Christian woke up to the cold bite of metal against his wrists.
His head throbbed. His vision blurred.
The air smelled like sweat, cigarette smoke, and something worse—something rancid.
He wasn't alone.
Luca sat across from him, lounging in a chair like he had all the time in the world. His eyes were dark with amusement, his fingers tapping lazily against his knee.
Christian pulled against the restraints, but they were too tight.
"Where's Steve?" His voice came out rough, weak.
Luca chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart. Steve's not coming."
Christian didn't believe that.
But then Luca leaned forward, his expression turning cruel.
"He should've stayed where he belonged," Luca murmured. "With us. But no. He wanted to play house with you instead."
Christian clenched his jaw. "He's not yours to control."
Luca's smile faded.
"See, that's where you're wrong." He stood, rolling his shoulders. "Steve was mine. I made him. And now? I'm going to break him."
He turned toward the door. Gave a low whistle.
The door swung open.
And then—Christian's world went dark.
⸻
By the time Steve arrived, the floor was slick with blood.
His hands were steady. His breathing even.
But inside?
Inside, something had snapped.
Luca was laughing when Steve found him, wiping blood from his knuckles.
He didn't get a chance to speak.
Steve didn't let him.
The first bullet hit Luca in the leg, sending him sprawling to the floor with a grunt of pain.
The second went through his shoulder.
Then Steve walked forward, crouched down, and pressed the gun beneath Luca's chin.
Luca bared bloody teeth. "Too late, Steve." His voice was smug, breathless. "He's already broken."
Steve didn't hesitate.
The final bullet went between Luca's eyes.
Then Steve dropped the gun and ran.
⸻
Christian was barely conscious when Steve found him.
His clothes were torn. His wrists were raw from the restraints.
And his eyes—
His eyes were empty.
Steve knelt beside him, shaking. "Christian."
No response.
He touched Christian's face, trying to get him to see him. "Hey. It's me. You're safe now."
Christian flinched.
Steve froze.
Then Christian whispered, "Steve?"
His voice was so small. So broken.
Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Yeah, baby. I'm here."
He lifted Christian into his arms, holding him as gently as he could.
Christian didn't fight. Didn't speak.
He just buried his face in Steve's chest and trembled.
Steve carried him out of the warehouse, past the bodies, past the blood.
None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was the man in his arms.
The man Steve had sworn to protect.
And the one time it had mattered most—
He had failed.