Heavy footsteps echo on the stairs. It’s Malachi and Nash. They surround me, silent, a solid wall of shared fury at my back. They heard her story and saw the damage.
“Talk to me,” Malachi says, his voice a low growl that vibrates in the narrow hallway.
“I want them,” I say, the words scraping out of my throat, raw and cold. “Trent. And her father. I want them both.”
“Trent’s easy,” Nash says, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. It’s the voice he uses when he’s planning a hunt. “He’ll go to a hospital. We can have guys there in ten minutes. Graves is harder. He’ll lock himself down.”
“We don’t move on Graves yet,” Malachi commands, his president voice cutting through my rage. “Going after a sitting mayor is an act of war. We do it quiet. We do it smart.” He turnshis gaze to me, his eyes dark with a promise. “But Trent? Trent doesn’t get a hospital.”
A cold, brutal sense of satisfaction cuts through my guilt. Malachi claps a hand on my shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight. “Nash will handle Trent. You stay with her. That’s your only job right now. You understand?” Nash taps two fingers against his thigh, hunt mode engaged.
I nod. That’s a job I can do. An order I will never break.
Nash just gives a single, sharp nod and turns, already heading down the stairs to make the calls, a silent instrument of vengeance. Malachi gives my shoulder one last squeeze before following, leaving me alone in the hallway again.
I lean my head back against the cool drywall; the sound of the running shower is a dull roar in my ears. The plan is in motion. Trent is a dead man walking. The thought should be a relief, but my gut is still twisted in a knot. It’s too easy. Too simple.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a text from Nash confirming he’s on his way. Instead, it’s the Officers group chat.
NASH: At County General. Cops are crawling all over the place. Winston must have made the call the second she ran. Pickup is a no-go. He’s inside.
A fresh wave of fury washes over me, hot and sharp. I shove off the wall and drive my fist into the drywall; it gives with a soft crunch under the impact. Fucking Graves. He insulated Trent before we could even move. The one clean, simple act of justice is gone, stolen by a phone call and a badge.
The chat bubbles again. It’s Malachi.
MALACHI: Knox, Sloane’s on shift?
I hold my breath, watching the screen. A beat passes.
KNOX: Yeah. She’s there now.
Period. Nothing else. Ice where warmth should be. My mind races, trying to see the play Malachi is about to make. Hisbrilliance in moments like this is why he’s president. He doesn’t just see the obstacle; he sees the new weapon. The chat bubbles again, and a slow, cold, dangerous smile spreads across my face.
MALACHI: Good. Tell her Trent’s a guest. We can’t touch him. But he doesn’t get to be comfortable. Tell her to make his stay... memorable.
I let out a short, sharp laugh. It’s not the justice I wanted, but it’s a different kind. A more creative kind. A brand of chaos only the girls could pull off. I can already picture Ruby’s gleeful, evil smile.
The silence in the hallway is different now. It’s not empty anymore. It’s filled with the promise of a very different, very specific kind of retribution.
The bathroom door opens, and Darla emerges. She’s swallowed by the clean tee I left for her. She’s clean, but the haunted look hasn’t been washed away. Her hair drips onto the fabric, and she wraps her arms around herself. A flinch crosses her face, and she tightens an arm against her side. My chest aches in sympathy.
My voice is low, certain, a vow carved out of something harder than steel. “You’re not going back there. You’re staying with me. Where I can keep you safe.”
The words seem to hit her like a blow, but in a way that knocks air back into her lungs instead of out. Her whole body jolts with a sharp inhale, her eyes wide.
“East…” Her voice cracks, and it’s the most broken sound I’ve ever heard. “My father—he won’t stop. He’ll come for me. And I’ll drag you all down with me.”
I shake my head, closing the distance between us until I can feel the trembling heat radiating from her body. “Let him come. He doesn’t get you back. Not after this. Not ever.”
Fresh tears well in her eyes, hot and bright, and she tries to swallow them down. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispers, the words laced with a shame that makes my gut clench.
“You’re not.” I crouch, leveling my gaze with hers, making sure she sees the absolute truth in my eyes. My presence needs to be solid enough for her to lean on. I take her cold, trembling hand in mine. “You’re mine to protect now. Ours. That’s it.”
I watch her absorb the words. Her body is still trembling, but something in her eyes shifts. The pure terror recedes, replaced by a flicker of something fragile and new. For the first time since she burst through that door, I think she might actually believe me. And in the shattered quiet of this room, I know she’s not alone anymore.
Chapter 16
East
