[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 49: Offering

CASSIAN

I exhaled sharply through my nose, yanking my phone from my pocket and swiping to answer the call from my head of security.

"What." My voice came out clipped. Irritated.

"Sir." Lake’s voice was calm but urgent. "We have a situation in the underground garage."

My jaw tightened. "What kind of situation?"

"An unauthorized vehicle accessed the premises approximately ten minutes ago. The clearance used matches your internal security network, specifically, a code that should only be accessible to upper-level personnel."

I went still.

"Explain."

"The vehicle is a black van, no plates, tinted windows. My team secured it immediately upon entry. There’s one occupant inside. Male. Alive. Bound and gagged."

My pulse spiked.

"And?"

"There’s a package addressed to you, sir. An envelope attached to the man’s chest."

Silence stretched for a beat.

"I’m on my way," I said flatly. "No one touches anything until I get there."

"Understood."

I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

Turned to look at Noah.

He was still slumped against the window, breath fogging the glass, body trembling with aftershocks. His hands were still bound behind his back. The blindfold was still secure.

He looked wrecked.

Beautiful.

Mine.

But I didn’t have time for this right now.

I crossed the room in three strides, pulling the tie from his wrists with quick, efficient movements. He gasped softly as his arms fell forward, shoulders rolling to relieve the strain.

"I’m going down for a minute. You will stay here," I said, voice flat. "Don’t move. Don’t clean up. Don’t do anything."

I reached up and pulled the blindfold off.

His eyes blinked open, unfocused and dazed, pupils blown wide.

"Cassian, "

"I said stay here." I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Do you understand?"

He swallowed hard, nodded weakly.

"Good."

I released him and turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" His voice was hoarse. Small.

I didn’t answer.

Just walked out, letting the suite door slam shut behind me.

...

The underground garage was cold.

Sterile.

Concrete walls, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of exhaust and oil lingering in the air.

My security team had already cordoned off the area.

Two men stood by the elevator, hands resting on concealed weapons. Another three were positioned around the vehicle, a black van, exactly as Lake had described.

No plates.

Tinted windows so dark you couldn’t see inside.

Lake approached as I stepped off the elevator, his expression neutral but alert.

"Sir."

"Status."

"Vehicle secured. One occupant, male, mid-thirties. Bound with zip ties, gagged with cloth. No weapons found on him or in the vehicle. The envelope is still attached."

I nodded once. "Open it."

Lake gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward and pulled open the van’s rear door.

The interior was dim, but I could make out the figure immediately.

A man.

Slumped against the far wall of the van, hands bound behind his back, ankles zip-tied together. A dirty cloth was shoved into his mouth, secured with duct tape.

His clothes were rumpled, stained with sweat and dirt. His face was bruised, someone had worked him over before delivering him here.

But it was his eyes that caught my attention.

Wide.

Terrified.

Familiar.

I stepped closer, leaning into the van, studying his face in the harsh fluorescent light.

And then I recognized him.

Fuck.

Not the shooter.

But close.

Very close.

This man had been there that night three years ago.

Not pulling the trigger, but standing nearby. Watching. Part of the crew that had set the trap.

Part of the reason why my nightmare started.

My jaw clenched so hard I felt my teeth grind.

"Get him out," I said quietly.

Two of Lake’s men moved immediately, dragging the man out of the van and forcing him to his knees on the concrete floor.

He made muffled sounds behind the gag, eyes darting between me and the security team, panic written all over his face.

I ignored him for now.

Turned my attention to the envelope.

It was taped to his chest, plain, unmarked, no signatures.

I ripped it free and tore it open.

Inside was a single piece of paper.

Folded once.

I unfolded it slowly, scanning the contents.

The message was short. Blunt.

Mr. Wolfe,

This man is a present from us. We were not involved. Our family has no loyalty to the Vincenti, though we have worked adjacent to their interests in the past.

We are not your enemy.

His fate is yours to decide.

Consider this a gesture of goodwill.

No signature.

No name.

But the implication was clear.

Someone, some family aligned with Vincenti interests but not directly loyal, was trying to distance themselves.

Trying to prove their neutrality.

And they were doing it by handing me a piece of the puzzle.

