Chapter 19

I was telling you guys i was dragging this story on for too long. Should have ended when they found Kaia, but i had a lot of drafts with lots of ideas before that i probably should have put in before Kaia's abduction so i just decided to put some of them in here. I'm already done with this, so i'll upload over the next couple of days with HT.Might upload the rest of the drafts as part of the prequel.But anyway, let's see how it goes!Love uuuuuuu♥️♥️♥️

Phayu's POV

Later that night, I'm sitting back in the warehouse chair—legs stretched, glass of whiskey in hand—watching Rain work.

He's art in motion. Beautiful, brutal, efficient. The way he moves between them—precise, fluid, almost surgical. The blood sprays in arcs, the screams echo against the concrete walls, but he doesn't flinch.

He leans into it...revels in it.

He's gorgeous like this.

"Baby," I call out, voice calm, lazy, like I'm not watching my husband carve a man open by the ribs, "not that I'm complaining, but you know you could've worn literally anything else and not one of your many whites?"

He doesn't pause. Doesn't even glance at me. Just finishes what he's doing with a flick of his wrist and turns, soaked in red, wearing that damn white button-up shirt and pants that used to be pristine.

His smile is wild. Blood streaked across his face, some drying, some still fresh.

He stalks over to me, steps sure, confident, and drops into my lap without asking—like he knows he belongs there, even like this.

He kisses me, mouth hot and filthy, tasting like violence and victory.

Then he leans in, breath ghosting over my jaw as he whispers, "You love when I'm in white and all bloody."

And fuck. He's right. I do.

I look at him—face streaked with blood, eyes alight with that sick, satisfied gleam and I can't help it.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

He grins like he owns the world. "I know. You tell me every day."

I kiss him again, hard and possessive, then pull back just enough to speak.

"So," I say casually, "Kaia came to me asking for khom chao."

He groans immediately. "Of course she did."

"I said okay of course," I continue, "but then I asked if she'd asked you. She said you said no." I raise an eyebrow. "Which explained a lot."

Rain chuckles, shaking his head. "That spoilt little brat."

I snort into my glass. "Takes one to know one."

He gasps, all mock offense, hand pressed to his bloody chest. "Phi!"

"What?" I shrug, deadpan. "Anyway, I told her if you said no, I can't say yes."

He narrows his eyes at me, suspicious. "And you stuck to that?"

I grin and sip my whiskey. "I'm not trying to sleep on the couch tonight, baby."

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

"But anyway," I say, swirling the whiskey, "I made her a deal. She eats lunch, I take her to Sky's for dessert."

Rain raises an eyebrow. "Of course you did."

I smirk. "I knew she'd crash right after lunch. That nap was coming whether she liked it or not."

He laughs, shaking his head. "Manipulative."

"I call it strategic parenting," I say, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "And as predicted—she woke up, immediately forgot about it, started harassing me about how many flowers we should plant in the courtyard instead."

Rain chuckles. "Distracted by her own chaos. She really is your kid."

"She's our kid," I correct, watching the blood dry along his collarbone. "But yeah... she's got your mouth and my tactics. Dangerous combination."

He grins, satisfied. "She's perfect."

"She is," I agree, tugging him closer again. "But not as perfect as you look, covered in blood and still smug about it."

One of the idiots tied up near the wall groans, voice hoarse and trembling—"Please... let us go..."

Rain sighs against my forehead, lips brushing my skin. "Ruined the moment."

I exhale slowly, irritated. Then, without even looking, I reach for my gun, aim, and fire. The shot cracks through the warehouse, clean and deliberate. The bullet punches into the guy's thigh. He screams, collapsing onto himself, blood pooling fast.

I don't flinch.

"When I'm talking to my husband," I say calmly, reholstering the gun, "you keep quiet. The next person to interrupt gets one between the eyes."

Silence.Beautiful, ringing silence.

I turn back to Rain, brushing a blood-specked curl from his face.

"As I was saying, baby..." I murmur, fingers still in his hair, "you're perfect. And every time I watch you like this—owning every inch of the room—I fall harder."

Rain grins, like he already knows. His hands slide down my chest, palms pressing flat against me as he shifts in my lap.

"You're only saying that 'cause I sucked you off good this afternoon."

"And you did that after feeding me and my daughter," I say, proud and a little turned on. "Now you're playing with me. That's husband material, right there."

He snorts, resting his head against my shoulder for a moment, letting the tension bleed off both of us. Then he lifts his head, glances over at the remaining two tied-up men—now wide-eyed and visibly shaking—and sighs again.

"Think they'll be more cooperative now?"

"They'll piss themselves if you ask nicely."

He hums. "Tempting. But you're the one who likes long sessions. I'm more of a zero talking, get-home-by-dinner type."

I kiss his temple. "Which is why I married you."

He rolls his eyes. "No, you married me because I looked good in white, saved you on the first night of our date and didn't freak out when I saw your basement."

"Well," I shrug, "that too."

Rain climbs off my lap and walks back toward the table, calm, graceful, barefoot in white soaked red, and every man in that room watches him like he's death incarnate. He picks up a knife—my knife—and spins it once between his fingers.

"You want to talk to them first, or should I?"

I stand, sip the last of my whiskey, and set the glass down.

"I already told them what happens if they interrupt again," I say, walking to his side. "Now it's time to ask the right questions."

He smiles without warmth, blade gleaming in his hand.

"Then let's ask."

"So," I say, voice calm, too calm, "which of you geniuses thought it was a good idea to move product near a children's park?"

The silence is thick. One of them shifts, leg still bleeding from earlier, biting down on a whimper. Rain leans against the metal table, arms crossed, expression unreadable except for the twitch of restrained violence in his jaw.

He'd come home last night pissed. Kaia's security detail flagged some activity near the park—too many unknowns loitering, quick exchanges, subtle handoffs.

Rain spotted it instantly. And I understood why it set him off. That park is sacred ground. It's where Kaia feeds ducks and plays pretend. You don't bring rot into her orbit.

