Chapter 9
Xavier held Amara for a long moment, the chaos of the outside world momentarily suspended by the desperate, clinging embrace. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Slowly, he pulled back, his dark, intense eyes scanning her face for any injuries. Finding none, he framed her face with his bloody, tattooed hands.
"You did perfectly," Xavier murmured, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears escaping her eyes. "You are incredibly brave, Amara."
He stood up, pulling her to her feet with him. He walked past her to the bathroom, gently pushing open the cracked door. Elijah was huddled beneath the pile of thick white towels in the marble tub, perfectly silent, just as Amara had instructed.
"Elijah," Xavier said softly.
The towels shifted, and the little boy peered out. Seeing his father, Elijah scrambled over the edge of the tub and threw himself at Xavier’s legs. Xavier lifted him, holding him tightly despite the dirt and blood on his clothes.
"Daddy! You came back from the war!" Elijah cried, burying his face in his father’s neck.
"I always will, my son," Xavier promised, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over Elijah’s shoulder at Amara, standing trembling in the doorway.
The fragile peace was shattered by the sound of a heavy body crashing against the wall just outside the bedroom door.
Xavier instantly handed Elijah to Amara, his demeanor flipping from a loving father back to a ruthless killer in a fraction of a second. He snatched his dropped rifle from the floor and stepped to the doorway, moving with lethal grace.
Amara clutched Elijah to her chest, stepping back into the shadows of the room. She watched as Xavier peered into the hallway.
"Silas!" Xavier barked.
"Clear!" Silas's voice echoed back, tight with pain. "We got them all, boss. But there's a problem."
Xavier stepped out into the hall. Amara cautiously followed a few steps behind, unwilling to let him out of her sight again. The corridor was a nightmare of bullet holes, shattered glass, and bodies. Silas was leaning heavily against a wall, clutching his bleeding side. At his feet was a man Amara didn't recognize, coughing violently, blood bubbling from his lips.
It was one of Marcus’s mercenaries.
Xavier walked slowly toward the dying man, his boots crunching on broken glass. He looked down at him with absolute, freezing contempt.
"Who sent the coordinates?" Xavier asked, his voice low, measured, and terrifying. "Marcus is too stupid to find this place on his own."
The mercenary laughed, a wet, rattling sound. "Your... your bitch."
Xavier’s jaw tightened. The negative space on his neck tattoos seemed to stretch as the muscles strained. "Vivian."
"She said... she said if she couldn't have the empire... she'd burn it down," the man gasped out, a sickening grin spreading across his face. "She gave us the access codes. She gave us everything."
Xavier didn't say another word. He simply raised his boot and brought it down heavily on the man’s throat, silencing him forever.
Amara gasped, stepping back, covering Elijah’s eyes. The brutal, unapologetic violence was shocking, a stark reminder of the dark reality they were drowning in.
Xavier turned slowly. He looked at Silas. "Patch yourself up. Gather whatever men can still walk. We are leaving."
"Where, boss?" Silas asked, gritting his teeth against his pain.
May you like
Xavier’s eyes met Amara’s across the bloody hallway. His gaze was no longer just protective; it was possessive, deeply burning with a fiery, unyielding resolve.
"We are going back to the city," Xavier stated coldly. "Vivian wanted to start a fire. It is time I showed her how it feels to burn."
