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She sounded and looked frantic, but Carver managed to calm her down enough to get the story out of her quickly. Cindy had seen Emmet dragging Lucy into a car, and she had come straight to Carver, knowing he was the only one who could help.
“I’m getting her back,” Carver said, his voice a low growl. “The guy who took her already made contact.”
“Okay, but you better bring her back in one piece. Lucy’s one of the good ones, you know. You’re lucky to have her,” Cindy said, her eyes fierce with worry.
“Don’t I know it,” Carver replied.
Once Cindy had left, he wasted no time. He packed a bag full of weapons—guns, knives, anything he might need. He didn’t have a choice; Emmet had all the cards, and worst of all, Lucy had been dragged into this mess.
He debated calling Devlin or Galen for a moment, then decided against it. This was his problem to take care of. Besides, if Emmet saw his brothers’ men with him, he might panic and who knew what he might do to Lucy?
Carver jumped into his car, adrenaline pumping through his veins. This was undoubtedly a trap, but he couldn’t let that stop him. As he sped through the streets, his mind raced.
He thought of Lucy. Cindy was right. Lucy was too good for this world, too good for him, but she had chosen to be with him, and he wasn’t going to let her down.
The city lights blurred as he drove, his focus razor-sharp. He reached the location Emmet had given him, a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. The place reeked of danger, and Carver could feel the tension in the air.
He parked his car a distance away, not wanting to alert Emmet to his presence just yet. He checked his weapons one last time, then made his way to the warehouse, keeping his steps silent.
Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, shadows casting eerie shapes on the walls. Carver’s senses were on high alert, every sound magnified. He heard voices up ahead—Emmet’s unmistakable sneer and Lucy’s muffled protests.
He moved closer, staying hidden in the shadows. Emmet was pacing, a gun in his hand, while Lucy was tied to a chair, looking scared but defiant. Carver’s heart clenched at the sight of her. He decided to confront the bastard head-on.
“You really think you can take me down, Emmet?” Carver called out, stepping into the light.
Emmet spun around, his eyes narrowing. “Carver. You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” Emmet said.
“Let her go,” Carver demanded, his voice cold and hard.
Emmet laughed, a harsh sound that grated on Carver’s nerves. “Or what? You gonna shoot me? Go ahead, but she’ll be dead before you can pull the trigger,” Emmet pointed out.
Carver took a step forward, his gun trained on Emmet.
“You don’t have to die today, Emmet. Walk away, and maybe you’ll live to see another sunrise,” he said.
Carver was lying of course. He had zero intentions of letting his rat live after what he’d done. Emmet’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but he didn’t lower his gun.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” Emmet demanded.
“No,” Carver said. “But you should be.”
In a flash, Carver fired a shot. Emmet’s gun flew from his hand as he screamed in pain, clutching his injured wrist. But Emmet wasn’t done yet. With a roar, he charged at Carver, tackling him to the ground.
The impact knocked the wind out of Carver, but he quickly recovered, rolling to his feet just as Emmet lunged at him again. They grappled fiercely, fists flying and feet scrambling for purchase on the grimy floor.
Emmet was strong and desperate, his movements fueled by pain and fear. He landed a solid punch to Carver’s jaw, making his vision blur momentarily. But Carver was faster, more controlled. He blocked Emmet’s next punch, then countered with a swift elbow to the ribs.
Emmet doubled over, but managed to grab a metal pipe from the floor, swinging it wildly. Carver dodged the first swing, the second, but the third caught him on the shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down his arm.
Gritting his teeth, Carver grabbed the pipe, yanking it from Emmet’s grip and tossing it aside. Emmet, undeterred, threw himself at Carver again, trying to choke him. They crashed into a stack of crates, the impact sending splinters flying.
Carver could feel his breath being squeezed out of him, but he refused to give in. Summoning every ounce of strength, he twisted out of Emmet’s grip, using his momentum to flip Emmet onto the ground.
With a swift, powerful move, Carver pinned Emmet, one knee on his chest.
“Carver!” Lucy yelled, kicking his fallen gun toward him.
Carver grabbed the gun, still keeping Emmet pinned, then shot him right between the eyes. Emmet ceased to move. He was finally and truly dead.