And it makes sense—in a stupid criminal's head. Quick access, blind spots, an easy in-and-out. But that's just stupidity disguised as strategy. Because no, I can't protect my daughter from every horror in this world.

But I can control what reaches her block.

What's worse? These idiots were moving our product.

They don't know that. They don't know who we are, not at this level. The chain is too long. Too layered. There are twelve steps, at least, between me and the average distributor. Win and Saifah handle enforcement, but even they don't get down to street-level unless it's a clean-up job.

So these clowns? They're not just in the wrong. They're fucked.

Especially when I find out who gave the green light. Because it's one thing to authorize sales in a sensitive zone—it's another to do it without approval. That kind of insubordination isn't just sloppy. It's suicidal.

"I'm gonna ask once," I say, circling them slowly, eyes steady. "Who sent you? Which handler gave you the drop point?"

One of them starts crying. Another pisses himself.

Rain doesn't even blink. "Pathetic."

And I smile.

Because it's about to get worse.

I turn to Rain, eyes still on the shaking men zip-tied to rusted chairs. Blood already stains the concrete, but we're just getting started.

"Wanna play a game, baby?" I murmur, voice low, intimate, like I'm asking about dinner plans. "See who can make them bleed the most... and still keep them alive the longest?"

He smirks, slow and feral, then stands from the table and walks toward me, every step soaked in intent. "What do I get?"

I grab him by the waist, pull him close, lips brushing the skin just under his ear. "Whatever you want."

He snorts, unimpressed. "That's too easy."

I grin. "And you? What do you get?"

I meet his eyes and answer without hesitation. "You."

That stops him. Just for a second. His eyes flare, wild and dangerous in the low light.

But when I lean in to kiss him, he presses two fingers to my lips and tilts his head.

"You already have me," he says quietly. "And I always get whatever I want."

He steps in closer, lips grazing mine but not giving in. "Make it more interesting."

I hum, intrigued. "Name it."

He bites his lip, considering. "If I win... I get to ride you on your bike, moving."

I groan. "You're sick."

He smiles sweetly. "And if you win?"

I don't break eye contact. "You wear one of those white shirts you ruin on purpose and let me fuck you in front of the mirror while you're still covered in blood."

His breath catches, eyes darkening.

"Deal," he whispers.

And the men in the chairs start crying for real.

By the time we're done, the warehouse floor is slick with blood and stinking of fear.

Two of the men I was working on are long gone—limp, broken, dead. Rain's, though... Rain's are still breathing. Barely. Barely conscious, barely sane.

Their bodies are a study in pain, blood leaking from wounds so precisely placed they seem deliberate—because they are. It's art, the kind that can't be taught.

He crouches beside one, humming softly to himself, a faint smile on his lips like he's painting instead of carving someone open. He glances over his shoulder at me, blood streaked across his cheek, eyes bright with something feral.

And fuck—just watching him like that, I get harder than I have ever been.

"Finish up, baby," I growl, voice rough with it. "I need to fuck you."

He smirks without missing a beat. "But I won."

"Yeah, you always win. And you're still going to get what you want. But I need you. Now."

He pouts playfully and turns back to the two dying men. "Guys," he says, crouching between them like he's mediating a group project, "what do you think? Should we play a bit more, or should I end your miserable lives right now?"

They don't speak. Can't. They Just whimper, blinking out of sync, slipping in and out of shock.

I've had enough.

I stalk over and wrap my arms around Rain's waist from behind, pulling his back flush against my chest. "Kill them," I whisper in his ear, voice like gravel, "so I can fuck you. Or I will."

He turns his head, looking up at me with that infuriating smile. "Tsk. So impatient."

"Rain."

"Fine, fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes like I'm inconveniencing him. He stands, flicks his wrist, and in one smooth, effortless motion, slits both throats with the same blade motion.

"Goodbye, boys," he says sweetly, stepping over the bodies. "My husband needs me."

I turn him, kiss him hard, taste blood and control slipping.

Then I lift him—his legs wrap around me instantly, tight and instinctive, his body molding to mine like it was made to be taken apart by my hands. I carry him across blood-soaked concrete, past the cooling corpses and shattered bones, and slam his back against the nearest wall.

The echo rattles, dust shakes loose from the rafters.

He gasps against my mouth, lips parted, breath hot. His white shirt clings to him, streaked with blood like a masterpiece, and I'm in black, stained and ruined, no longer clean.

I grind against him, and he moans, low and desperate.

"Fuck, Phi," he breathes, head falling back. "You're so hard."

"Yes, I am," I growl, pressing closer, our bodies flush. "And I need my cock inside you. Now."

His eyes flash, wild and wanting. Then he drops from my waist, slides down the wall, knees hitting the blood-streaked floor. He looks up at me with that wicked, ruined smirk—like he's about to commit another sin.

His hands work fast, unbuckling my belt, dragging it open. My jeans fall loose.

He noses against the front of my briefs, breath hot through the fabric, mouthing me through the cotton while I bury my hand in his hair, gripping tight.

Then he reaches in, slow, deliberate.

And pulls me out.

He gives my cock one long, slow lick from base to tip, tongue flat and warm, and I hiss through my teeth, hand tightening in his hair. He slaps the head against his tongue a few times, watching me the whole time with that devil's grin.

"You taste so good after playing, Phi."

I growl, voice tight. "I taste good when I play with you, baby. Only because of you."

He grins wider—smug, filthy, beautiful—and then sinks down on me, slow and smooth, his lips sealing around the head before taking me deep in one practiced glide.

I groan, hips twitching forward, and my free hand slams against the wall behind him, palm flat on cold concrete.

"Fuck—Rain..."

His throat flexes around me as he hums, eyes half-lidded, mascara smudged, blood still drying on his collar. On his knees, in white, with bodies behind us and my cock down his throat—he looks like something between a god and a warning.

And I'm going to ruin him.

