Vincent's POV
The cold tore through me the moment I hit the water.
I didn't feel the bullet wound anymore. Or the burn in my lungs. Or the sting of failure still fresh in my gut.
All I could see was the container sinking.
And all I could think was—Get to her.
My limbs cut through the water, forcing my body down into the dark. The container was angled slightly as it sank, the metal groaning under pressure. I could see it—the hatch she must've used to break free. Open. And empty.
No—
I dove lower.
There. Below the rising veil of bubbles. A mess of dark hair drifting weightless, arms slack, legs still.
Blossom.
My fingers latched onto her arm and I pulled her in, cradling her head. Her skin was cold. Lips blue. No movement.
I kicked up hard, ignoring the sharp throb shooting through my leg. Blood mingled into the water behind me, a red thread pulling downward, but I didn't stop. Couldn't.
We broke the surface with a violent gasp—mine.
Hers was silent.
"Breathe," I muttered, pulling her to my chest. "Come on, Little De… Breathe."
I wasn't alone.
A voice barked, "Hold it right there!"
My head snapped to the shoreline—gun aimed at me.
West.
Blue's brother stood frozen. For a moment, everything paused. The waves. The sky. My heartbeat.
Then his eyes dropped to Blossom's lifeless body in my arms.
His expression shattered.
The gun dropped. He ran.
He was already knee-deep in water when he got to us. "Give her—give her here—"
"She's not breathing."
We dragged her to shore together, my hands trembling now from adrenaline and blood loss. West was shouting something I couldn't hear—my own pulse had drowned it out.
I dropped to my knees, laid her out, tilted her head.
Pressed my hands to her chest.
"Come on. Come on, Little de."
Compression. Breath. Compression. Breath.
Her body didn't move.
"Don't do this," I growled. "You are not dying on me, not after all this."
I heard the helicopter blades before I looked up.
Rion.
Too far already, climbing like a vulture into the night.
The coward ran. Of course he did.
But I wasn't watching him anymore.
Because Blossom coughed.
Violent. Sharp. Water spewed from her mouth, her chest jerking upward as she gasped for air.
And just like that—
She came back.
I slumped forward, forehead resting against hers, too tired to say anything more than her name.
"Little De…"
She blinked, dazed. Lips parting. Her fingers brushed my soaked shirt.
West stepped back, giving us space. For once, he didn't say anything smart. He just stood there and looked like he might punch the ocean.
Sirens would've been poetic.
But we don't get poetry.
We got the quiet hum of a secure black SUV pulling onto the sand. One of mine. Reinforcements. About damn time.
"Get her to the safe house," I ordered, lifting her into my arms as she clutched the front of my shirt with what little strength she had.
I turned one last time toward the sky—toward the speck of Rion's escape, shrinking into darkness.
This isn't over.
----
West's POV
The air still reeked of gunpowder and saltwater.
By the time I got to the port, the sky had already shifted from bruised twilight to a moonless black. I didn't need anyone to tell me I was late. The blood splattered on the shipping crates, the echo of distant sirens, the empty casing shells rolling lazily across the metal walkways—they all told the story.
Vincent had already made his move.
And judging by the state of the place, it had been war.
I saw the container, one corner barely poking out of the ocean, waves lapping hungrily against its steel edges. I saw the crane. The levers. The chaos. And then I saw Vincent—dragging himself up the shore, soaked to the bone, Blossom limp in his arms.
That was when I moved.
He turned at the sound of my boots pounding against the dock, instinctively shifting Blossom to shield her. The second he saw it was me, though, his jaw tightened.
She wasn't breathing at first.
I saw it in his eyes—the split second he thought he lost her. But Vincent's not the type to freeze in panic. He shoved me aside, tilted her head back, and began resuscitation. Desperate, but focused.
Coughs. Sputtering.
And then her eyes fluttered open.
---
We didn't waste time.
Vincent gave the coordinates. I drove like the car owed me a favor. Blossom lay curled in the backseat, wrapped in his jacket, head resting in his lap. He never took his hand off her.
His leg was bleeding through the bandages.
He didn't flinch.
When we arrived at the private care facility tucked behind a vineyard an hour out of the city, two of Vincent's men were already waiting. They helped unload Blossom while I supported Vincent on my side.
She was wheeled off instantly into a private suite. I could tell from the way he watched her disappear through those double doors that he was still living the last few seconds of her nearly drowning.
Finally, when the nurses tried to lead him to a treatment room for his leg, he resisted.
"She goes first."
I stepped in. "She's in good hands. You can't help her if you're passing out from blood loss."
He stared at me. Silent. Then nodded.
They cleaned the bullet wound and stitched it fast. Vincent didn't say a word the whole time. When they were done, we stepped outside, and I handed him a bottle of water. He didn't drink it.
"Talk," he said.
I took a breath.
"It started with Blue," I began. "She called me three days ago, said Blossom wasn't answering her phone. Sounded panicked. You know Blue. She doesn't panic."
Vincent's eyes darkened.
"I called Adriel next. He gave me nothing. But I kept pushing. Eventually, he let something slip—a pause, a weird shift in his tone when I asked where you were. All he said was, 'Rion's made a move.' That was enough for me."
Vincent didn't blink.
"I started digging through everything—surveillance chatter, port activity, even drone footage of off-grid properties. Then I remembered something. Months ago, you mentioned a decommissioned dock being scouted for reappropriation. It never went through. I figured Rion might use it. It was just a gut call."
He gave a slight nod.
"But it was Blue's message that pushed me. Her gut said Blossom was in danger. So I gambled on it. And... here we are."
Silence.
Then he looked away, jaw tight. "If I hadn't been bleeding out, I would have killed Rion myself."
I looked at the ground. "He'll get what's coming."
Vincent's voice was quiet, but lethal. "No. He'll get what I decide he deserves."
He stood then, limping toward the glass doors leading to Blossom's room. "She's not leaving my sight again."