A living, breathing piece.

I stared at the man kneeling on the concrete, trembling, eyes wide with fear.

They gave you to me.

Like a fucking offering.

My hand tightened on the paper, crumpling it slightly.

"Sir?" Lake’s voice pulled me back.

I turned to him, expression carefully blank. "Take him to the secondary location."

"The one in, "

"Yes." I folded the paper and shoved it into my pocket. "Secure him there. No interrogation yet. No contact with local authorities. No one goes near him without my explicit permission."

Lake nodded. "Understood."

I looked back at the man.

He was shaking now, muffled sounds escaping around the gag, trying to say something.

Trying to beg, probably.

I stepped closer.

Crouched down so we were eye-level.

His eyes locked onto mine, desperate, pleading.

I tilted my head slightly, studying him like a specimen under glass.

"Do you remember me?" I asked softly.

He nodded frantically.

"Good." I reached out, gripping his jaw hard enough to bruise. "Then you know what’s coming."

His eyes filled with tears.

I released him and stood, turning back to Lake.

"Move him now. I want him out of here in the next five minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Lake gestured to his team, and they moved immediately, hauling the man to his feet, dragging him toward a separate vehicle parked nearby.

He struggled weakly, but it was useless.

Within seconds, he was shoved into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him.

The engine started.

The vehicle pulled out of the garage.

Gone.

I stood there for a moment, watching the taillights disappear into the night.

Then I turned back to the black van.

Walked around it slowly, inspecting every angle.

No damage.

No identifying marks.

Completely clean.

Professional.

Whoever had delivered this man knew what they were doing.

Knew how to move without leaving traces.

Knew how to send a message without making it a declaration of war.

They’re choosing sides.

The thought settled in my chest, cold and sharp.

My release from prison had shifted the balance.

This delivery was a calculated move.

A way of saying: We’re not your enemy. We’re neutral. Don’t come for us.

But neutrality in this world was a fiction.

You were either with someone or against them.

There was no in-between.

They’ll choose soon enough.

And when they do, I’ll know exactly where they stand.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

It rang twice before Reid answered.

"Wolfe."

"I need you to dig into something," I said, voice low. "Neutral families adjacent to Vincenti interests. Specifically, ones operating in Spain."

A pause. "You think they’re making moves already?"

"I know they are." I glanced back at the empty space where the van had been. "Someone just sent me a gift. I need to know who."

"Understood. I’ll have preliminary information by morning."

"Good."

I ended the call and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

Stood there for another moment, staring at the concrete floor where the man had been kneeling.

Blood from his split lip had dripped onto the ground.

A small, dark stain.

I turned and walked back toward the elevator, leaving the garage behind.

Lake and his team would handle the cleanup.

They always did.

As the elevator doors closed, I caught my reflection in the polished steel.

Cold.

Empty.

Dangerous.

Exactly what I needed to be.

By the time I returned to the suite, it was past midnight.

The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the marble floors.

I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me.

The suite was silent.

Noah was still by the window.

Exactly where I’d left him.

But he’d moved slightly, slumped down onto the floor now, back against the glass, knees pulled up to his chest.

His clothes were still disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, pants barely pulled up.

Cum had dried on his thighs.

He looked exhausted.

Wrecked.

Mine.

He looked up as I approached, eyes red-rimmed, expression unreadable.

"You’re back," he said quietly.

"I told you to stay."

"I did."

I stared down at him for a long moment.

Then held out my hand.

He hesitated.

Then took it.

I pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed slightly.

"Go clean up," I said flatly. "Then get some sleep."

He nodded weakly and started toward the bathroom.

Paused at the doorway.

Turned back.

"Cassian?"

"What."

"Are you okay?"

The question caught me off guard.

I stared at him, jaw tight.

Am I okay?

No.

I just had a man from my past delivered to me like a fucking package.

I’m planning his death.

And I can’t stop thinking about Julian.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Just looked away.

"Go to bed, Noah."

He hesitated for another second.

Then disappeared into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut.

And I stood there alone in the dark suite, fists clenched, chest tight.

This is just the beginning.

They’re choosing sides.

And when the dust settles, there won’t be anyone left standing but me.