His mouth is heaven and hell all at once—hot, wet, unrelenting.

He sets a rhythm, one that's all control at first, letting me feel every slow drag of his lips around my cock, every deliberate pull of suction.

He looks up at me as he moves, eyes bright, like he wants to watch me fall apart.

I brace one hand against the wall, the other tight in his hair, guiding him just barely, letting him take what he wants because Rain always does. His tongue swirls around the head, then flattens as he takes me deep again, no hesitation, no gag—just practiced, perfect greed.

"Fuck, baby," I groan, head tipping back. "You're so fucking good at this."

He hums again, throat vibrating around me, and my legs nearly buckle.

Then he pulls back slowly, saliva and pre-cum slicking his chin, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You gonna cum like this?"he teases, jerking me slowly with one hand, his lips brushing the head. "Or you wanna fuck my throat properly?"

I growl low in my chest, yanking him forward by the hair just enough to make him gasp. "Don't tempt me unless you're ready to choke, baby."

He smirks. "Try me."

I don't hesitate. I grip his jaw, angle him just right, and slide back into his mouth, this time rougher, deeper, pushing past the slow tease he started.

His hands brace my thighs as I fuck into his mouth—tight, smooth, obscene. He moans low, not pulling away, not flinching, taking every thrust like he's starved for it.

"Look at you," I growl, hips snapping. "On your knees for me, in blood and white, mouth full of cock like you need it."

His fingers dig into my legs, and I feel him twitch, like he's getting off just from this.

I know I'm close. The tension's coiling tight, brutal in my spine. I pull back just enough to see his flushed face, eyes glossy, spit smeared down his chin.

"You want it in your mouth or inside you?" I ask, voice ragged.

Rain licks his lips and smiles. "Inside. Always inside."

I groan, chest tight with want, and haul him up into my arms, crushing his mouth to mine. The kiss is messy, hard—teeth and spit and hunger. My hands are already on his waistband, yanking it open with no patience. He laughs against my lips, breath hitching, and kicks one leg free, the other tangled in his pants, not that I care.

"Fine by me," I mutter, turning him to face the wall again, eyes raking down the curve of his back to his ass.

I drop to my knees behind him, spit slick and fast on my fingers—no lube here, not in this blood-soaked place—but when I part his cheeks to prep him, my breath catches.

My mouth goes slack.

Gleaming between his legs, tucked perfectly in that flushed rim, is one of his jeweled plugs. Purple gem, silver base, snug and pretty.

"Rain."

"Yes, Phi?" he answers sweetly, tone teasing.

"You've had this in the whole time?"

"Hm hm. Yep. I know how you get after playing."

"Fuck."

I sink my teeth into his ass, biting hard, and he yelps—half giggle, half moan. I smack the same spot, watching the skin bloom pink under my hand. He shivers, laughing again.

I stroke the plug, twist it slowly, then push it in deeper, watching how easily his body swallows it.

"So fucking beautiful," I mutter. "So open for me."

He moans and leans into the wall, hips pushed back, breath getting shallow. I keep fucking him with it, slow and deliberate, watching the gem disappear and reappear as I slide it in and out. His hole clenches around the base, greedy and wet and flushed from heat.

"You wanted this," I whisper. "You knew what seeing this would do to me."

"I hoped," he gasps, "you'd lose your fucking mind."

I grin, standing behind him again, cock hard against his thigh. "You were right."

I slide the plug out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters around the loss, slick and red and pulsing. I bring it to my lips for a second—taste the ghost of him there—and then slip it into my pocket. I'll clean it later.

Right now, I've got more urgent matters—like the way he's arched against the wall, back curved, ass presented to me like an offering.

But I need to see him. Need to kiss him while I fuck him.

I grip his waist, turn him in my arms, and lift him again. His legs wrap around me immediately. I kiss him deep as I press him to the wall, grinding my cock between us until the slick head finds his rim.

I spit into my palm, stroke myself from base to tip, then rub the rest against his hole, watching his eyes flutter as he breathes through it.

"You ready, baby?"

"Fuck yes."

I don't waste time. I pop the head in—tight, just that stretch alone enough to make him moan. His head drops to my shoulder, body trembling.

"Fuck," he gasps. "I need a bigger plug. You're too big, Phi."

I grin, mouth against his temple, and keep going. Slow, thick, unrelenting. I push deeper, inch by inch, until I'm all the way in—buried to the base, locked inside him.

We groan in sync, bodies pressed tight.

"You're going to stay tight for me forever," I whisper into his ear.

Then I start moving—deep, hard strokes, each one dragging a gasp or a moan from his lips, his back arching into every thrust like he was made for it. His hands claw at my shoulders, mouth open, eyes hazy with heat.

And I fuck him like he's mine. Because he is.

Whenever it's just us—mapping out business expansions, brushing shoulders with diplomats at charity galas, hosting barbecue weekends with our friends and family, or chasing Kaia through the garden—there's peace.

There's love. There's laughter and long looks and quiet strength.

But this—this version of us, surrounded by blood and bodies, with Rain clinging to me as I fuck him against a cold wall, ruined and breathless—is always going to be one of my favorites.

I drive into him harder, hips snapping, cock coated in his slick, his hole swallowing me like it needs me. Every thrust is wet, obscene, perfect. Almost eight years of this and I'm still obsessed. Still addicted.

He moans into my neck, voice breaking, his body so tight around me it's almost unbearable.

I bite into his shoulder, groaning, "You were made for me."

Tomorrow, we'll go back to the world. I'll be the architect-slash-mafia lord. He'll be the househusband with knives tucked in his apron and blood on his collar if the day calls for it. We'll be fathers. Leaders. Civilized.

But right now—he's breaking for me, beautifully.

And I'll never get enough.

Rain's POV

He fucks me like he's trying to crawl inside me, like no depth is enough, like breaking me is the only way to feel whole. His lips never stop—kissing, licking, biting, dragging along my jaw, down my throat—groaning filth like every thrust is a prayer.

