Deckard's POV

I pushed myself up from the chair, rolling my shoulders as the first Eteon soldier charged at me. He swung wide—a rookie mistake. I caught his wrist mid-air, twisted hard until I heard the satisfying crack of bone, and sent him sprawling to the ground with a sharp elbow to the temple.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Hattie pulling on a specialized glove, the tech whirring as it locked into place. She gripped her gun, the glove syncing with it instantly, and fired at an enemy soldier, sending him crashing into a table. Her movements were sharp and precise. Hobbs was his usual wrecking-ball self, tossing men aside like rag dolls. And Owen—well, Owen was going bloody berserk, his knife flashing as he took down soldier after soldier with terrifying precision.

But where was Isabella?

A cold dread settled in my chest. I spun, scanning the chaos for any sign of her.

"Owen!" I shouted over the roar of gunfire and grunts of pain.

My brother turned, his face streaked with sweat and a fresh cut along his cheek. "Find Isabella and get her out of here!"

The words hit like a gut punch. I knew she was alive—but knowing wasn't enough. The fear of losing her was worse than anything I'd ever felt. Another Eteon soldier lunged at me, knife glinting under the overhead lights. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it behind his back, driving him face-first into the nearest crate.

"Owen, go find Isabella now!" I barked, not bothering to hide the desperation in my voice.

Owen groaned, slamming his chair handle into the jaw of an approaching enemy. The soldier crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Owen wiped a hand over his bleeding cheek and rolled his eyes. "You are such a worried husband. Honestly, she can defend herself."

I grabbed the front of his jacket, yanking him closer. "Just do it, Owen!"

He sighed dramatically but nodded, knocking out another soldier with a sharp kick before disappearing into the fight.

I turned back to the battlefield, barely dodging a swinging baton. The Eteon soldier in front of me was massive, built like a bloody tank. He cracked his knuckles and grinned, like he thought he had the upper hand. Poor bastard. I feinted left, then delivered a brutal knee to his ribs. He staggered, but it wasn't enough. He swung again—I ducked, grabbed his wrist, and used his own momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Another came at me from behind. I turned just in time, catching the punch against my forearm before delivering a sharp jab to his throat. He gasped, stumbling backward, and I followed up with a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing into a pile of crates.

I could trust Owen—maybe 30%—to find my wife and keep her safe. Deep down, though, I knew the truth: it was never us protecting Isabella.

It was always Isabella keeping us alive.

Owen's POV

I punched an Eteon soldier hard, using my arm chain to whip another across the face before slamming my knee into his stomach. Fighting through this mess wasn't an issue, but I was apparently stuck babysitting Isabella. Not that she needed my protection, she can take care of herself, but Deck was in full fatherhood worry mode, which meant I had to find her.

I glanced around, spotting a large truck near the loading bay. If Isabella was hiding, it would be in or near a vehicle—she was smart enough to keep herself out of the way, especially because of the babies. I sprinted towards the truck, yanking open the door, and slid into the driver's seat.

Cold metal pressed against my temple.

"You got five minutes before I put a bullet in your head and get blood all over the dashboard," a familiar voice said.

I raised my hands slightly and smirked. "Nice to see you too, Bella."

I turned my head slowly and found Isabella sitting in the passenger seat, gun aimed directly at me. She didn't lower it.

I chuckled. "You'd shoot your own brother-in-law?"

"I thought you were a soldier. Not my fault you didn't check your corners," she shot back, but I could hear the slight worry in her tone. "Where's Deckard?"

I leaned back, resting my hands on the wheel. "He's fine. He's Deckard."

That was enough to make her relax. She let out a breath, lowering her gun, and turned to watch the fight outside.

My earpiece crackled to life. "Deck, I found Isa. She's fine—but she put a gun to my head."

Deckard's voice came through, deadpan. "Well, good for her. She knows better than to trust anyone climbing into a truck. Stay there. I got Hattie, we're driving out. Oh, and Hobbs is coming to you, Owen."

I groaned. "Not Hobbs. Anyone but Hobbs."

As if on cue, the truck door swung open, and the massive Samoan climbed in. "I got the machine and—oh, fuck me. Owen. And the Shaw I actually like better. Bella."

Isabella let out a laugh. "Thank you, Hobbs. Out of everyone who's worked with my brother, I like you the most."

I groaned again. Hobbs rolled his eyes. "Swear to God, if you do that again, I'll kick you out of this truck before you can say 'mummy.'"

My jaw tightened. I pulled out my gun, my voice low and venomous. "Don't ever bring my mother into this."

Isabella, ever the calmest one in the room, placed a hand on my gun, gently pushing it down. "Owen, calm down. And Hobbs—just because I can stand you doesn't mean I like you all the time. Just drive."

Hobbs smirked but nodded, starting the truck. We sped off, dust and debris swirling behind us.

As we sped away, I caught sight of Brixton landing smoothly on the back of his motorbike, barely missing a beat before taking off after us. Isabella let out a low whistle.

"Damn. I want that bike."

I chuckled. "Maybe we can get it for you—once he's not riding it anymore."

Hobbs let out a grunt. "That sumbitch really is Black Superman."

Isa glanced at him. "More like Iron Man, but yeah, I see it."

Hobbs looked between the two of us. "We need to get out of here—bomb just went off, remember?"

