I’m not stupid enough to leave a negotiation without clear terms.
He tilts his head, slow and deliberate. “There are no plans for that.”
I step closer. “But?”
There’s the faintest curl of something at the corner of his mouth. It isn’t a smile. It’s worse. “There may come a time,” he says, “when she is needed. This is your doing, Herron, you’re the one who decided to go against the Brotherhood and marry someone else's proposed wife.”
My jaw tightens, fists curling at my sides.
“When that time comes,” the Chairman continues, “she should be ready.”
My blood goes cold.
“She belongs tome,” I say quietly. “Not to the Brotherhood.”
“You all belong to the Brotherhood because of the decisions you made. You pulled her into this the moment you took her from another Bonesmen,” he replies, tone even. “Some of you just take longer to understand it.”
He waves a hand once, as if concluding a business meeting.
“Your brother waits below. Take him. Our contract is satisfied.”
I don’t thank him. I don’t speak. I turn and walk, jaw clenched, fury burning through me like fire.
“Oh, and Archie,” Chairman Creekmore calls after us, making us pause. “We’ve assigned you a new Chosen. You’re to secure her immediately. There will be no more Chosen games that you boys seem to think you have a right to play.”
My shoulders tighten involuntarily as I brace for Archie’s response. He’s a loose cannon with his jokes, and there’s only one way he takes direction—badly.
“She better be fuckable,” he says slyly, turning slowly to face the Chairman.
“It’s Parker Thompson,” the Chairman replies, his voice cracking through the room like a whip.
Archie’s head snaps up, shock flashing in his eyes. “You’re joking,” Archie mutters, though his tone is flat, stripped of its usual bite. His gaze drifts for the briefest moment, unfocused, as if some buried memory has just clawed its way to the surface.
I study him, thrown by the change. I’ve seen Archie drunk, enraged, amused, even reckless, but I’ve never seen him rattled.
“You know her,” I say, not as a question.
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works, a muscle twitching as he forces his expression back into something neutral. “We’ve crossed paths.”
The lie is blatant, and it leaves me wondering what in hell could make Archie flinch like that—and why the Brotherhood would hand her to him.
“I’ll secure her,” Archie charges ahead, brushing past me with a vigor unlike his own, working his way to the staircase that leads to the cells beneath the mausoleum.
The air grows heavier as we descend, each step taking us further from the surface, further from her. The light from above fades until it’s just the weak flicker of bare bulbs strung along the corridor, casting long shadows that twitch with every movement.
The smell hits first—metallic, stale, the stench of stone that’s held blood. My jaw tightens as we follow the narrow passage to the last cell.
Ford’s there, slouched against the wall. He’s bloodied but upright, his shirt torn, and when his left hands shift in the light, I’m surprised to see all fingers intact.
The finger was simply another play. It was merely a threat to my wife, another way to gain more leverage over me. Nothing but a parlor trick meant to make us believe there were repercussions for our unsanctioned actions.
He looks up, and despite everything, he smirks. “Took you long enough.”
I grip the bars, every muscle in me tense. Relief, anger, impatience—they all mix into one sharp pulse. I need him out of here now. Not for me. For her.
Chapter twenty-five
Hayden Herron