He's out of control. And I let him be.

Because the way he needs me feeds something dark and glowing in my chest.

His hair's come loose—thick and wild around my fingers where I grip it tight, using it for leverage as I moan into his mouth, over and over, "Yes. More. Just like that."

Then suddenly, he pulls back, arms still locked around me as he turns and walks us across the room.

To the tables.

The ones with restraints. Blades. Blood. Our tools.

He growls, swiping everything off in one violent motion, as he clears the space. Then he drops me onto the cold metal, and the contrast against my heated skin makes me gasp.

He withdraws from me, and I whine, but then he sinks to his knees, spreads my thighs wider, and buries his face between them.

I arch instantly, back bowing, as his tongue finds me—slow, deep, and fucking devastating.

He eats me out like a man starved, moaning against me, sucking and licking like he's drowning in the taste. His hands grip my thighs, forcing them open, dragging me closer to the edge of the table until I'm at his mercy.

My hand flies back to his hair, yanking, grinding against his mouth.

"Uhn—uhn, fuck—feels so good, Phi," I pant, hips rocking. "So fucking good—don't stop—don't you dare stop—"

He groans into me like he likes the sound of my desperation, and I swear it vibrates straight through my core. His tongue slides deeper, slick and relentless, circling, dipping, fucking.

I gasp, then moan, legs tightening around his head as I grind down harder on his mouth, losing any sense of shame or control.

"Phi—fuck—" I whimper, my voice cracked, eyes rolling back as he drags the flat of his tongue up again and again, then flicks right where I need him. My thighs shake, my spine arches off the table, and still he doesn't stop—one arm banded across my stomach to hold me down, the other spreading me wider like he's never letting me go.

"You taste like sin baby," he growls against me, voice ragged, tongue pressing in again before I can even respond.

My hand is fisted tight in his hair, pulling hard as I pant, "I'm gonna—fuck—I'm gonna cum, Phi, don't stop, don't stop—"

He moans like he wants it, like he needs it, and sucks harder—filthy, messy, loud.

And then I break.

I cum hard against his mouth, loud and shaking, my body spasming under him as my vision whites out. I don't even know what I'm saying—just broken sounds, slurred curses, his name tangled with gasps as I ride his face through the waves of it.

He only pulls back when I'm done trembling, face wet, mouth swollen, eyes dark.

Then he stands, slick cock in hand, still hard, still hungry, and leans over me, kissing me with my own taste on his tongue.

"You done?" he whispers, teasing.

I grin, breathless. "Not even close."

Then he slams back into me—deep, brutal, perfect—and I groan loud, back arching as he fills me again in one relentless thrust.

This time, there's no buildup. No teasing. He fucks me like he's unhinged.

His fingers dig into my waist, dragging me down onto his cock over and over, setting a pace that's savage and raw.

The table's bolted to the ground—solid steel under me—and he uses it, using me, thrusting hard enough to jolt my body forward with every stroke. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes off the warehouse walls, sharp and filthy beneath the metallic scent of blood.

He looks feral.

T-shirt shoved up his chest, abs flexing. Pants halfway down, barely out of the way. His hair has come completely loose now, falling around his face like a dark curtain, sweat clinging to strands as he stares down at me like I'm his last lifeline and his favorite sin.

And I just lie back, legs spread, letting him fuck my hole like it belongs to him.

I tilt my head to the side, breath catching as I spot the carnage around us—bodies slumped, blood cooling, steel tools glinting under the overhead lights.

And in the center of it all, he's inside me. Still desperate for more.

The sight alone makes me clench around him.

He hisses through his teeth, pace stuttering for a breath, and then his hand comes up, fingers wrapping around my throat. Possessive. Grounding.

"Look at me while I fuck you," he snarls.

My eyes snap to his. His pupils are blown, teeth grit, face a picture of ruin and control slipping.

And then he grinds into me—deep, slow, devastating. My toes curl, a shudder ripping through my spine.

"Phi—fuck—" I gasp, nails raking down his back. "I'm gonna cum again—"

His grip tightens on my throat—just enough to hold me there, to keep my eyes locked on his. He grinds into me again, deep and slow, the head of his cock dragging over every nerve inside me, and I swear I lose air just from the pressure of it.

"You're close," he murmurs, voice wrecked. "I can feel it. This greedy little hole's clenching so hard, baby."

I nod, barely, eyes wide and glassy. "Gonna cum—fuck—don't stop, Phi, please."

He leans down, still inside me, chest pressing to mine as he releases my throat and cups the back of my neck instead, pulling me into a rough kiss. His hips never stop, slow, punishing thrusts that make my whole body tremble against the table.

"Cum for me, beautiful," he whispers against my lips, "I want to feel you fall apart around my cock."

I moan, high and broken, my hands scrambling over his back, his shoulders, his ass—anywhere I can anchor myself as the pleasure builds too high, too fast. My thighs shake, stomach tenses, and I cry out as it crashes through me again, harder this time.

My second orgasm rips out of me, brutal and hot, cum spilling untouched across my stomach as I clench around him, milking him, body arching off the table.

He snarls and fucks through it, deeper now, rougher, like the sight of me breaking again has pushed him over the edge.

"Fuck—baby—" he groans, and then he's grabbing my hips tight, driving in once, twice, and then bottoming out with a guttural sound as he spills inside me, heat flooding me as he grinds through every last pulse of it.

We're both panting, stuck together by sweat and cum and everything we are. He leans over me, hair dripping onto my chest, lips brushing mine again, gentler now.

"I love you," he murmurs.

I smile, dazed and full.

"I know."

"You're never leaving me," he says, voice still rough from the high, still inside me, still caging me in like the world could try and rip me away and he'd tear it apart to keep me.

I smile, lazy and fucked out, running my fingers through the hair clinging to his neck.

"Where would I go?" I whisper.

