Chapter 3 The Deal Turns, Power Shifts

# Chapter 3: The Deal Turns, Power Shifts

"Let me go!" I yanked at the handcuff, metal biting into my wrist as I glared at Damien. "Where did you even get these?"

"They were in your bag," he replied calmly, sipping his coffee. "Along with three more syringes, a taser, and an impressive collection of fake IDs. You came prepared."

I lunged as far as the restraint would allow, fury burning through me. "This isn't funny. My brother could be dying while you play your little power games!"

"This isn't a game," Damien's voice hardened as he set down the coffee cup. "And your brother isn't going to die today. I've already made sure of that."

I froze. "What do you mean?"

"I made a call while you were sleeping. Moretti has been informed that I'm... taking a personal day. As long as he believes I'm unharmed and simply unreachable, your brother remains valuable to him."

Relief washed over me, quickly followed by suspicion. "You expect me to believe you're helping me after I kidnapped you?"

Damien approached, stopping just out of my reach. "I'm helping you because Moretti has become a liability. You're merely... a convenient ally in dealing with him."

"I'm not your ally," I spat.

"No?" He raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly are you, Juno? Because you're certainly not my kidnapper anymore."

The truth of his words stung. Whatever control I thought I had was an illusion. It always had been.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

"Information," he replied. "Everything you know about Moretti's operation. Where he took your brother, who was present, what you saw, what you heard. Every detail."

"And if I tell you?"

"Then I help you get your brother back."

I studied his face, searching for deception. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because unlike Moretti, I have no reason to lie to you." He crouched down to my eye level. "And because right now, I'm the only chance you have."

He was right. Again. I hated how easily he dismantled my defenses, how clearly he saw through me.

"Fine," I conceded. "I'll tell you what I know. But first, uncuff me. I'm not an animal."

"Evidence suggests otherwise," he commented dryly, but produced a small key from his pocket. He approached cautiously, unlocking the handcuff while maintaining enough distance that I couldn't lunge at him.

As I rubbed my wrist, Damien walked to the kitchen area and returned with a second cup of coffee, which he offered to me.

"It's not drugged," he said when I hesitated. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't need chemicals."

I took the cup, the warmth seeping into my cold fingers. "Moretti contacted me three weeks ago. Said my brother owed him nearly half a million dollars. Showed me a video of Marcus beaten, bleeding. Said if I didn't do exactly what he asked, they'd send him back to me in pieces."

Damien nodded, his expression revealing nothing. "And what exactly did he ask?"

"To kidnap you. Hold you for ransom. Five million dollars."

"That's significantly more than your brother's debt."

"The rest was my payment," I explained. "For doing his dirty work."

"And you believed he'd honor that arrangement?" Damien asked, skepticism evident in his tone.

I looked down at my coffee. "I didn't have a choice."

"We always have choices, Juno. They're just rarely between good and bad. Usually, it's between bad and worse."

His words resonated uncomfortably. I'd made my choice—risking everything for my brother—but now I was beginning to see how naïve I'd been.

"Where did Moretti take your brother?" Damien asked, bringing me back to the present.

"A warehouse in the industrial district. Off Harmon Road. It looked abandoned, but the inside was... operational." I closed my eyes, recalling details. "Six men, all armed. Security cameras at every entrance. Marcus was being held in a back room. I only saw him once, just to prove he was alive."

Damien pulled out his phone, making notes as I spoke. "Anything else? Any names mentioned? Places?"

"One of the men called another 'Sullivan.' They mentioned a shipment coming in through the harbor next week."

Damien's fingers paused over his phone. "Did they say what kind of shipment?"

"No, but they shut up when they realized I could hear them."

He nodded, continuing to type. When he finished, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and fixed me with an intense stare.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have people looking into Moretti's operation as we speak. Once I have confirmation of your brother's location, we move."

"We?" I questioned.

"My team will handle the extraction. You'll stay somewhere safe until it's over."

I stood up, indignation flaring. "No way. I'm coming with you. He's my brother."

"And you'll get him killed with that attitude," Damien countered sharply. "This isn't a rescue mission for amateurs, Juno. These men are killers. Professionals."

"So am I supposed to just sit and wait? Trust that you'll bring him back?"

"Yes," he said simply. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do."

I laughed bitterly. "Trust doesn't come easy for me."

"I've noticed," he replied dryly. "But right now, trust is all you have."

