Cassian nods, slow and deliberate. “Then we ruin him before we kill him.”
The words send a strange, electric jolt through me. Not just because of what he’s saying, but also because he's just… agreed. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
He'll kill my ex husband for me.
And by the looks of the others, they agree too.
Talon leans back in his chair, a lazy grin curling at his lips again. “Ooh, I like the sound of that. Man like that… we could have some fun first.”
Huh.
“Are you willing to be involved?” Nathaniel asks me.
I blink.”What do you mean?”
“You don’t just want him dead,” he says. “You want him to suffer. That takes time. Effort. Creativity. Participation.” He pauses, watching me. “Are you willing to help us in the process? To make sure it happens the way you want it to?”
The idea of leaving my ex-husband's death entirely up to them hadn't even crossed my mind. I’ve spent five years drifting, watching, waiting for something to change. And now, suddenly, I have options. A murder menu.
The answer is obvious.
“Of course,” I reply. “It wouldn't feel like justice otherwise.”
Cassian nods once, final. Talon’s grin turns downright feral. Nathaniel exhales through his nose, satisfied.
“Good,” he says. “Then we'll make a plan to get rid of him together. In the meantime… we have a couple of suspects we want you to look at.”
I narrow my eyes. “Suspects?”
Nathaniel nods, standing up from his chair. He strolls over to the kitchenette at the far end of the hall, opens a drawer, and pulls out a stack of papers. A stack. Not a couple of sheets, not a neat little folder—a full-on murder binder.
He flips through them, then finally selects two and hovers them in front of me.
“Murderers we’re keeping an eye on,” he says, casual as hell. “Some of them, we’re sure about. Others…” He tilts his head slightly. “Well. You might be able to help us with that.”
Help with that?
I step closer, peering at the sheets. Each name has a photo attached with a paperclip—ordinary-looking men and women, the kind of people who could cut in line at the grocery store and get away with it. But their eyes. Something about them makes my stomach twist.
I can’t lift the file myself, so I lean in, close enough to catch Nathaniel’s scent. Antiseptic, leather, and something faintly metallic—like blood just barely scrubbed clean.
It makes sense. He’s the methodical one, the one who handles the bodies with precision. Everything about him smells like sterility and control.
But then there’s something else. Something unexpected. A sweet, citrusy note that makes my head spin. Like someone spritzed a fresh orange all over him.
I bite my cheek to stay focused. Now is not the time to be distracted by whatever sinful combination of cologne and murder aura he’s working with. I force my eyes back to the file.
First name on the list: Laura Collins.
Next to it, there's a picture. A middle-aged woman, with soft brown hair pulled into a tight bun, thin-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a warm, practiced smile. The kind of face you’d trust. A teacher, maybe. A kind neighbor.
I frown, scanning the brief notes scrawled beneath her name.
Laura Collins. Age: 47. Profession: Candy Shop Owner. Suspected of involvement in the deaths of three children. Causes of death officially ruled as medical complications. No criminal charges filed.
I straighten, my gaze flicking from the file to Nathaniel, then to the others.
“Keep reading,” Talon says.