His eyes soften for a breath, but the possessiveness never fades. He kisses me again, slow and deep, like he's claiming every piece of me all over again.

"Exactly," he murmurs against my mouth. "You're mine."

And then—like the shithead he is—he blinks once, all serious, and asks,"So I don't have to go with the guys on Kaia's spa date, right?"

I snort, shoving at his chest. He stumbles back just slightly, and I wince as he slips out of me, still sensitive, still full of him.

He looks down immediately, eyes fixating on the slick mess trailing down my thighs, the way I shift from the overstimulation.

And I know that look.

"Your dick is good," I say flatly, "but not that good."

His gaze snaps back to mine, dark, insulted in that specific way only his ego can feel.

"Don't make it a challenge," he growls.

I smile. Slow. Smug. Stretching like a cat that knows it owns the room.

"I've been married to you for seven years," I murmur, dragging a hand down his chest. "Taken your cock for eight. Do your worst, Phi."

His eyes flash.

And just like that, I know I'm not getting any sleep tonight.

*****

I'm perched on Phi's bike, the engine still cool beneath me. He's standing between my legs, all black from head to toe—combat boots, tight tee, dark cargoes, the usual silent promise of violence.

He leans in, teasing, dropping kisses along my jaw, murmuring shit he knows gets me flushed even after all these years.

He's heading out tonight to the underground racetrack. It's part of our larger operation—money, loyalty, speed, danger.

Win handles most of it now, but Phi still checks in occasionally. Back then, it used to be ours. Fast bikes, dirty bets, bodies pressed together in the shadows behind track lights. Before Kaia, before family dinners and early mornings.

Sometimes I still go with him. When Kaia's off visiting her grandpas or with one of her many uncles—half of them dangerous, all of them wrapped around her finger.

Phi took her once. Just once. With Win, Saifah, and Pai. Swore it was just to "show her off." He came back to an earful and slept wrapped around my waist whispering apologies all night.

I'm just about to remind him of that when we hear it—high-pitched, bright, unmistakable.

Kaia's giggling.

Seconds later, Win and Saifah round the corner from the east wing, voices trailing, mid-conversation—until Kaia spots us. Her eyes light up, curls bouncing as she wiggles down from Saifah's arms.

"Dadaaa!"

Phi turns just in time to catch her as she barrels into his legs, and he scoops her up effortlessly, mid-laugh, lifting her like she weighs nothing.

"There's my tiger," he says, kissing her cheek.

And just like that, the edge in him softens, and so does everything around us.

She clutches Phi's face in her tiny hands, eyes bright as stars, and they bump noses with matching grins. Her giggle fills the air.

"Dada, off to track?" she asks, all pride and curiosity.

He nods, smiling back at her. "Yes, Tiger. Wanna come with?"

Her eyes go wide, sparkling with excitement, and she nods so hard her curls bounce in every direction.

But I don't even let him finish the joke—I'm already giving him the look.

"Phi."

He snorts, squeezing her gently. "Just kidding, you can't go yet, Tiger. Not until you're big."

She immediately frowns, bottom lip puffing out. "But I'm big now! Fah-Fah said so!" she insists, throwing a betrayed glance at Saifah, who just laughs behind a hand.

I bite back a laugh of my own while Win mutters, "She's gonna start negotiating her bedtime with murderers at this rate."

Phi just hums, totally unbothered. "Yes, you are, Princess. So big. But not track big yet. That's why you've gotta eat your vegetables, all your fruit, go to bed early, and be kind to everyone."

Kaia crosses her arms, unimpressed, head on Phi's shoulder. "I'm already kind."

"You are," he agrees, kissing her temple. "But now you need to grow this much more," he says, holding his fingers apart dramatically.

She narrows her eyes, deeply suspicious. "You're making that up."

He grins. "Maybe."

And she laughs again.

She loves her Dada.

Loves him in a suit—sharp and tall, tying her shoelaces before meetings. Loves him in gym shorts, lifting her with one arm like she's a feather and calling it a "warm-up."

Loves him in his helmet on-site, covered in concrete dust and giving instructions like he owns the skyline. But especially—she loves him on his bike. All black—Leather jacket, tank top, jeans and boots, engine growling, the kind of presence that makes the world move out of the way.

She's asked me before, all curious eyes and sugar-sticky hands, "Papa, why Dada always wearing black, no other colors and you're always wearing white?"

I'd laughed, brushing syrup off her nose. "Because someone has to balance him out."

She didn't get it then. But she nodded anyway like she did.

What she doesn't know yet—what she'll maybe understand later—is that he wears black like chaos. And I wear white like mystery.

She just sees two people who love her more than the world and dress like they planned it.

She's still too small to ride the bike with him—not safely, not yet. But that doesn't stop her from dreaming.

Phi's taken her around the compound before, engine off, her perched in front of him while he holds the handlebars steady and lets her pretend she's riding.

She's sat with him while he tuned it, handing him tools like a mechanic-in-training. And one day—one day—she'll cling to his back on a night ride through the city, feeling the wind just like I did when it was just me and him and the road.

Phi looks to Win. "You ready?"

Win nods, tossing keys in the air. "Yeah. We're driving out now. Bye, Kai Bear." He ruffles her curls.

"Bye, Uncle Win. Bye Fah-Fah love youuu!" she chirps, waving hard enough to unbalance herself in Phi's arms.

He and Saifah grins and air kiss her before they disappear down the drive, voices fading, and Phi turns back to me.

I hop off the bike just as he straddles it, Kaia in his arms. Then he settles her carefully over the fuel tank and her entire face lights up.

She plants her hands on the handlebars and makes the loudest vroom vroom sound with her mouth, shaking her little head like she's feeling the wind already. Phi and I both laugh, helpless.

She grew up with Barbie dolls and race cars, kid-sized drafting tables for architecture, stethoscope sets from her granddads, baking kits from Sky, and pretend investment portfolios Pai swears she's "almost ready to manage."

