“You will not ask any further questions. If I say Cane is gone, then he’s fuckinggone. Interpret it however you want, Iris,” he hisses through his teeth. “The same goes for Dante. You’ve worked with him long enough. Cane was too soft on both of you—we should’ve cut him off ages ago.”
His lips curl into a cruel, malicious smile. “But that won’t be an issue anymore. We’re bringing back the old school methods.”
I bite down on my lower lip hard, trying to hold everything in as thunder cracks through my chest. Anger surges, thick and electric—but braided tightly with it is something colder.
Fear. Pure, sinking dread that drops into my stomach like a stone plummeting to the bottom of a lake.
He drinks in my reaction, his smile twisting into something uglier. I shake my head, searching for any kind of answer, though only two words pulse at the edge of my tongue.
“Fuck you,” I say, and the satisfaction of watching that warped grin collapse is immediate. The corners of his mouth sink, and he goes still.
My hand finds the door handle, and I pull it toward me, ready to walk out, but he snatches the collar of my T-shirt and yanks me back inside. The door slams shut when instinct fires through me, my body coiling to strike his jaw.
But I am too slow.
Something slips around my neck with practiced ease. It cinches tight, biting into my skin as he drags me closer, the back of my skull hitting his chest with a thud. His grip tightens, and my lungs seize, a rush of heat washing over my face from the sudden lack of air.
His other hand fists in my hair and smashes my head against the window. My frantic breath fogs the glass while he drains the air from my throat.
His breath ghosts against my ear as he leans in and murmurs, “You forgot who you’re working for, didn’t you?”
I try to wrench free, but his hold is iron. Every muscle in my body locks, instincts screaming to fight, to claw, to survive, but I can’t move. He keeps me pinned in a chokehold, savoring every second of my helplessness.
“You impressed the bosses, I’ll give you that,” he growls, teeth clenched. “But that ends now. God, I’ve been waiting for this—imagining a shock collar around your neck, with me pressing the button every time you show your fangs.”
Tears slip past my lashes, warm against the cold hopelessness settling under my skin. My strength bleeds out of me as he crushes whatever fight I have left.
And suddenly, I am dragged into the past, trapped again against a wall of muscle, held in place with no escape in sight.
The chill of death and rot crawls into my bones. Through blurred eyes, I catch a silhouette in the window of my apartment complex. His hand rakes through his hair as he scans the area, searching for me.
“Enjoy your last few days. After you deal with the target, two days later at nine a.m., you will report to me in this exact spot,” he commands. He jerks me closer, sending sparks of pain across my scalp and my neck. “Do what you’re told. Don’t make me kill you.”
Finally, he lets me go. My forehead hits the window, and I gulp down air like it might vanish again. My face burns, my neck throbs, and my hand rises on instinct to feel the marks he left behind. Disgust twists low in my stomach.
I need to leave.
I need to run.
But my body won’t move. My face feels frozen in place as I stare at the glass, at Dante’s distant figure, a question pounding inside my skull.
How the fuck am I supposed to fix this?
North Carolina, USA
My hand settles around her waist, pulling her closer until her body aligns with mine. The rhinestones on her dress catch the moonlight, scattering it in soft flashes; the pale pink fabric glows almost crimson as we continue walking.
The tension between us is unmistakable, but it has nothing to do with the nest of vipers waiting ahead, and not even with the fact that the assassination is taking place in North Carolina, barely an hour from my base.
The real source of my anxiety runs far deeper.
A few days ago, Estella disappeared in the early morning. No calls, no texts, complete radio silence. She didn’t return until hours later, looking like she had clawed her way back from some nightmare made real. She tried to hold herself together, tried to pretend she was fine. But eventually, she shattered.
My arms still feel the imprint of her body, the trembling of her skin against mine. I can still feel the way she collapsed into me, piece by piece, fragments of grief slipping through my fingers like breaking glass. She told me everything. The encounter with her new handler. Cane. All of it.
And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Jason said. Cane is dead—no fucking doubt in my mind—and without him, Estella is unraveling. The new handler has a grudge, and he wants me out of the picture so he can do whatever the fuck he wants to her.
For the first time in my entire fucking life, I am lost.
