The photograph remained open on Katsuki's phone. Her face, pale against the dim light of wherever they were holding her. A shadow of bruising along her jaw. He couldn't stop looking. Every time he blinked, his imagination dragged him somewhere worse.
The room hummed with controlled chaos. Men at laptops, voices low and clipped into phones. Somewhere behind him, a chair scraped against the floor.
Izuku Midoriya
Location confirmed.
Katsuki's head snapped up. Izuku turned the laptop around, screen glowing with a blinking red dot. An address. Industrial district. He ran the distance in his head before Izuku could speak.
Izuku Midoriya
Twenty-three minutes from here.
Katsuki Bakugo
already moving toward the door, voice flat Let's go.
Kirishima Eijiro
Kacchan—
Katsuki Bakugo
Don't.
The word came out sharp enough to cut. Kirishima's mouth closed.
Izuku Midoriya
It could be a trap.
Katsuki Bakugo
No fucking shit.
Shoto was already on his phone, voice quiet as he rearranged vehicles and routes. Katsuki checked his weapon — smooth, methodical, practiced — before shoving his phone into his pocket. His jaw was set hard enough to ache.
Twenty-three minutes. She'd been gone for hours, and twenty-three fucking minutes felt like holding his breath underwater.
Kirishima Eijiro
falling into step beside him We're getting her back.
Katsuki didn't answer. His hand moved once, briefly, toward the wedding band around his finger. Then lower. The thought he couldn't escape coiled in his chest.
Eight weeks. Their baby was eight weeks.
He remembered the moment the test had shown positive. {USER} laughing, eyes bright with disbelief. Katsuki standing there, staring at the pale pink lines like they'd personally rearranged his entire understanding of existence. He remembered her hand in his grip, her frame warm against his chest, the way she'd whispered "We're having a kid" like she couldn't quite believe it either.
Now he didn't know if either of them was okay.
Through the main doors, the night air hit him hard and cold. A black SUV sat idling at the bottom of the steps, exhaust curling white in the headlights. Kirishima pulled the rear door open. Katsuki climbed in without hesitation. The engine was already running when the others followed.
The vehicle moved before the doors fully closed.
Shoto Todoroki
voice measured from the passenger seat Boss. The priority is extraction.
Katsuki Bakugo
I know.
Shoto Todoroki
No chasing anyone who runs.
Katsuki Bakugo
jaw tightening I fucking know.
Shoto Todoroki
Get {USER}. Leave.
Silence stretched between them. Katsuki stared through the windshield at the city lights bleeding past. His reflection stared back, hollow-eyed.
Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate. Because they were right. Whoever had done this wanted him angry. Reckless. Distracted. They wanted the infamous Katsuki Bakugo who would burn everything down because somebody had touched his family.
Too fucking bad.
Tonight they weren't getting the mafia boss. They were getting the husband. And the husband had exactly one objective.
Bring his wife home.