Burn For Me : Bound By The Mafia King のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 111 - チャプター 120

Cali’s pov.The forest is silent.Not the peaceful kind of silence—the oppressive kind. The kind that clings to your skin like fog. The kind that warns you, you’re not supposed to be here.I kill the engine of the motorcycle and coast into the cover of the trees. The canopy overhead is thick, letting only slivers of weak gray light through. Moss hangs heavy from the branches. The dirt beneath my boots is wet, muffled. The kind of quiet that eats sound.I slide off the bike and pull it backward into the underbrush, masking the tracks as best I can with my boots and a branch I strip from a nearby pine. It’s slow work. The kind that would drive Hale insane. But I’m not working for speed right now. I’m working for survival.The moment I’m sure the bike is hidden, I crouch and scan the area.Nothing but trees. Ferns. Fog.I pull my stolen scope from the inside of my jacket and press it to my eye. It takes a second to calibrate, but when it does, the outline of the compound comes into focus

Hale’s pov.We breach with surgical precision—stacked in silence, weapons drawn, boots kissing concrete like whispers of war. The old compound stretches out like a corpse, long-dead but dressed up like it still breathes. The outer fencing is rusted, patched with chicken wire. But the gate wasn’t locked.That was the first bad sign.I lead the first sweep team through the west corridor, motioning Rook and Kenner to split. My boots crunch over gravel and old plaster. The place smells like ammonia and bleach and the faintest trace of iron—someone cleaned up fast, and not sloppily. They took their time.Too much time.“North corridor clear.”“South clear. Empty barracks, zero bodies.”“Thermal’s dead. No live heat signatures.”No heat signatures.No shouting. No gunfire. No scrambled response team.Just void.We reach the interior hall, the one with the reinforced steel doors and bolted rebar lattices. I recognize the layout. Old syndicate design. Basic. Efficient. One way in. No way out

Belle’s pov.The room is too clean.That’s the first thing I register as I come back to myself. Not the ache in my shoulders or the chill in the air—but the smell. Bleach. Metal. Something chemical and sterile that coats the back of my throat.It’s not a hospital.It’s too quiet.Too calculated.The kind of clean you only find in places designed to strip people down. Wash them of dignity. Of identity. Of hope.I shift against the chair, and pain blooms in my wrists where the cuffs bite. My legs are bound too, ankles lashed tight against the base of the metal frame. Every limb feels heavy, like my body no longer belongs to me. I try to sit straighter, but even that feels like a rebellion.I’m not alone.He’s sitting across the room in a wide leather chair like he owns the world.Killian Vale.He’s the kind of calm that makes your blood run cold. Nothing in his expression says threat. Not yet. But I can feel it there, underneath the lazy posture and that amused glint in his eye.He’s wat

Belle’s pov.I’ve stopped crying.That’s when I know something inside me has shifted.The tears dried up sometime last night—if night even exists down here. It’s hard to tell. There are no windows. No clocks. No sounds beyond the ones he wants me to hear. The room I’m kept in is windowless, sterilized, airless. It hums with something artificial. Fluorescent lighting burns overhead, steady and unchanging.But the silence has changed.Killian hasn’t checked on me in hours. Not since the last meal, which came late. A paper plate of food shoved under the door, followed by laughter I didn’t recognize—his, and someone else’s.He’s distracted.That means I have a sliver of time.A single thread of possibility I’ve been preparing for since the second day.It started with the left cuff. Just a small tremor in the mechanism when he locked it one night in a hurry. It didn’t click the way the right one did. I noticed it immediately. A flaw.I’ve been testing it ever since. Slowly. Cautiously. Mov

Hale’s pov. “You think it was her?” Cali repeats.I don’t look at her.Not because I don’t want to—but because I’m afraid I’ll confirm everything she’s already feeling. The fear. The fury. The hopelessness that’s already starting to curdle in her chest.I check my phone again as I stalk toward the car, the screen lighting up with the latest pings from the comms channel. Every update from the ground team is like a flare in the dark.Killian was seen alone.Running.Firing shots into the woods.Someone was ahead of him—running hard. Female, from the silhouette on the drone’s heat map. Small. Limping.It has to be Belle.It’s the first lead we’ve had in twenty-four hours that doesn’t feel like a fucking breadcrumb left to distract me.“We’re not wasting another second,” I mutter.I throw open the driver’s side door. Cali climbs in on the other side, slamming it behind her as if trying to trap the dread in with us so it doesn’t spill out.My tires spit gravel the moment I hit the gas. Th