His words echo in the frigid air between us, bouncing off broken rails and half-loaded boxcars.
“That was never what I wanted,” I whisper, tears burning in my eyes but refusing to fall. “I wanted a dad, not a king who thought himself above God. You never understood how to love anything but power.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “You sound just like your mother. Stubborn. Ungrateful.”
“That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The Vultures’ VP’s patience snaps. He lunges closer, voice sharp and eager. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t come tonight. Hand over the book, or your brother dies next.”
My brother looks up, blood painting his cheeks. He shakes his head at me, lips forming a single word: “Run.”
But I don’t move. I open the book, pages heavy and stained, and flip to the middle of the book where I find the words that damn all of us. “Hmm… Here we go. Let me read what your new friends think of you and their plans, Dad.” I don’t hold back the acid from my tone. “Surname Devereaux. Albert. Micah. Everly. All living heirs to the throne. To be eliminated. Territory absorbed.”
I glance at my father, my words act like poison to him. His expression is puckered into a deep frown.
“Your new partners want you dead. And here you are, killing the only people who ever tried to stand by you.”
My father’s hand tightens around the butt of his gun, mouth twisted in disgust. “This is about power, Everly. Always has been. I raised you to be strong, to take what you want. I thought you’d understand. Loyalty is a privilege for the strong.”
The Vulture’s VP looks between me and my father. His secret orders to off my entire family are exposed. Yet, he stands there like he’s waiting for a bullet or for one of us to start shooting.
“You never gave me the choice to love you,” I say, voice breaking. “You only gave me orders. And you broke everyone who tried to make you human. Mom didn't die from an overdose she chose. She died trying to escape your cruelty.” I never talk about my mother. Not to friends, if I had any. Not to Phantom. But deep down, losing her right before my fifteenth birthday was one of the cruelest days fate ever gave me.
She wanted to escape my father’s unforgiving wrath toward her and in her mind there was only one way out.
He steps forward, the click of his shoes sharp. The barrel of his gun glints in the white light, and for a second, everything is silent but the pounding of my heart.
“Enough of this,” the VP snarls, jerking his gun toward Micah. “Give me the book or your brother’s next.”
My father’s gaze flicks to the VP, disdain clear in his expression. For a second, I see his pride flare—he’s insulted, even now, by someone threatening his blood. Unless it’s his own bullet.
“Stay out of this,” Albert snaps.
The VP shrugs, but his finger tightens on the trigger. “What are you gonna do, old man?”
I clutch the book tighter, sweat beading at my brow even though the air is freezing.
“Fine. Take it,” I say, voice trembling but loud. I step forward, holding it out just out of his reach.
The VP smirks, stepping in. “Smart girl?—”
But the shadows move.
A crack splits the air—gunfire, sudden and close.
Phantom steps from behind a stack of crates, gun aimed, eyes blazing with the wrath of the Devil himself.
The first bullet finds its mark, the VP’s chest exploding in red. He drops, mouth frozen in surprise, gun skittering away across the ice. The remaining Vultures explode into chaos, drawing weapons, firing wildly. Muzzle flashes light up the night, bullets tearing through cold air and ricocheting off metal.
The Savage Reign crew erupts from every hiding place—Reaper, Storm, Venom, Ash, Beast and Haze all moving as one, cold and silent and lethal. Reaper grabs me by the arm, pulling me behind a rusted generator, his hand a vice on my jacket as bullets pepper the ground nearby.
“Stay down!” he barks.
But all I can see is Phantom, the way he moves through gunfire, a shadow and a force of nature. He drops another Vulture, then another. Blood sprays the snow, bodies dropping all around, and still my father stands in the center, untouched, unmoved, like he’s the fucking king of the carnage.
I crawl to Micah, my knees scraping ice, grabbing his arm, pulling him behind cover as bullets fly. His breath is rough, and I see now the blood staining his shirt, his eyes clouded with pain.
“Stay with me,” I plead, my hand shaking as I grip his shoulder. “Please, Micah. Stay with me.”
