Chapter 10: All for Her

Chapter 10: All for Her

Inside the glass prison, the world narrowed to a single, unbearable image: Evie, her face pale in the harsh floodlights, the black circle of a gun barrel pressed against her temple. Damien’s roar of fury echoed back at him from the impenetrable walls, a hollow, useless sound. Every ghost he had ever carried, every ounce of his eight-year quest for vengeance, coalesced into the smug, smiling face of Julian Croft.

“Your revenge, or her life. Choose.”

The words sliced through Damien’s rage, leaving behind a silence colder than death. He saw it all laid out before him with sickening clarity. He saw the grinning face of Marcus Thorne in the desert sun, a brother lost to this monster’s ambition. He felt the burning, hollow ache of grief that had fueled him, shaped him, and driven him to this very spot. His revenge was a living thing, a fire in his blood that he had nursed for nearly a decade. It was within arm’s reach.

But then his eyes locked with Evie’s.

Her hazel eyes, those brilliant, observant eyes that saw right through his defenses, were wide with fear, but not for herself. In them, he saw a desperate, silent plea—Don’t do this. Don’t throw your life away. He saw the woman who had saved him in the hallway with a kiss, the woman who had shattered his defenses with a single question, the woman who had faced down his demons and met them with compassion instead of fear. The woman who had, in the space of a few days, become the anchor Croft so callously named.

And in that instant, the choice was not a choice at all.

The fire of vengeance that had burned in him for 2,922 days was extinguished, doused by a tidal wave of gut-wrenching, absolute terror at the thought of losing her. What was avenging the dead compared to saving the living? What was a ghost compared to the warm, brilliant, fiercely alive woman standing twenty feet away?

His lifelong quest turned to ash in his mouth. He looked at Croft, his face devoid of rage, empty of everything but a cold, final decision.

“You win,” Damien said, his voice flat. He raised his hands slowly, showing them to be empty. “I surrender.”

A triumphant, reptilian smile spread across Croft’s face. He nodded to his men. “You see? Predictable.”

The lock on Damien’s glass prison hissed, and two hulking guards stepped inside, their weapons trained on him. He didn’t resist as they grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back with brutal efficiency. He was a prisoner. He had failed Marcus. He had lost.

But Evie was still alive. It was the only victory that mattered.

And then, the night exploded.

The piercing shriek of feedback tore through the air, followed by a voice amplified by a bullhorn. “JULIAN CROFT, THIS IS THE FBI! YOU ARE SURROUNDED! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND RELEASE THE HOSTAGE!”

Chaos erupted. The air filled with the roar of approaching vehicles, the thud of helicopter blades beating the air, and the blinding strobes of red and blue lights cutting through the darkness. Evie’s emergency transponder. She had never stopped thinking, never stopped fighting.

Croft’s victorious smirk vanished, replaced by a snarl of pure fury. His perfectly orchestrated trap had crumbled. The German and South American buyers scattered like rats, trying to flee into the chaos. Croft’s men opened fire on the approaching FBI agents, turning the lakeside pavilion into a warzone of muzzle flashes and screaming ricochets.

In the confusion, the guards holding Damien were distracted. It was the only opening he needed. He drove his head back into the face of one guard, shattering his nose. He twisted, using the other guard’s grip as a fulcrum, and snapped the man’s wrist with a sickening crack. Free, he scooped up a fallen pistol and melted back into the shadows at the edge of the firefight, his eyes scanning for only one person.

He saw her. Croft, his escape plan ruined, had grabbed Evie, using her as a human shield as he retreated from the pavilion, heading towards the dark shape of a seaplane moored at a private dock.

“Damien!” Evie’s voice, sharp and clear even in the chaos, cut through the gunfire. She wasn’t screaming. She was analyzing. “The seaplane! He’s heading for the seaplane! He damaged the starboard pontoon strut on the dock when he landed—I saw it!”

Trust. It was instant and absolute. He didn’t question her, didn’t hesitate. While the FBI agents were focused on suppressing Croft’s security detail, Damien broke from cover, a grey blur moving with lethal purpose. He ignored the open ground, instead vaulting over a decorative stone wall and sprinting along the dark shoreline, using the water’s edge as his concealment.

He reached the dock just as Croft was shoving Evie towards the plane’s open door.

“Get in!” Croft snarled, his composure shredded, revealing the desperate animal beneath.

“Damien, the fuel line!” Evie shouted, twisting in Croft’s grasp, her eyes locked on a thin, exposed pipe near the pontoon strut she had mentioned. “It’s right below the main intake! It’s unprotected!”

That was it. That was the shot. Not a kill shot. A disabling shot.

Damien rose from the shadows, his pistol steady in a two-handed grip. He had a clear line of sight. He could end this. He could put a bullet in Croft’s head and avenge Marcus. The ghost of his past screamed at him to take the shot.

He ignored it. He wasn’t that man anymore. Vengeance was a lonely, empty pursuit. Saving her was everything.

He adjusted his aim, shifting a few inches lower. He exhaled, his training taking over, and squeezed the trigger. The crack of the pistol was sharp and singular. Not at Croft’s head, but at the weak point Evie had identified.

The bullet struck the damaged pontoon strut, ricocheted with a metallic scream, and severed the exposed fuel line. Avgas sprayed out in a fine, volatile mist.

Croft froze, realizing what had happened. A single spark, a single stray shot from the firefight behind them, and the entire plane would become a fireball. His escape route was gone. He was trapped.

Enraged, he shoved Evie hard, sending her stumbling off the dock and into the shallow, icy water. He turned to fire on Damien, but Damien was already moving. He launched himself across the short distance, tackling Croft with the full force of his body. The two men crashed onto the wooden planks of the dock. It wasn’t a fight of skill; it was a brutal, primal collision. Damien’s fists, once instruments of a cold, vengeful rage, were now fueled by a fierce, protective fire. He wasn’t fighting to kill a monster. He was fighting to get back to her. He landed a clean, devastating blow to Croft’s jaw, and the man who had haunted his life for eight years went limp.

The sound of approaching FBI agents grew louder. Damien didn’t wait. He ignored the unconscious form of his nemesis and plunged into the lake.

Evie was sputtering, trying to get her footing. The water was shockingly cold, her clothes dragging her down. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her upright.

“Damien,” she gasped, her teeth chattering.

He held her, his body shielding her from the chaos on the shore. He pushed her wet hair back from her face, his hands surprisingly gentle, his eyes scanning her for any injury. The firefight, the shouting, the approaching agents—it all faded into a dull, distant roar. The world was reduced to the circle of his arms.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t a question. It was a prayer of thanks.

“I told you my methods were effective,” she whispered, a shaky, watery smile touching her lips.

He looked at her, truly looked at her. He saw her intelligence, her courage, her unshakable strength. Together, they had done what his vengeance never could. They had dismantled a monster, not with blind rage, but with trust, with synergy. His brawn and her brain. His lethal skill and her brilliant mind. They were more than partners. They were two halves of a whole.

He leaned down and kissed her, a kiss that tasted of lake water, adrenaline, and a final, absolute surrender. It wasn't for a guard, or for a mission, or for an audience. It was a promise. The ghost of Marcus Thorne was finally at peace, replaced by the breathtaking, terrifying, and beautiful reality of the woman in his arms.

As the FBI swarmed the dock, placing the dazed Julian Croft in custody, Damien held Evie closer. The mission was over. His vengeance was over. And for the first time in eight years, standing in the cold water with the woman who had saved him in more ways than she would ever know, Damien Cross felt truly, completely alive.