“Chase,” I say.
He registers me and Atom. But the smile on his face is sly, practiced. “You bikers and your theatrical entrances.”
Footsteps flood the room behind me.
“Is now the right time?” Shade asks Wren.
Wren nods, knowing exactly what Shade means. And so do I.
The files Wren compiled and set up for distribution.
He pulls out his phone. He’s going to hit the detonate button on the files.
“Is now the right time for what?” Chase asks. His facial expression flickers annoyance that we’re interrupting him. Over his shoulder, I can see images of Wren on the wall. There are lines of computer code and printouts of different profiles I’m guessing belong to them.
Shade nods to tell me it’s done.
“Look at me. Not him. Not Wren,” I say as I move away from my brothers. “We’re gonna have a conversation, you and me.”
“I’m sorry about your truck,” he says calmly. “It was the only way.”
Like I give a fuck about him taking my truck, but there’s something so disassociated in the way he says it. As if it was a minor inconvenience to me that he stole, rather than a massive deal that he kidnapped a person.Myperson. I realize he’s too far gone to reason with.
“Yeah. I’m pissed you jacked my truck.”
Wren looks at me. Their pupils are too big, their breathing too labored. “Don’t hurt him…or you…can’t…end this.”
Fuck me. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to not do that.
I raise my hand to the others and encourage them to lower their weapons. And it’s enough of a distraction for Chase that Wren manages to clumsily find enough force to stand and knock the gun right out of his hands with their skull.
Shade, Atom, and I all charge. Wren falls face first to the ground, still tied by their hands and feet to the chair. I lunge for them, tugging them to me, and use my knife to cut the ropes. Atom and Shade wrestle Chase to the floor.
“Don’t hurt him,” Wren shouts. “We can’t make this work if he’s bruised.”
Atom grabs the wooden chair Wren was tied to, spins it over Chase’s neck and arms, and then sits on it, effectively trapping him without any force. His dress shoes scrape on the floor as he claws at the chair spindle that runs across his chest.
My hands curl into fists, but I listen to Wren’s orders, as much as I want to kick the teeth right out of Chase’s mouth. “Maybe we just take him out into the mountains and bury him. No one will find him until spring.”
Jackal stands by me. “The FBI will keep looking for him if they can’t find him. We need to hand his body back to them so they stop.”
“And I already sent all those files,” Shade says.
“What…files?” Spit flies from Chase’s mouth as he tries to speak.
I shake my head. “Wren gained access to all your files, compiled then, and we just distributed them.”
“Wren’s protectingme,” Chase gloats, the spindle of the chair desperately close to his throat.
“No,” Wren says. The single word is as sharp as a blade. “I’m protecting us from you. It’s disappointing not to see what he would do to you for daring to touch me.”
Smoke runs over to where I’m holding Wren, takes one look at the blood on their chest, then pulls out his phone. “Butcher, where’s Greer and her medical unit?”
“Wren,” Chase pleads.
Wren shakes their head. “Here’s how this ends: You will not have bruises. You will not be our victim before you die. Neither will you get to write a heroic last act where you go out in self-righteous violence. You’ll die undecorated. Alone. And your last words will bury you.”
“I can pay you. I have the money.”
