My nails dig into the couch cushion. I know that if I release these hounds, they won’t stop. Theywillfinish him.
I look at them—my men. Murderers. Monsters.
Monsters offering me justice.
Oh, if Mark only knew I’m holding his fate between my fingers. If he could see that I’m cared for by men far scarier than Duvall or any political leash he imagines.
My breath hitches.
The power in my chest is heavy and cold. Not the kind Pain wields, but dark enough to feel like its own weapon.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “How do you want to do it?”
Talon’s grin is all teeth. “We’ll take our time. Strip him clean of everything he thinks makes him strong. Nathaniel’s got his accounting books copied. We could throw him in prison tomorrow, but I think…” He twirls the crowbar like a baton and lets it clatter down. “Slow is better, no?”
“He’s running double accounts for his clients,” Nathaniel adds, matter-of-fact. “Shell companies. Fraud layered through half his portfolio.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That tracks with what he did five years ago.”
“Clearly, he hasn’t evolved.”
Of course he hasn’t. Men like Mark never do. I don’t need to read the books to know exactly who he is. He chose a lane and welded himself to it for life. I’ve watched him for five years. The only real difference between the life he has now and the life he had with me is the woman standing beside him.
Jessica is very compliant.
Maybe it’s because she met him when he was already polished and established. She wanted the life he could offer her. I met him when he still remembered how to pretend he had a heart, and he made me believe he’d never change.
“We thought we’d start with the crows,” Talon says, nodding toward the windows.
I follow his gaze.
A black tide of wings blots out the glass.
My stomach twists. “Use them?”
“They follow you,” Nathaniel says, flattening a paper with those precise surgeon’s hands of his. “If we go to him, they’ll go too. And he knows what he’s done. That will scare him.”
“I tried that before.”
“Not with this many,” he counters.
He’s right. Back then there were maybe twenty crows circling the willow tree—barely a whisper compared to this storm. Mark would stand under them with that empty, stainless-steel expression of his. No shame. No fear. Just that cold void where a conscience should live.
Talon flashes a feral grin. “Picture it, babe—golden boy’s perfect little suburban castle buried in feathers and shit, him stumbling into the driveway screaming at the sky—”
“He wouldn’t scream,” I say.
Because I know him. He’d stand there in his suit and tie beside his perfect little Stepford wife and pretend it was a mild inconvenience. A leaf blower problem. Nothing more.
“Oh, he’ll scream,” Nathaniel says. “Maybe not then. But once we bring him here…”
“Wait.” I blink. “You want to bring him here?”
“We’d gladly extract some punishment if you permit us,” Cassian says. “Of course, only if you allow it. If not, we’ll do as you say.”
My hands go damp.
Of course I want them to torture the fucker. I want it so hard my palms sweat.
