The escape vehicle roared through the night, tires squealing against the uneven ground as Dylan's men navigated the dark, winding roads. Heaven sat in the back, holding Michael close. Her hands trembled as she wiped his fevered brow, praying that he would wake up soon, praying that the worst was over.
But even as they sped away from the burning wreckage of the safehouse, Heaven couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.
Dylan sat in the front, eyes focused on the road, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on the attack, on Richard's cold smile, and on what he had lost. Everything he'd worked for, every shred of peace, was slipping through his fingers. His empire. His family. His heart.
He glanced at Heaven in the rearview mirror. The sight of her, exhausted and scared, made something in him tighten. She had been through so much, and yet here she was—still fighting, still carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She wasn't just surviving anymore; she was fighting to protect what was left of them.
Dylan exhaled sharply. This had to end. It had to end with him taking back everything Richard had stolen, or it would be the death of them all.
Heaven caught his gaze in the mirror and saw the hard set of his jaw. "Dylan, we need to get Michael somewhere safe. The fever... it's getting worse," she said softly, her voice breaking.
Dylan nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. They had to move fast. They couldn't stay in one place for too long.
"We're heading to the fallback location," he said, voice low and steady. "It's a safe house. We'll get him treated there."
Jayden, still bleeding from his wound, leaned forward, his face pale but determined. "We don't have much time. Richard will come after us with everything he has."
Dylan's eyes hardened. "Let him come. We'll be ready."
Heaven felt the weight of those words. But deep down, she feared that it wasn't just Richard they had to worry about. It was the darkness inside Dylan, the unrelenting anger that could consume him.
And she wasn't sure if she could stop it.
---
Meanwhile – Richard's Pursuit
Back at the ruins of the safehouse, Richard paced back and forth, his anger boiling over. He had come so close to destroying Dylan's world, but the man had slipped through his fingers once again.
"Where are they?" Richard demanded, his voice icy.
His men stood nervously, unsure of how to answer. The man who had once been their leader had become a shadow of his former self. His obsession with Dylan was all-consuming.
"We've lost track of them, sir. They could be anywhere by now."
Richard's lip curled into a sneer. "Then track them again. I want them found. I want Dylan to feel my rage—feel it in his bones. No more running. No more hiding."
His right-hand man, Oliver, stepped forward, cautious. "Sir, perhaps we should—"
"Enough!" Richard roared, spinning on him. "You think I don't know what you're going to say? You think I'm blind? This is about more than just business now. This is about vengeance. And no one will stop me from taking what's rightfully mine!"
Richard clenched his fists, eyes burning with fury. "Dylan took everything from me. My birthright. My inheritance. He stole my future. And now... he'll pay."
---
Meanwhile – Dylan's Safe Haven
The small safehouse was tucked away deep in the woods, hidden from the prying eyes of the world. Dylan's men had already secured the perimeter, setting up checkpoints in case Richard's forces showed up.
Heaven sat by Michael's side, a cool cloth on his forehead. She refused to leave him, despite the exhaustion clawing at her. Her thoughts kept circling back to Dylan. He was always the enigma—the man who commanded fear, who ruled with an iron fist, but still cared for those who mattered to him, in his own way.
She glanced over at him now, his back turned as he spoke to Jayden in low tones, making plans for the next move. His expression was cold, calculating.
But Heaven could see the cracks in his armor.
"You're still fighting, aren't you?" she whispered to herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan from Michael. She looked down, and her heart skipped a beat. His eyes fluttered open.
"Micky?" she whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead.
Michael's voice was raspy, weak. "Heaven... where are we?"
"We're safe now, baby. We're safe," she said, choking on the words. Her brother was awake, but he still looked fragile. She had to hold it together—for him.
Michael managed a faint smile, his hand reaching for hers. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I put you through all this."
Heaven squeezed his hand. "No, Micky. You don't have to apologize. You're my brother. And I'll protect you. Always."
Dylan walked over, his presence almost suffocating. He looked at Heaven, then at Michael, and for the first time in a long while, his expression softened.
"He'll be okay," Dylan said quietly.
Heaven didn't respond. She couldn't. But deep down, she knew she had to hold on. For Michael. For herself. And maybe—for Dylan.