Bronc answered. “No. But if he doesn’t, the repercussions will be biblical. This is a trial by blood, not by lawyers.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the tap of Lucia’s nail against her glass and the almost imagined thrum of jet engines in the distance.
Menace’s fingers slid from my shoulder to the back of my neck, a motion so subtle only I would notice. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You okay?” The question wasn’t for now, but for what came next.
I nodded. The bond between us was a live wire, bright and thrumming, but beneath it was the certainty that I would rather die than let him walk into this alone.
Kazimir said, “And if anything happens, my people are authorized to kill on sight. No questions. No witnesses.”
The meeting wound down after that; the plans distilled into a single sheet of paper, signed by Bronc, Rafe, and Kazimir. They left us alone in the room for a few minutes, the silence as thick as sleep.
Menace pulled out the chair next to me and sat, body turned to face mine. “I’m ready.”
“I know,” I said. “I just wish I could do it for you.”
He gave a soft laugh. “If it were up to me, neither of us would be doing this.”
Lucia stretched and then rose from her chair. “I need to find coffee. Or something stronger.” She looked at Menace. “Try not to get blood on my shoes, okay?”
He grinned, teeth flashing. “No promises.”
Juliet closed her tablet and snapped the case shut. “Come on, Savannah. Let’s go pack.”
As we left the room, I looked back once, saw Menace alone at the table, tracing the red lines Rafe had drawn with the tip ofhis finger. He looked like a man studying the pattern of his own veins, trying to find the artery that would let the pain out.
Outside, the halls were already emptier than before. The world had shifted again, and we were moving with it, hurtling toward a collision none of us could escape.
But for the first time since this nightmare started, I felt something other than dread. It was hope, raw and sharp, and it left a taste in my mouth that lingered long after we’d left the building behind.
The estate looked like something out of a rich man’s fever dream: three stories, limestone front, lights blazing in every window even though dusk was still thickening the sky outside. Our driver pulled through a set of iron gates, up a drive so long I wondered if the house would ever materialize. As we rounded the last bend, the headlights swept over a line of cars—some black SUVs, others that looked like they belonged in a war zone. Beyond them, the mansion loomed, squat and watchful. Even from the curb, it radiated a kind of patient peril.
Menace led the way inside. The front doors were heavy oak, ancient and iron-banded, and they swallowed us one by one into a foyer bigger than most people’s entire living spaces. The floor was black tile, polished to a mirror, and every step echoed forever. In the middle of the foyer, Arsenal and Doc waited—both in jeans and t-shirts, both looking like they’d never been further than five feet from a loaded firearm.
“Menace, you old bastard,” Arsenal said, clapping him on the back so hard the sound rattled the chandeliers. “Can’t leave you alone for ten damn minutes.”
Menace grinned, the first genuine smile I’d seen on him in days. “I move fast for an old guy.”
Doc shook his head. “We got bets running through the pack. Half the guys think you’re gonna snap Dominic in half. The other half think you’re gonna literally tear him limb from limb.”
Arsenal elbowed Doc. “The money’s on you, man. Nobody wants to see the pussy king win.”
Menace’s hand found mine, gave it a squeeze. “That makes all of us.” He nodded toward Bronc and Rafe, who trailed in behind us. “You bring the whole circus?”
“Couldn’t leave the pretty people at home,” Bronc said. “Besides, they wanted front row seats.”
The reunion was fast, loud, and obscene in its familiarity. For a while I stood off to the side, watching the choreography of brotherhood: the shoulder slaps, the hugs that were closer to wrestling holds, the way even their insults were stitched through with something like love. Juliet joined me, arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd with practiced indifference. She caught me staring at Menace, then at Arsenal, then back at Menace.
“They’re a different breed,” she said, not unkindly. “Like a litter of dogs that never grew up. But nobody better to have by your side in times of trouble.”
Lucia drifted over, glass of vodka in hand, and shrugged. “At least they’re loyal. Most men are not.”
The house was too warm, the air dry and scented with lemon oil and the faint metallic note of spent adrenaline. I felt the sweat bead under my collar, but it was nothing compared to the chill that crawled my spine every time I caught a glimpse of the long hallway that led off the foyer. The shadows there moved wrong—too fast, or not at all. I wondered if anyone else felt it, but the men were too busy with their rituals, and Juliet was busy pretending not to care.
Wrecker appeared next, arms crossed and smile wide enough to unhinge his face. He punched Menace on the shoulder, then glanced at me. “Hey Savannah.” I nodded. He looked at Menace, then back at me. “I know we don’t know each other well,but he’s talked more about you than he’s ever talked about anyone. Never said you were this pretty, though.”
I managed a weak smile. “He lies a lot.”
“Not about this,” Wrecker said, and there was something so genuine in his eyes that it hurt to look at him for too long.
