Chapter 3 - Fire in the South LoopThe midnight air over the South Docks was thick with the acrid stench of burning rubber, scorched steel, and chemical foam. Flashing red and blue lights from three fire engines painted the wet asphalt in erratic strokes, casting long, twisted shadows across the charred skeleton of Caldwell Enterprises Warehouse No. 4.
I sat in the back of Ethan’s black bulletproof Mercedes SUV, staring through the tinted window at the devastation.
When Luke had reported the message, Ethan’s face had gone completely bloodless—not with fear, but with a terrifying, glacial fury that made the temperature inside his office drop ten degrees. He hadn't hesitated. He had ordered his security detail to prep the convoy, and when I tried to stay behind at the estate, he had looked at me and said, "If Mercer thinks he can terrorize you through my property, he needs to see that you stand beside me."
So here I was, wearing a heavy wool coat over my black dress, standing on the perimeter of a crime scene while federal investigators and private security guards swarmed the wreckage.
Ethan stepped out of the vehicle first, his dark trench coat snapping in the cold lake wind. He didn't rush. He walked with the measured, terrifying calm of a general inspecting a battlefield. Luke met him near the police tape, holding a high-powered tactical flashlight.
"The fire department managed to contain it before it hit the main fuel tanks," Luke reported, his breath pluming in the freezing air. "Insurance investigators are calling it arson. Industrial accelerant used on the loading dock doors."
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "And the message?"
Luke hesitated, glancing past Ethan’s shoulder toward the SUV where I sat. "It's on the side of the container wall, boss. Mercer’s signature tag. And words specifically naming the girl."
Ethan didn't speak. He walked past Luke, striding directly toward the scorched corrugated metal wall of the warehouse. I couldn't sit in the car anymore. Pushing the door open, I stepped out onto the wet asphalt, ignoring Luke’s sharp warning look, and followed Ethan into the restricted zone.
Painted in dripping, crimson spray paint across the blackened steel were words that made my blood run instantly cold:
YOU TOOK MY RAT, CALDWELL. NOW I'LL TAKE YOUR PET.
A sick, suffocating wave of nausea rolled over my stomach. My knees felt weak. Ryan had been Mercer’s rat all along, and by removing him, Ethan had kicked over a hornet's nest. Now, Mercer had put a target squarely on my back, treating me like a piece of property stolen from a rival's game board.
Ethan stood frozen in front of the wall, staring at the crimson letters. The muscle in his jaw thundered beneath his skin. The air around him felt charged, like the split second before a lightning strike shatters an oak tree.
Slowly, he turned around. His dark eyes found me standing a few feet away in the shadows of the flickering emergency lights.
He didn't look angry at me. He looked furious at the world that had dared to touch what he claimed.
"Get back in the car, Ivy," Ethan commanded, his voice unnaturally quiet.
"No," I said, my voice shaking, but holding its ground. I walked closer, stepping up beside him, staring at the hateful red paint. "No, Ethan. I'm not hiding in the car anymore. Mercer thinks I'm a pet he can steal. He thinks I'm some fragile thing you picked up off the street. I need to see what we're fighting."
Ethan stared down at me, surprise flickering in his dark eyes before smoothing back into that granite mask. For a long, silent moment, the chaos of the sirens and the crackle of burning embers faded into the background.
Slowly, deliberately, Ethan reached out. He took my cold, trembling hand in his large, warm palm, lacing his fingers securely through mine. His grip was firm, grounding, absolute.
"You are not a pet, Ivy," Ethan said, his voice carrying across the charred courtyard with terrifying clarity. "You are standing beside the man who is going to dismantle Julian Mercer brick by brick."
He turned to Luke, who stood a few paces back, watching us with a grim, respectful nod.
"Find out where Mercer is tonight," Ethan ordered coldly.
"He's hosting a private charity gala at the Drake Hotel downtown," Luke replied instantly. "High society, politicians, media. He thinks he's untouchable behind a wall of tuxedos and bodyguards."
May you like
Ethan’s lips curved into a razor-sharp smile that held no warmth at all.
"Then let's go RSVP to his party."
