FAR GONE

Chapter 10

The house smelled faintly of antiseptic, the scent still clinging to Liam’s skin from the hospital. We had been discharged only a few days ago, and though the doctors assured us that Liam’s condition was stabilizing, their words were always wrapped with caution: “Make sure he comes for his check-ups… don’t miss a single appointment.” Those reminders echoed in my head as I stood by his bedroom door.

Liam’s breathing was steady now, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that almost felt like a victory song to me. For the first time in weeks, he was resting without pain etched across his face. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I turned from him quietly and made my way toward the living room, where Aria sat on the couch. The exhaustion in her eyes was hidden beneath a forced smile, but I could see it. She had fought harder than anyone for Liam, and I respected her for that.

“I’ll be checking in on you both,” I told her, pausing near the doorway. My tone was calm but firm, the kind of tone that carried more promise than words could. “If there’s any issue—anything at all—please let me know immediately.”

She nodded, her hands folded tightly in her lap. But just as I turned to leave, her voice cut through the silence.

“Kael.”

I stopped. My hand lingered on the doorknob, and I looked back at her.

“You can… call anytime you like,” she said softly, her gaze flickering between the floor and me.

For a moment, I just stood there, caught off guard. Then I gave a small nod, my lips curving in the faintest smile. “I will.”

I stepped outside into the cool evening air. Relief weighed lighter on my chest than it had in weeks. Liam was okay, Aria was holding strong, and if I could push Darren into the position I’d been planning—leader of the subsidiaries—then my circle would finally be secure. With power and money locked into my hands, Milton would have no chance against me. For the first time, it felt like victory was close enough to touch.

But fate is cruel when it chooses its moments.

A car sped past me, too close, the wind slapping my face. Before I could react, its rear door swung open. A flash of steel cut across my vision, and searing pain exploded in my hand.

“s**t—!” I staggered back, clutching my bleeding palm. Warm blood streamed between my fingers, dripping onto the pavement.

The car screeched to a halt a few meters ahead. The night swallowed the sound of its tires, leaving only the thundering beat of my heart. The doors burst open, and shadows poured out like a flood.

One. Two. Three.

By the time I counted, there were fifteen of them. Fifteen men, each holding knives that glinted under the pale streetlights.

My breath came slow, deliberate, as I flexed my wounded hand. Pain was already spreading up my arm, but I forced myself to stand straighter, to meet them head-on.

Fifteen against one.

My mind was already calculating, already shifting into survival.

And the night had just begun.

The night air was heavy with the stench of smoke and city dust, but I barely noticed it. My hand dripped warm blood from the first s***h they’d carved into me, yet my mind was sharp, teeth gritted, rage burning through my veins. Fifteen of them stood before me, blades glinting under the streetlight.

I steadied my stance and growled, “Who sent you to me?”

Their leader, a tall man with a scar running down his jaw, spat on the ground and sneered.

“How dare you, Kael? You’ve messed with the wrong people. Coveting what isn’t yours comes with a price.”

My jaw clenched. One name rose like venom on my tongue.

“Was it Seraphine?”

The man’s grin widened. His men tensed, blades twitching in their hands.

“If it’s her, does it matter? You’ll die tonight either way.”

They came at me all at once—fifteen shadows moving like wolves closing in for the kill. The first swung for my throat; I ducked, caught his wrist, and drove my elbow into his nose. Blood sprayed across my arm as I tore the knife from his hand and rammed it into his gut.

Another blade nicked my ribs, hot pain ripping through me. I gritted my teeth, pivoted, and slammed my fist into his throat. He choked, dropped his weapon, and I buried it in his chest.

But they were skilled—trained killers. Their movements weren’t sloppy street brawls; they knew how to strike to end a man. Every s***h aimed for an artery, every thrust meant for the heart. My body was screaming, cuts piling up, but I didn’t let up. I couldn’t.

Steel clashed against steel as I blocked one strike with a stolen blade, spun, and kicked the attacker into the hood of the parked car. Another lunged for my back; I rolled, came up behind him, and slit his throat before he even realized he’d missed.

Blood coated the ground. My arms ached, my chest burned, but I kept moving—strike, twist, kill.

One by one, they fell. Their screams echoed down the empty street. Every move I made was instinct sharpened by survival. I wasn’t fighting for victory—I was fighting to live.

By the time the last two charged me, my shirt was torn and soaked crimson, my breath ragged. I let them come. At the last second, I sidestepped, dragged one into the path of the other’s blade, and buried my knife into the survivor’s chest. Both crumpled at my feet.

The only one left was the leader. His bravado was gone; his eyes were wide, legs stumbling back as he turned to run.

“No,” I hissed, charging after him.

He barely made it three steps before I caught him, slamming him against the car. His knife clattered to the ground as I pressed mine against his throat.

“Please—don’t!” he begged, trembling, blood from his men staining his boots. “Spare me! I was just following orders!”

I leaned close, my face inches from his, eyes cold.

“That’s your mistake. You thought I was prey.”

Before he could utter another word, I drove the blade deep into his chest and twisted, feeling his body jolt before going limp. I let him slide to the pavement, lifeless, his plea still echoing in the night.

My hands were drenched, my chest heaving. Fifteen men lay dead around me, their blades scattered like broken promises. My body was carved with wounds, but I was still standing. Alive.