I smirked. "How about some Hulk smash?"

Hobbs shot me a knowing look. "Oh, I'll do you one better."

He started smashing through the enemy vehicles, taking out a drone with the truck before barreling into another car. "Whoo!" he roared, clearly enjoying himself.

Through my earpiece, Deckard's voice crackled to life. "Hobbs! She ain't gonna make it. Bringing her to you."

Hobbs tightened his grip on the wheel. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Shaw? Let's switch up the game."

He maneuvered the truck aggressively, ramming into enemy cars before kicking off the door. I moved next to Isa. "Deck will be fine, you know."

She nodded, but I could tell she needed a break.

I spotted Deckard and Hattie racing toward us, with Brixton right on their tail. As soon as they got close, Hattie made the leap, and Hobbs caught her with ease—just as Brixton reached for her.

Hattie landed in Hobbs' arms, momentarily taken aback, before flashing him a sly smile.

I coughed.

Hattie immediately noticed me and Isa watching, Isa grinning at her. Hattie blushed slightly and quickly moved to the other seat.

Hobbs, who never got flustered, was also blushing as he cleared his throat and focused back on the road.

Deckard yanked the wheel hard, maneuvering back toward Hobbs' truck. I glanced over at Isabella, who was watching Deckard and Brixton with an almost childlike fascination.

"When this is all over, I want that bike," she announced.

I let out a dry chuckle. "Not a puppy?"

She grinned. "I want that too, but the bike is so damn cool."

Deckard's car pulled up behind us, closing the gap fast. Isabella turned, watching him with narrowed eyes. "What is he doing?"

I smirked. "Showing off."

She pressed the comms. "Decks, what the hell are you doing?"

His voice came through, calm as ever. "Trying to get on the truck. Lose Brixton. Don't worry, love, I'm safe."

Safe. Right. I could already see Brixton firing at Deckard's ride, the impact setting part of the car ablaze. Isabella's tone turned sharp. "Deckard Shaw, get your ass on this truck right now."

I sighed. "Relax, Isa. It's Deckard. He'll be fine."

Deckard's voice cut in again. "Hobbs, you're gonna need a ride."

Hobbs let out a knowing grunt. "I know what you're thinking, Shaw."

Deckard's smirk was practically audible. "Just keep driving. I'll make it."

Isa grabbed my hand, squeezing so damn hard I swore she was trying to break it. "Bloody hell, Isa—watch the grip," I muttered, shaking off the sting.

Deckard floored it, pulling some ridiculous stunt before landing cleanly on the truck. His car crashed behind him, engulfed in flames. Isabella, of course, had her priorities straight.

"That was so hot," she breathed.

I groaned. "You think everything Deckard does is hot—even cooking naked."

She shrugged. "Yeah, so? He's my husband."

Hobbs made a disgusted noise, and Hattie looked just as unimpressed. Hobbs jerked his chin toward her. "Take the wheel. Come on, Scarface."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me what to do." But I slid out of the seat anyway, moving to back up my brother.

Isa climbed into the front while Hattie took the wheel, and we all watched as the place behind us erupted in flames. Brixton, relentless as ever, pulled the same maneuver Deckard had.

"There he is," Hobbs muttered.

"I got him," Deckard said.

"No, I got him," Hobbs countered.

I scoffed. "No, I got him."

Both of them shot me a look.

"Shut up, Owen."

Deckard went in first, throwing a punch at Brixton. Then Hobbs took a swing. Then me. At one point, we were all getting hits in, but the bastard barely flinched—built like bloody Superman, standing there as if we were swatting flies. Deckard nearly lost his footing, and Hobbs, being the genius he is, grabbed something and hurled it at Brixton.

The problem? Brixton dodged with ease, and the damn thing nearly took out Deckard instead.

From the comms, Isabella's voice rang out, all fire and frustration. "Seriously, She-Hulk? You nearly hit my hot husband!"

Hobbs barely looked fazed, already grabbing something else to throw. This time, Brixton caught it midair like it was nothing. Hobbs scowled, looking more annoyed than surprised—though he bloody well should've seen that coming. After all, Brixton had upgrades. So did Deckard, once upon a time.

Brixton smirked. "I thought you were strong."

Deckard was already back on his feet, wrench in hand, pried from god-knows-what. He rolled just in time to avoid whatever Brixton had tossed, the object disappearing into the thick cloud of dust. Then Brixton launched Hobbs straight into me.

I hit the ground with a groan. "Get the hell off me, Hobbs."

"Mate, I'm tired," Hobbs grunted, like that was an excuse.

I shoved him off just in time to see Deckard wrap the wrench around Brixton's throat, trying to choke him out. It didn't last. Brixton snapped the metal apart like it was cheap plastic and flipped Deckard straight into us. We barely had time to get up before we were all sprawled on the ground again.

Brixton moved in for the kill—until one of the towers suddenly collapsed, crashing down and taking him with it. Something went flying through the air, lost in the chaos.

Through the dust, Hattie pulled up in the truck, skidding to a stop just long enough for us to climb on the back. As we sped off toward safety, I could only hope the bloody machine was still in one piece.

We drove for a while until we reached a clearing with a few rundown buildings. They weren't in the best shape, but they'd do—safe enough for now. A place to catch our breath and, more importantly, prepare for Brixton.