“You took the contract,” he said, and glanced up at me, his voice rough with sleep but not a single ounce of dread. “We have an address.”
“Where?”
“KessTech.”
“And was it Kessler who confirmed?”
Lyric shrugged. “Jamie and Caleb have no clue.” Then he held out his hands, his wrists red from what we’d practiced. I placed the zip tie and adjusted it until he nodded. No one could have reason to question that.
“Hit me,” he said,
“Fuck no.” I stepped back as if his words had burned me.
“Hit me,” he repeated, low and fierce.
All I could see was Danny, lying on the floor, smaller than me, not fighting back. Blood bloomingunder his temple. My hands shaking. I couldn’t do it. Not again.
“I can’t,” I said, voice rough. “I could hurt you if you want to make it look real?—”
“Make it real,” Lyric growled.
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
He stared at me, eyes burning. I think he knew. I think that was the point.
And before I could stop him—before I could even reach for him—he turned and slammed his head into the corner of the wall by the bathroom. A sickening crack before he staggered sideways—and did it again.
“Jesus, Lyric—” Blood trickled down his temple. He swayed and then blinked at me as I caught him before he could fall. “What the fuck did you do?”
He blinked up at me, eyes clear. “Now it’s real.”
And it was. Too fucking real.
Panic lit through me, ice water in my veins. My gut twisted, brain screaming todo something,fix it,stop it—but I shoved it down, hard. Buried it beneath instinct, behind the armor I’d worn since I killed Danny. He needed me calm. He needed control. I couldn’t fall apart now, not when he’d just chosen violence to protect us both. I cradled his face with shaking hands, wiping blood from his temple with my sleeve, breath catching. His skin was clammy, and hiseyes—God, his eyes—still steady, still defiant, even through the haze of pain.
“I love you,” I said, voice breaking on the words I hadn’t meant to say out loud, not here, not like this.
His mouth twitched, and it wasn’t a smirk this time.
“Back at ya, big guy,” he whispered.
“We’re not dying today,” I said.
He gave me an up-nod. “No. We’re not.”
KessTech’s HQtowered above downtown LA, all glass and steel, reflecting the sky. Too clean. Too quiet. The alley behind the building was clear at this early hour. No cars. No foot traffic. No security behind the smoked glass doors; the metal barriers to the parking lot were wide open. Even the sidewalk felt wrong—too polished, too empty. As if the whole place had been evacuated in a hurry, or scrubbed clean of life. My boots scuffed against it, too loud in the stillness, and it freaked me out that there was no one here at all.
Where is everyone? Security to take Lyric from me? No single staff member pulling an all-nighter, or coming in early? Even a freaking someone with asuitcase full of cash, and yeah, my mind was going to some weird places right now.
I kept my hand on the back of Lyric’s neck as we walked—a message.
A performance. Anyone watching would think I was delivering him like a package I didn’t care about. Playing the bad guy. Keeping control.
But the truth was, I wanted to turn us both around and get the fuck out of here.
Lyric moved like someone walking to their own grave. He didn’t fight my grip, didn’t flinch, just kept his eyes locked on the front doors, on the single strip of black between two sheets of glass. His pulse beat fast and furious under my palm.
The bleeding had stopped, but his face was splashed with blood—sharp streaks across his cheekbone, a smear drying on his jaw. He stumbled, and all that kept him upright was my grip, fingers digging into his arms as if I could anchor him to this world. I knew it was all for show. We needed it to be convincing. But fuck, seeing him like this—hurting, vulnerable, bleeding—tore me up.
