His to Destroy, Mine to Save (Book 3)

TORI

I hurried down the dim sidewalk, my pulse hammering in my ears while the city pressed in with heat and noise, the air thick enough to taste. Panic clawed up my throat, stealing breath before I could pull it in.

I shouldn’t have done that. What made me think I could just walk away?

The night wasn’t just dark, it was a weight against my skin, heavy enough to slow me down if I let it.

Earlier that day, meeting Mr. Kincade had been a mistake from the start. His condescending tone grated on me, and the moment he opened his mouth, his voice cracked through the air like thunder, shaking every nerve until my stomach clenched.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” Kincade growled, low and steady enough to curl along my spine until I hated the way it made me feel.

Control lived in his tone, the kind that made obedience feel like instinct. My pulse quickened, and I swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to look away. I didn’t obey because I had to. I did it because I refused to let another man think fear made me weak. Fear had kept me alive once, but defiance was what would keep me free.

I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, so I held his gaze, daring him to break. He didn’t blink. Neither did I, though every second felt like a battle of wills.

The moment I stepped on stage at the company event, I knew I’d gone too far. The opening melody of “ABCDEFU” rang out, every beat a challenge he couldn’t mistake.

I wasn’t just singing; I was declaring war, and the tension in the room thickened until it felt like everyone was holding their breath.

Fury bubbled in my chest at my coworkers for setting me up, at myself for letting them, and, worst of all, at Kincade for making me feel anything at all. God, I hate that he gets under my skin, and I hate that my body reacts anyway.

His cold and calculating eyes never left mine, and it felt as though he could read my every thought. I finished the performance, but it felt like I was still on stage, the spotlight peeling me open until the anger tangled with a thrill I didn’t ask for.

Then I quit. Just like that. No hesitation. I dropped the mic, though something in Kincade’s eyes made me second-guess what I had just done. Too late now. The room went still, disbelief thick in the air, and though I could hear the murmurs and gasps behind me, I didn’t care. I wasn’t there for them. This was for me.

I strode into the cool night air, my heels clicking on the pavement, and when a taxi appeared in the distance, I raised my hand.

The city lights twinkled all around me, but I wasn’t looking at them. I was thinking about the fire I’d just started and wondering if I had made a mistake lighting it.

Then came the shout, sharp and too close, and my heart slammed into overdrive.

Shit. He’s following me. Don’t look back. Don’t.

I looked anyway.

His gaze locked onto mine across the lot, wild and unhinged, a predator sighting prey. His nostrils flared and his chest rose and fell in short bursts, as if he was holding himself together by force alone.

The taxi rolled to a stop, but I stayed frozen, torn between running and the reckless pull to stay exactly where I was. I held his gaze, taking in the fury he no longer bothered to hide.

Don’t react. Don’t you dare show him fear.

Fear wasn’t weakness. It was fuel. The more he pushed, the steadier I became. He could command, threaten, even chase, but I decided what broke me. And it wouldn’t be him.

Something inside me tightened, and it wasn’t only fear; it was hotter than that, sharper, and more dangerous.

A slow smile curved my lips, and Kincade stilled, his approach faltering for the first time.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance. I just threw him a grin, kissed my middle finger, and let it fly as I slid into the cab and yanked the door shut.

The car jolted forward, tires squealing on wet pavement.

A raw snarl chased the cab, low and brutal, vibrating through the night. A heavy thud hit the trunk as if he’d tried to grab the car with his bare hands.

The city rushed by, headlights strobing over wet streets, gas fumes mixing with hot asphalt until the night felt jagged in my lungs.

A laugh slipped free, bright with adrenaline, and for a moment, it felt good.

The high faded quickly, replaced by a creeping dread, and the echo of his roar stayed lodged in my ears like a warning I couldn’t shake.

Did I go too far?

Kincade’s face flashed across my mind, twisted with rage, and my stomach knotted. Old memories scraped at the edges of my thoughts, dragging me backward whether I wanted to go or not.

The last time I’d defied a powerful man, my father had beaten me for it. I’d refused to marry the man he chose, and the lash across my back had been his answer. That pain and that control had been the price of disobedience, a price my skin still remembered.

I unlocked my apartment door with shaking hands and stumbled inside, kicking off my heels before collapsing onto the couch as my body finally crashed.

The phone vibrated against the cushion, and dread rose in my throat before I even looked.

Social media had exploded. Clips of my performance were everywhere.

One headline cut through the noise, bold and damning:

Kincade Industries Expands as Dante Kincade Absorbs Titan Tech Amid Rising Controversy

Dante Kincade.

The coffee I’d handed him that morning felt like a bad dream now, a small thing that belonged to a different world.

A chill slid down my spine.

No. This can’t be happening.

The story hinted at rumored ties between Kincade Industries and the underworld elite; rumors I’d once dismissed. But my father had mentioned Dante Kincade exactly one time in my life. Once was enough.

My father, head of the Franco cartel, the man who turned cruelty into doctrine and never flinched at blood or begging, feared him.

I hadn’t just insulted a CEO. I’d mocked a man whose name lived in the darkest corners of the city.

My anonymity was gone. My face was everywhere.

One thought burned, hot and certain. Who would get to me first, my father, Marcos, or Dante?

I’d seen attraction in Kincade’s eyes earlier, fleeting and gone now, replaced by something merciless.

And attraction? That wouldn’t stop him.

I scrambled to pack, shoving clothes and cash into my duffel bag with quick, uneven movements.

If my father found me, he’d drag me back. And Marcos Montoya would be waiting.

Blood was his currency. Pain was his pleasure.

My father was prepared to hand me over, sealing an alliance between cartels.

Old scars throbbed along my back as I slung the bag over my shoulder. I tucked Mr. Buttons into my hoodie pouch, and grabbed my guitar. My apartment had once felt safe, but now it pressed in on me, too small and too quiet to breathe.

With every step toward the door, something heavy peeled off my chest, not all of it, just enough to make breathing possible again.

I hadn’t clawed my way out of one cage to step into another.

I was no longer just running from my father or Marcos, I was running from Dante Kincade too.

The last thing I needed was for Kincade to catch me.

Because when men like him hunted, they didn’t stop, and if they caught you, they made sure you wished they had killed you instead.