A tense silence fell between us. I knew he was right—I had no real leverage, no better options. But surrendering control completely went against every survival instinct I possessed.

"I want proof," I finally said. "When you find him, I want proof he's alive before you move in."

Damien considered this, then nodded. "Fair enough."

He turned away, making another call. His voice dropped to a low murmur, and I caught fragments of instructions—something about surveillance and extraction protocols. It struck me how comfortable he seemed giving orders, how naturally authority came to him. This wasn't just wealth; this was power.

When he hung up, he turned back to me. "My team will be in position within the hour. In the meantime, we need to move. This location isn't secure."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere Moretti won't think to look." He gathered my bag, emptying it of weapons before handing it back to me. "My car is parked two blocks away."

"You had a car this whole time?" I asked incredulously.

"I had several contingencies in place," he replied. "I knew you were coming for me, remember?"

Outside, the morning air was crisp, the street quiet. We walked in tense silence until we reached a nondescript sedan—nothing like the luxury car he'd been driving when I staged the accident.

"Get in," he instructed, opening the passenger door.

I hesitated. Getting into his car meant completely surrendering what little control I had left. But what choice did I have?

As we drove through the city, Damien's phone rang. He answered through the car's Bluetooth system.

"Report," he said curtly.

"We've located the target," a male voice replied. "Warehouse matches the description. Six armed guards, rotating shifts. Subject is being held in the northeast corner of the building."

"Condition?" Damien asked.

"Alive. Appears injured but mobile."

Relief flooded through me. Marcus was alive.

"Send visual confirmation to my secure channel," Damien ordered. "Prepare for extraction at 1800 hours."

"Yes, sir."

After the call ended, Damien glanced at me. "You'll have your proof within the hour."

True to his word, thirty minutes later, as we pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a luxury apartment building, his phone pinged with an incoming message. He showed me the screen—a grainy but clear image of Marcus, sitting on a cot in a small room. He looked thinner, with a bruised face and bandaged arm, but unmistakably alive.

"Satisfied?" Damien asked.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

We took a private elevator to the penthouse level. The apartment was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. Everything screamed wealth—from the minimalist furniture that probably cost more than my yearly salary to the original artwork adorning the walls.

"Your safe house is a penthouse?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"It's one of several properties not publicly connected to me," he explained, setting down his phone. "Moretti won't look for you here."

"And what am I supposed to do while your team rescues my brother? Admire the view?"

"You could start by taking a shower," he suggested, gesturing toward a hallway. "First door on the left. There are clean clothes in the closet."

The idea of washing away the last 24 hours was tempting. I gave him a wary look, but he had already turned his attention to his phone, seemingly unconcerned with my movements.

The bathroom was obscenely luxurious—marble countertops, a rainfall shower with more settings than I knew what to do with, and products that probably cost more than my monthly rent. I stood under the hot water for a long time, letting it wash away the tension and fear, if only temporarily.

When I emerged, dressed in borrowed clothes that fit suspiciously well, Damien was in the kitchen, speaking intensely to someone on the phone.

"I don't care what it takes," he was saying. "Find the connection between Sullivan and the harbor shipment. There's something bigger at play here."

He hung up when he noticed me, his expression unreadable as he took in my appearance.

"The clothes fit," he observed.

"How did you know my size?" I asked, unsettled by the implication.

"I told you, Juno. I know many things about you."

Before I could respond, his phone rang again. His expression darkened as he listened to the caller.

"Change of plans," he said after hanging up. "Moretti's moving your brother tonight. We need to accelerate our timeline."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Damien said, his eyes meeting mine, "that you're coming with us after all."

My heart raced at the prospect. "I thought you said it was too dangerous."

"It is," he confirmed. "But we need someone your brother trusts, someone who can keep him calm during extraction. That's you."

I nodded, determination replacing fear. "What do you need me to do?"

"For now? Follow my instructions exactly. No improvising, no heroics." His voice hardened. "From this moment on, you are mine. You do what I say, when I say it. Is that clear?"

Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine—not fear, exactly, but a strange, electric awareness.

"I'm not yours," I countered, lifting my chin. "I'm doing this for my brother, not you."

In three swift steps, Damien closed the distance between us. His hand came up to grip my jaw, not painfully, but firmly enough that I couldn't look away.

"Let me be perfectly clear," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "The only reason you're still walking free instead of sitting in a police station is because I allow it. The only reason your brother has a chance at survival is because I decide it. So yes, Juno, until this is over, you are mine."

