Eddie pins James with a loaded stare, and unhinged glee swims underneath James’s smile like a shark.
“We thread Michael Devlin’s name through the Farley investigation,” I continue.“Plant the hand somewhere that implicates this Devlin guy, remove him from the board, and get him out of this woman’s life so he can never hurt her again.”
Eddie looks at me like he’s never seen me before.“Sera.No.You’re talking about fabricating evidence.Framing a man.”
His voice is tight with disbelief.
“Aye, surgical plan, that.”James leans forward and plants his elbows on the countertop’s edge.“Or,” he says, his voice like velvet wrapped around a knife, “we just make him disappear.”
“Christ,” Eddie breathes, running a hand over his face.He looks at James, then at me.“You can’t be serious.”
“Farley’s missing a hand, is he?”James asks, his mad grin feigning virtue.“Does he nae deserve it, though?Do ye even ken what that bastard was up to at the trial?What he said about Sera?”
“I know exactly what he did,” Eddie snaps, his professional calm cracking.“He lied under oath to protect Vincent, but this—framing someone, planting evidence… This isn’t justice.It’s poison.You can’t fix rot with more rot.”
He looks right at me, his gaze pleading, desperate for me to see the line I’m about to cross.
He doesn’t know about Rick.Doesn’t know James and I have already burned that line to ash.Doesn’t know the extent of the rot that already grows inside me, spreading its tendrils through my veins.
James waves a dismissive hand.“Why faff about with planting hands when we could just make this Devlin roaster disappear?Simple, yet loud.Let every other numpty in this shite town ken what happens when they raise a hand to a lass.”
He has a point, but I don’t want to risk running around the city and murdering everyone who deserves it.I need to be strategic.
Eddie looks from James’s cheerful brutality to my cold focus.I can see the argument lose its footing in his mind.He’s surrounded.Outnumbered by monsters.
“But bodies make noise,” I say.“And noise brings Vincent.”
The name kills the argument dead.That’s the trump card, the one we all agree on that can’t get involved in anything that has to do with me.
“We do it my way,” I say.“We plant the evidence.”
I tap the matchbook once, a little spark of triumph lighting in my chest.For once, I feel like a queen making a move, not just a pawn trying to survive.Plus, not all of my plans have to involve more blood on my hands.
As if he approves, my shadow daddy wraps around me from behind.I purr in response, which instantly grabs the men’s attention and heats both their gazes as they eye me.
Eddie shakes his head as if to clear it.“And if your way fails?”
“Then I’ll light a match,” I say simply, nodding at the matchbook.
After all, every plan needs a contingency.
And sometimes, the only answer is fire.
Chapter 5
James
Ibuildthenightlike a lock I’ve picked a thousand times—quiet, patient, and sure.Nae heroics, nae swinging fists.Sera wants clean, so I leave the monster within me sleeping in its cage and strap on the man who sneaks in, tidies up, and sneaks out.
My burglary kit’s checked twice.Gloves, mask, black booties over my boots so I don’t leave footprints, and my wee case with the good lock-picks that never talk out of school.I willnae need the picks, but ye never ken.And most importantly, the plastic-bag-sealed parcel—Farley’s hand, neat as ye like.
I hold it a moment longer, the weight of it settling something in my chest.This is what love looks like when it’s mine to give.Not flowers.Not sweet words.But the quiet removal of obstacles, the rewriting of someone else’s story so hers can breathe.
“For ye, Prayer,” I murmur, and the words fog the cold air inside the back of the van.“Your way tonight.”
She hated parting with her gift, though, but I promised her more severed pieces, one every day of the week if it made her happy.
Aye, she said with a wee smile, and my whole heart felt it so much more than if she’d saidYes.