Phi reaches for me, tugs me in by the waist, and kisses me—slow and dirty like we have all the time in the world and none at all. His hand lingers low on my back as he pulls away.

"I'll be back by midnight," he murmurs against my mouth. "You gonna wait up for me?"

I roll my eyes. He already knows the answer.

I always do.

I can't sleep without him.

"I will," I say quietly, hand resting on his chest. "Come home to me. To us. In one piece."

He smiles, that dark, dangerous kind of smile that belongs to no one but me. "Even if I have to burn the world down."

I believe him.

So I kiss him like I do—slow, with everything I've ever trusted in him pressed into my lips. And when we part, Kaia's little giggle breaks the moment as Phi tickles her sides, her laughter bright and wild in his arms.

"Wanna drive me to work, Tiger?" he asks, grinning.

She nods immediately, curls bouncing, hands gripping the handlebars like she's ready to command the world—then pauses, frowns, and looks up at him, serious as ever.

"But... I don't know how to, Dada."

He laughs, brushing her hair from her face. "That's okay, baby. One day you will. And when you do, I'll let you take the lead."

She lights up at that like he's promised her the moon.

"Come on, I have to go now."

Phi lifts her gently, turning her in his arms so they're face to face. His hands cradle her back like she's still tiny, even though she's growing faster than either of us can keep up with.

"Take care of Papa for me, okay?"

She nods solemnly, the weight of the mission settling over her like armor. "I will, Dada. I love you."

He kisses her nose. "And I love you more, Tiger."

I watch them, arms crossed, heart full. She clings to his neck for one last hug, then he passes her into my arms, lingering just long enough to kiss the side of my mouth, his thumb brushing my jaw.

Then he's on his bike, black helmet snapping into place, engine rumbling to life like thunder bottled beneath steel.

And like always—I watch him disappear into the dark, carrying every part of me with him.

Kaia looks up at me from where she's settled against my chest, her eyes still tracking the trail of dust his bike kicked up as he vanished down the drive.

"Dada looks so cool on his bike, Papa," she says, awe coating every word like glitter.

I smile, brushing a curl away from her cheek. "He does, doesn't he?"

She nods, serious. "Like a superhero. But scarier."

I laugh. "That's because he is. He's our scary superhero."

She leans her head against my shoulder. "He'll come back, right?"

I kiss her crown. "Always."

I grin, already turning us toward the house. "Hmm... I think I'm craving chocolate chip cookies. Wanna bake some with me? We'll sing, dance, and wait for Dada to come back home."

She claps her hands, kicking her legs excitedly. "Can I crack the eggs?"

"You can crack one egg," I say, and she gasps like I've just handed her the crown jewels.

"Okay!" she shouts, already wriggling to be put down.

I set her on her feet, and she takes my hand, tugging me toward the kitchen like we're on a mission.

...

Phayu's POV

I ride out of the estate with the engine snarling beneath me, the night air hitting hard against my skin.

Behind me, home still clings to me.

Rain's scent, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body soft and warm in my arms before I left.

And Kaia—my little girl wrapping herself around my neck, kissing my cheek like she can hold me in place if she loves me hard enough.

Fuck.

For a second, I almost turn back.

But Win and Saifah are already ahead, and business does not stop because I have a husband I worship and a daughter who owns every goddamn piece of me.

The city opens up around me in long dark stretches of road and scattered light. My bike eats the distance fast, engine loud enough to drown out everything except my own thoughts, and unfortunately my thoughts are full of Rain.

The way he looked at me when I told him I'd be back.

The way his hand lingered on my arm half a second longer than usual.

He made me promise.

And I did.

Whatever happens tonight, I'm going back home.

Saifah and Win said we needed to check the new bikes.

Good thing I didn't listen to them when they tried to interrupt my afternoon quickie with my husband.

But still, it matters. The machines are expensive, fast, custom built, and tonight's crowd will notice every detail. But that isn't the real issue.

The real issue is the cops.

Not the usual or the the practical ones who understand how the city works and take the money, look away, go home richer.

No.

The eager ones. The self-righteous ones. The overzealous idiots who think refusing a bribe makes them saints instead of problems.

Those are always the dangerous kind. Men who want headlines. Promotions. Clean hands in a dirty city.

I lean lower over the bike as I take the next turn, the road curving sharp under me.

Fine.

Let them sniff.

They can come close enough to smell smoke and rubber and money, but if they think they're touching what's mine, they're out of their minds.

By the time I reach the underground track, the place is already alive.

Music pounds low through the concrete.

Floodlights illuminate across polished bodies of bikes lined up like weapons.

Men laugh too loud, bet too much, drink too fast. Women in tight clothes lean over chrome and leather, heat and ambition everywhere, the whole place stinking of petrol, sweat, and anticipation.

Saifah is by the pit already, black tee clinging to his shoulders, arms folded, expression grim enough to tell me the mood is worse than he made it sound over the phone.

Win is a few feet away, crouched beside one of the new bikes with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, checking something near the back wheel.

The second he sees me, he straightens.

"Took you long enough."

I kill the engine and swing off the bike. "I have a family. You should try it sometime."

Win grins. "No thanks. Looks expensive and stressful."

Saifah doesn't smile.

"Two plainclothes came around earlier," he says without preamble. "Asked too many questions."

I pull my gloves off slowly. "About the races?"

"About the shipments too."

That gets my attention.

I look at him properly. "Who answered?"

"No one stupid," Win says, flicking ash to the floor. "They didn't get anything solid."

I nod once, eyes moving over the floor, the exits, the men stationed where I left them. Security is tight, but tight only matters if everyone here remembers who they're working for.

"And the bikes?" I ask.

Win pats the nearest one like he loves it. "Beautiful. Fast. Mean. One of them's pulling slightly left at high speed, though."

"Which one?"

He points.

I walk to it and crouch, running a hand over the frame, checking the alignment, listening while Win talks me through the issue. Around us the track keeps breathing—engines revving, cash changing hands, tension building.