His face was inches from mine, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that made my breath catch. I should have been terrified, should have pulled away, but something else entirely coursed through me—a confused mix of anger, defiance, and something more primal that I refused to acknowledge.

I wrenched away from his grip. "Fine. Until Marcus is safe."

A hint of a smile curved Damien's lips. "Good girl."

As night fell, we prepared to leave. Damien handed me a bulletproof vest and a small earpiece.

"Stay close to me," he instructed as we headed back to the car. "Do exactly as I say, and we all get out of this alive."

The drive to the warehouse was tense with anticipation. When we arrived, Damien parked several blocks away, where three black SUVs and a team of men in tactical gear awaited us.

"Team One takes the front entrance," Damien instructed the group. "Team Two, the loading bay. Juno and I will enter through the side access once you've cleared the main floor. Priority is securing the hostage without alerting Moretti to our presence."

As the teams moved into position, Damien turned to me. "Last chance to stay in the car."

"Not happening," I replied firmly.

He nodded, as if he'd expected no less. "Stay behind me at all times."

We moved through the shadows toward the warehouse, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain it would give us away. When we reached the side door, Damien pressed a finger to his earpiece, listening to updates from his team.

"Main floor clear," he whispered to me. "Six guards neutralized. Your brother's location confirmed—northeast room, as expected."

We slipped inside, moving quickly through dimly lit corridors. I followed Damien's lead, marveling at how silently he moved for someone his size. We reached a metal door, and Damien gestured for me to stay back as he checked it.

"Marcus is inside," he confirmed. "Alone."

I pushed past him, eager to see my brother, but Damien caught my arm in a viselike grip.

"Wait," he hissed. "Something's not right."

Before I could ask what he meant, a phone rang—not Damien's, but one sitting on a crate near the door. Damien's expression turned to stone as he picked it up and answered.

"Holt," he said coldly.

A voice came through clearly enough that I could hear it. "I was wondering when you'd show up to rescue your little kidnapper's brother."

Moretti.

"I have to admit," the voice continued, "I never expected you to care enough about some random woman to mount a rescue operation. She must be quite special."

Damien's eyes flicked to me, then back to the phone. "What do you want, Vincent?"

"Originally? Just leverage against you. But now I'm curious about this woman who's got you playing hero. Perhaps I should meet her properly."

I felt sick. This had been a trap—not for me, but for Damien.

"Release the brother," Damien commanded. "Your quarrel is with me."

Moretti laughed. "Oh, I'll release him. Right after you and your special friend join me for a conversation. East entrance, five minutes. Come alone, or the brother dies messily."

The call ended. Damien's jaw clenched as he turned to me.

"It was a setup," I whispered, horror dawning. "He used me to get to you."

"Yes," Damien confirmed grimly. "But not for the reasons you think." He touched his earpiece. "All teams fall back. Maintain perimeter but do not engage. Repeat, do not engage."

He looked at me, his expression grave. "You have a choice to make, Juno. You can leave now—my team will get you safely away. Or you can come with me and we end this tonight."

"What about Marcus?"

"Either way, I'll make sure he gets out alive." His eyes held mine. "But if you come with me, you need to understand something. After tonight, your life changes permanently."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said, his voice low and intense, "that from now on, you are mine in truth, not just in words. My protection, my responsibility... my possession."

The possessiveness in his tone should have repelled me. Instead, it sent a shiver of something dangerously close to desire down my spine.

"Why would you do that for me?" I asked, genuinely confused. "You barely know me."

Something flashed in his eyes—an emotion I couldn't name. "You'd be surprised what I know about you, Juno Reyes."

I had seconds to decide—walk away or step into whatever dangerous game Damien was playing. The smart choice was clear. But when had I ever made the smart choice?

"I'm coming with you," I said firmly.

As we walked toward the east entrance, Damien's hand found the small of my back—a possessive gesture that felt strangely like a promise.

"Whatever happens next," he murmured, "remember that you chose this."

The door opened, revealing Moretti standing with four armed men. Behind them, tied to a chair, was Marcus—battered, bloody, but alive.

"Ah, the mysterious Juno," Moretti smiled, his eyes cold as they assessed me. "I've been looking forward to meeting the woman who's trading Damien Holt's secrets to his competitor."

I froze, confused by his words. What secrets? What competitor?

Damien's hand tightened on my back as he guided me forward.

"She doesn't know what you're talking about, Vincent," he said evenly. "But I suspect she's about to find out."