ONE HOUR. THE RAILWAY. BRING THE BOOK OR YOUR LAST BROTHER DIES.
My head spins. I suck in air that tastes like death and loss.
Phantom’s hand closes around the back of my head, and he pulls me into his chest. He holds me until the tears dry up and my chest stops shaking. He slips his other hand into mine and thread our fingers together, anchoring me in place.
His voice is low, deadly, and absolute. “We’re going to get your brother and then we will end this nightmare once and for all.”
9
EVERLY
The wind is bitter tonight, a blade cutting through the ruined hush of the railway station. It’s snowing harder than before, flakes swirling in wild, endless spirals that coat the ground and swallow every bit of color. There’s nothing soft about it—the snow falls thick and wet, turning the world gray and strange. It muffles my footsteps as I force one after the other across the icy distance between me and the elevated platform where I spy my father waiting.
Every inhale scrapes my lungs raw, sharp with diesel, rust, and a metallic tang that clings to the back of my throat. I clutch the black book tighter to my chest, my gloves already stiff from the chill. Phantom pressed it into my hands before he took off for the shadows, his gaze fierce and unyielding, the promise in his eyes enough to make me believe I wouldn’t be walking into this alone.
I trust him to have my back. Him and the entire Savage crew. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
But it’s not easy. Standing here now, in the shadow of this cursed place, I feel the weight of every secret, every mistake, and everylove I ran from. The Savages are out there in the dark, but I can’t see them. Which is the point.
The cold crawls under my skin, but I don’t let it touch my spine.
The platform comes into view, washed in harsh white light from a portable flood lamp balanced on a broken crate. My father is there. He stands in the center, king of nothing in my opinion but the arrogance pinning his shoulder back and pushing his chin high tells me he thinks he’s above God Himself.
Snow clings to the shoulders of his expensive coat. His presence fills the space, sucking the air out of it and any goodness there might be. The Vultures circle him, patch vests gleaming with ice and the false bravado of men who think they still own New Orleans.
I see the VP first, lounging just behind my father, a cruel smile twisting his mouth, his gun hanging loose in one hand. Men like him thrive on fear. Tonight, he’s not getting any from me.
I step out of the shadows and onto the ramp that leads up to the platform where my father waits.
A form lies on the cold cement. My heart tumbles out of my chest to fall weeping in the snow.
Chloe.
She’s sprawled on the cement, eyes half-open to the sky, curls sticky with blood, lips parted as if she’s still trying to whisper a warning. My heart lodges in my throat. I feel the world tilt and nearly fall to my knees. My brother is there too, hunched and broken, his hands as swollen as his face.
For one moment, the whole world narrows to the pain shooting through me. Tears want to fall but I just think about Kaylee and how strong I need to be for her right now.
A sob claws at my throat. I bite down on it, hard.
No fear. No weakness. Not now.
I can grieve later.
The VP’s boots scrape the icy cement as he steps forward, the spotlight turning his shadow into a monster. His eyes cut to the book in my hand.
“You have something that belongs to me,” he calls out, voice bouncing off the walls. “Be a good girl and hand it over. Or things get messy.”
The air is thick with menace. My hands tremble, but I wrap them tighter around the book, fingers pressing into cracked leather. Liquid steel, I tell myself. You survived worse than this.
I lift my chin. “If it means so much to you,” I say, steady as I can, “you shouldn’t have let it fall into Savage hands.”
The VP scowls, anger flickering in his eyes. My father turns, his gaze icy and patient as he looks me over. For one terrible heartbeat, I see the man he was—the one who taught me how to tie my shoes, who carried me on his shoulders at the county fair, who smelled of tobacco and aftershave when he kissed me good night.
Then that image dies.
“It’s been a while,” I say, my voice too loud in the cold. “I see you haven’t changed for the better in our time apart.”
Albert Devereaux’s lips curl, his jaw ticking with the effort of holding onto his self-control. “You always did have a smart mouth, Everly. All I ever wanted was loyalty. I gave you everything. Every advantage. The world could have been yours. Instead, you went against me.”