This world is easy for me.

Cleaner than the legal one sometimes.

At least here everybody admits what they want.

Money.

Speed.

Power.

Fear.

No board meetings. No polite lies. No soft words wrapped around sharper intentions.

Just the truth of what men are when you strip it down.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I pull it out immediately.

Rain.

Just one message: You better come home in one piece.

My mouth twitches before I can stop it.

Win catches it and groans. "Jesus. Don't do that."

I ignore him as I type back with one hand.

I promised you. I will. Kiss Kaia for me if she wakes up.

Then I put the phone away and stand.

"Focus," I say.

Win raises both hands. "I'm focused. You're the one smiling at your screen in the middle of a felony."

I ignore him.

Saifah steps closer, lowering his voice. "There's more."

That wipes the last of the softness off me. "What?"

He jerks his chin toward the upper level. "One of Chanin's boys is here."

I go still.

Chanin.

That name again.

Greedy little parasite with just enough money to think he can expand into territory that's been mine for years., and it doesn't help that I killed his uncle at the last sector meeting I went with Rain.

"What's he doing here?" I ask.

"Watching," Saifah says. "Too openly."

Win drops the cigarette and crushes it under his heel. "Probably testing the waters."

"No," I say.

Both of them look at me.

I stare up toward the upper railing, where I can already see the silhouette of a man leaning too casually against the metal, like he thinks he belongs here.

"Not testing," I murmur. "Sending a message."

The noise of the track seems to shift around me.

Still loud and chaotic but now, every sound feels louder.

Every laugh, every engine, every look that lingers too long.

I roll my shoulders once, slow.

"Get our people tighter around the east entrance," I tell Saifah. "No one moves without us knowing."

He nods and walks off immediately.

I look at Win. "No major races until I say."

That earns me an annoyed look. "The crowd won't like that."

"The crowd can choke."

He grins despite himself.

I glance down at the bike one last time, then back up at the railing.

Rain's face flashes in my head for one brutal second. His hand on my arm. His voice low and certain when he made me promise.

Come back home.

I intend to.

But first I need to remind a few men why this city still belongs to me.

I start toward the tracks.

Win falls into step beside me.

In front of us, the watcher doesn't move.

Good.

Let him stay.

Let him see exactly who he came looking for.

I motion once to Win.

That's all it takes.

Win moves immediately, cutting through the crowd with that lazy, almost bored kind of menace that always makes people underestimate him right up until it's too late. The guy sees him coming and, stupidly, shoves at his chest like that's going to do something.

It doesn't.

Win barely reacts.

Doesn't even take the cigarette out of his mouth.

He just catches the idiot by the front of his shirt, turns him hard, and manhandles him across the floor without breaking a sweat, dragging him straight to me while the man stumbles and curses and immediately starts looking less brave than he did.

Good.

He should.

Win plants him in front of me with one rough shove and steps back to my side, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.

I look him over slowly.

Young. Too cocky for his rank.

And now that he's close enough to really see me, the fear is already starting to creep in behind his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

The idiot shrugs. "I like races."

I chuckle.

Because men always think lies sound more believable when they keep them simple.

I reach into his pocket myself and pull out his cigarette pack. He twitches like he wants to stop me, then thinks better of it. Smartest thing he's done all night.

I tap one free, put it between my lips, and one of my men steps in to light it without a word.

The first drag burns hot.

Rain is going to hate this smell on me later. I'll have to shower before I get into bed or he'll glare at me and kick me right back out, muttering about smoke in his sheets and cigarette taste on his pillows.

The thought almost makes me smile.

I look back at the fool in front of me.

Because truly, you have to be either deeply stupid or deeply disposable to walk onto my track with Chanin's scent all over you.

I let the silence stretch.

Then I lean in just enough and blow smoke into his face.

"Tell me," I say softly, "did you come here already knowing Chanin sent you to die?"

That does it.

The bravado cracks.

Fast.

His shoulders pull in. His jaw works. He starts stuttering before he even realizes he's doing it. "I— no—he said—"

Fear rolls off him now, thick and sour.

Good.

I take another drag and tilt my head, studying him like he's something I might scrape off my shoe later.

"Your boss must really hate you," I murmur. "Must have absolutely no regard for your life to send you to me."

The guy swallows hard.

Around us, the track has gone quieter, in that way crowds do when they sense blood in the air.

Win flicks ash to the concrete beside my boot and says, almost conversationally, "He did shove me, boss."

I don't look away from the man. "I saw."

The idiot's eyes dart to Win, then back to me.

"Please—"

I lift a hand and he shuts up immediately.

Better.

"Here's what's going to happen," I say. "You're going to stop insulting me with bad lies. Then you're going to tell me exactly why Chanin has his dogs sniffing around my tracks, my shipments, and my city."

He shakes his head too fast. "I don't know anything about shipments, I swear, I just came to watch—"

I sigh.

Then glance at Win.

Win grins around his cigarette like Christmas came early and drives his fist into the guy's stomach.

Hard.

The man folds with a choked sound, all the air leaving him in one ugly burst as Win catches him by the back of the neck and keeps him upright.

I crouch slightly so we're eye level.

"That," I say calmly, "was me being patient."

The guy is gasping now, face pale, eyes watering.

"Try again."

He trembles.

And finally I get the truth I expected.

"Chanin—" he wheezes. "Chanin heard you were moving new bikes through here. He—he wanted to know security, numbers, routes—"

I go still.

Beside me, Win's grin disappears.

There it is.

Preparation.

I straighten slowly and take one last drag before dropping the cigarette to the ground and crushing it out under my boot.

"How many does he have in the city?"

The idiot hesitates.

Win tightens his grip.

"Three crews," the man blurts. "Maybe four. I don't know, I swear, I only know what I hear—"

"Where?"

He names two garages, a warehouse, one club in the south quarter.

I already know one of them.

The other three I'm going to burn apart tonight.

