Will spat a thick glob of blood onto the cracked pavement, the metallic taste lingering on his tongue as he dragged in a ragged breath. His chest heaved with the effort, ribs screaming in protest from every blow he’d taken. One eye was already swelling shut, and a fresh cut along his brow leaked crimson down the side of his face.

But his glare? It burned.

He stood, barely, knees buckling beneath him but refusing to drop. Around him, the circle of thugs closed in again, smirking, confident. Cocky. One of them cracked his knuckles. Another raised a pipe, glinting in the flickering alley light.

Will didn’t flinch.

“You think…” he growled, voice hoarse, shredded like his knuckles, “you can touch him—” his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, “—while I’m still breathing?”

There was fire in those words. Not just defiance, but promise. A warning wrapped in steel.

His body trembled from exhaustion, punishment layered over bone-deep fatigue, but his fists stayed up. Shaky, yes. But tight. Steady. Ready.

Because this wasn’t just about him anymore.

This was about the person they were trying to get to. The one behind him. The one he’d bleed for, break for, die for if it came to it.

Will Shaw had lost too much already—his family, his peace, his chance at a normal life. But he wasn’t gone yet. And if they thought he was going to let anyone else be taken while he was still standing?

They had no idea who the hell they were dealing with.