I didn’t answer. But I didn’t have to. He stood. Walked a slow circle around me.
“You cost a lot of men a lot of money, Cloe.”
His voice was sharper now. Not angry. Disappointed.
“Do you know how many of them paid for your silence? How many bet on your obedience? Your shame?”
He stopped behind me.
“And you ran.”
I didn’t turn. Couldn’t. But I listened. Because every word was a thread. And I needed to know where he’d fray.
“You ran to Wolfe Lawlor. You begged him to leash you, thinking it would make you untouchable.”
His hand touched my shoulder. I flinched. He chuckled.
“But now you’re right back where you started. Only this time, there’s no one to pawn your skin to. No way out but the one we give you.”
He moved back in front of me. Bent. Met my eyes.
“So here’s the offer.”
He pulled a small phone from his pocket. Laid it on my lap.
“You call him. You tell him where to find you. Alone. No brothers. No plan.”
He smiled.
“And we let you go.”
I stared at the phone. Then back at him. And I spat in his face. The glob of blood and spit hit his cheekbone. Traced a line down to his jaw. He froze. Just for a second. Then he wiped it with the cuff of his sleeve. Slow. Deliberate. And smiled.
“That’s alright.”
He leaned in again. Closer this time. Too close. His breath was warm.His voice a whisper.
“We don’t need you to be clean.”
He pulled the phone off my lap. Slipped it back into his jacket.
“We just need you to bleed.”
Then he turned. And left me sitting there. Tied. Cold. Heart slamming against my ribs like it could break the ropes. And I knew something I hadn’t known before. They weren’t waiting for Wolfe. They were feeding me to him.
Wolfe
I didn’t know how long I stood in front of the window.
The glass was cold against my fingertips. The skyline bled orange and gray. The sun hadn’t fully risen, and the city still slept like it didn’t know it had swallowed something holy and tried to keep it.
My breath fogged the pane. Every inhale shallower than the one before. Every exhale too slow.
Loyal paced behind me. I heard him. The shift of weight. The light tap of his knuckle against the edge of the counter every five steps.
Royal had stopped pretending to be calm. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes on the floor like he was watching someone bleed there. Barron stood by the door. Still. Waiting for orders I hadn’t given yet. Not because he needed them. Because he wanted to hear the way I’d say it.
I blinked. The image of her back—disappearing up those stairs, braid swinging, her fingers brushing the doorframe like she was promising to come back—played in my head like a loop.