Saifah appears at my shoulder, silent as a blade. "Yu."

I don't need to look at him to know he's armed and ready. I nod once. "Lock the exits. Nobody leaves until we clear every face in here."

The guy panics immediately. "Please, I told you—"

"You did," I say.

He almost sags in relief.

Then I add, "Which is why I haven't broken anything important yet."

His face goes white.

I step closer again, close enough that he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at me.

"Go back to Chanin," I say quietly. "Tell him this for me."

He blinks.

Win lets him go just enough that he can stand on his own, though his knees look weak enough to give out.

I smile. The kind Rain says makes me look the most dangerous.

"Tell your boss," I say, "that if he wants to test my fences, he should come do it himself. Because the next time he sends me one of his boys, I'm sending pieces back."

The idiot nods frantically.

Good.

I step away from him like I'm already bored.

"Get him out of my sight."

Two of my men move instantly, dragging him off before he can thank me for sparing him.

Win watches him go and mutters, "You're letting him leave?"

"Yes."

"He'll run straight back."

Saifah's mouth curves faintly. "Message delivery."

"That's the point."

He's going to go over to Chanin, Chanin will assume I'm weak and then they'll come back here together to die.

I look out over the track again.

Over my people.

My machines.

My ground.

The crowd is trying to breathe again, pretending they weren't just listening to every word. Music still pounds. Engines still rev. But the atmosphere has changed.

War always has a scent before it starts.

And tonight I can smell it.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I already know who it is before I check.

Rain.

A picture this time.

Kaia asleep in her bed, one hand thrown over Rain's arm, both of them wrapped in warm lamp light and soft sheets.

Home.

Waiting for me.

I stare at it for one second too long, then i roll my shoulders once and look at Saifah. "Get me names. Every one of Chanin's crews in my city."

He nods.

I look at Win. "Check every bike. No races until I walk the line myself."

Win groans. "They're going to hate that."

"I don't care."

Then I start toward the pit, toward the engines, toward the night that just got longer than I promised Rain it would be.

But I meant what I said.

Whatever happens tonight...I'm going home.

"The locations he gave," I say, voice flat, final. "Send men there. Burn it all."

Saifah doesn't blink.

Just nods once, already pulling his phone out.

I keep going, eyes still on the track, on the entrances, on the men pretending not to look at me while they absolutely are.

"I told Rain I was coming to the tracks, and I'm not leaving. Chanin will come here."

My mouth curves, cold. "And I'll be ready for him."

Win chuckles, like that's the most reasonable thing I've said all night.

"Good," he mutters, cracking his knuckles. "I was getting bored."

Saifah is already stepping aside, issuing orders in that clipped, efficient tone of his. No wasted words. No wasted movement. Within minutes, four of our crews will be moving. By dawn, Chanin's little nests will be ash and smoke and fear.

I pull my phone out.

For one second, all the noise around me dulls.

The track.

The engines.

The music.

The men.

It all drops away when Rain's contact opens on my screen.

I type fast.

hi beautiful, something came up. how do you feel about coming over to the tracks and breaking a few bones with me

Win leans over my shoulder, reads it, and whistles.

"That is somehow the worst invitation to a date I've ever seen."

I send it anyway. "He'll like it."

"Because your husband is insane."

"He married me."

Win nods once. "Fair."

I slide the phone back into my pocket and look up just as one of the outer guards moves faster than usual toward us. Not panicked. Not sloppy. But urgent enough.

"There's movement at the north gate," he says.

I smile.

Right on time.

The track changes around me. You feel it before you fully see it. Men straightening. Hands dropping closer to waistbands. The crowd getting subtly thinner near the exits. Those smart enough to sense what's coming start backing away from the center without wanting it to look like they're running.

Cowards always think they can leave violence quietly.

They never can.

Win flicks his cigarette away and looks toward the gate. "You want me to greet them?"

"No."

He glances at me. "You sure? I can be charming."

"I'm sure."

Because if Chanin is stupid enough to come to me, I want him close enough to see exactly what I look like when I decide to end things.

My phone buzzes.

I don't look away from the gate when I pull it out.

Rain.

is this your idea of a date?

A laugh almost catches in my throat.

I type back with one hand: come over and i'll show u a better one

The reply comes fast.

on my way

There he is.

My beautiful, lethal husband.

I lock my phone and tuck it away just as headlights cut across the far wall.

Three Black SUVs.

Chanin didn't come to talk.

Good.

I roll my shoulders once and step out onto the open concrete, right into the center of my own territory. Let him see me waiting. Let him see I didn't hide, didn't run, didn't send anyone else to stand where I stand.

One by one, the vehicle doors open.

Men spill out first.

Armed.

Trying too hard to look calm.

Then finally—Chanin.

Slim build. Expensive jacket. The kind of smile men wear when they mistake audacity for power.

He walks forward like he owns the ground.

He doesn't.

Not a single inch of it.

Win comes to my right. Saifah to my left. Behind us, my men spread out in a line so clean it looks accidental unless you know what you're seeing.

Chanin stops a few feet away.

"Venice," he says, all false warmth. "You look busy."

I glance past him at his cars, then back at him. "You look desperate."

That wipes half the smile off his face.

Good start.

He lifts his hands slightly, like he came here for peace. Men always do that when they bring guns.

"I hear you've been having some issues," he says. "Thought I'd come see if maybe we could work something out."

I chuckle.

Behind me, I hear Win laugh too.

"Work something out," I repeat. "After sending boys to sniff around my shipments, my garages, my tracks?"

Chanin shrugs. "Business."

"No," I say softly. "Business is when you ask. This is when you forget your place."

His jaw tightens.

There it is.

The real man underneath.

"You don't own this whole city," he says.

I take one step closer.

He actually holds his ground, I'll give him that much.

But I can smell the nerves on him now.

"No," I murmur. "I own the damn country."

Silence stretches.

Behind Chanin, one of his men shifts first.

That's all it takes.

Everything explodes at once.