm, and twisted. He screamed as I dislocated his shoulder, then I threw him forward over my back.
Two down.
But it cost me.
The third caught me with a right hook to the jaw—fast, clean. I reeled, ears ringing, knees threatening to buckle. I saw stars.
Then I saw Laura.
Still crying. Still trapped.
That was all I needed.
I swung back with everything I had. My knuckles split on impact, but he went down.
I turned to the last one. The ringleader.
Still holding Laura. Still smiling.
“Let her go,” I growled, wiping blood from my mouth.
He didn’t.
His thick fingers tangled in her hair like he owned her. She was crying now, but quieter, her body frozen in fear. That sound—silent, hopeless sobbing—it split something open in me.
I charged him.
He released Laura just in time to square up, but I was already on him. My fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He grunted but didn’t fall. Bastard was too solid.
He grabbed my shoulders, shoved me back, and I crashed into the edge of the kitchen counter. Pain shot through my spine, but I didn't stop. I twisted around him, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed his head into the fridge.
Once.
Twice.
Blood smeared silver.
He roared, elbowing me in the ribs. I staggered, winded, and he came at me again, fists wild now. One hit caught my temple, and I felt the room tip sideways.
But I blinked through it. I blinked through everything.
With a snarl, I reached for the broken leg of the shattered coffee table and drove it into his side like a stake. He howled, stumbling.
Then I punched him again—this time in the throat.
He dropped.
I stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from my split lip onto the floor, and finally, I heard it.
Sirens.
Flashing lights bled in through the living room windows. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded in the hall.
Police.
I staggered to Laura, her hands trembling as she touched my face, eyes wide with shock. “Cassian, are you—?”
“Stay behind me,” I breathed.
The front door burst open.
“Drop the weapon! Hands where we can see them!”
I turned to the officers—five of them, guns raised, vests strapped, no hesitation in their voices. My hands flew up.
“It’s fine. I called—”
“Down on the ground, now!”
“I was defending—”
“Down!”
Before I could explain, two of them rushed forward. One slammed me to the ground, knee in my back, wrenching my arms behind me. Cold steel clicked around my wrists. The other shouted my rights like it mattered.
“What the f**k are you doing?” I shouted, struggling against their grip. “I’m the one who called! She was the victim, I—”
“Sir, you can explain in custody.”
“No, no—Laura!” I shouted as they dragged me toward the door. “Tell them what happened!”
Laura followed, wide-eyed and breathless. “Officers, please—he didn’t do anything wrong. They were trying to hurt me. He saved me!”
The cops ignored her.
They hauled me down the hallway like I was the criminal, not the man bleeding from three different places.
“Let me call my lawyer,” I barked.
“You’ll get your call in custody,” one of them snapped, tightening the cuffs.
“Laura!” I yelled, twisting my neck to look back at her. She stood frozen in the doorway, one arm across her chest. “Call Thea!” My voice cracked. “Tell her I’ve been arrested. Call Thea Lysander!”
That flicker.
Recognition. Realization. Fear.
She knew.
She knew who Thea was—what she was to me.
Just saying her name used to feel like swallowing broken glass.
And in that frozen second, I saw the question behind her eyes.
Would she do it?
Would she call the woman who once owned every part of me—body, mind, soul?
Or would she let me rot—just long enough for Thea to never come?
- Writer
