The aftermath was silence.
Tyler helped me to my feet, didn't say anything about the blood on my hands. We stood there for a moment, breathinghard, surrounded by the victims we'd saved and the body of the man who'd helped cage them.
"You okay?" Tyler finally asked.
"No." I looked at my hands—trembling, red. "But I will be."
"First kill is hard."
"Was it hard for you?"
He was quiet for a moment. "No. That's what made it hard." I understood. The absence of guilt was its own kind of wound.
We finished opening the cages in silence. All twenty-three victims were free by the time Axel burst through the door—eyes wild, gun raised, ready to kill anyone who'd touched me.
"Kai—" He saw Slash's body. Saw the blood on my hands. Understood. "Are you hurt?"
"Not my blood." He crossed to me in three strides, pulled me into his arms. I let him hold me, let his strength shore up the places I was crumbling.
"Viper?" I asked against his chest.
"Dead."
"Good." We stood there, wrapped in each other, while around us Phoenix members streamed in to help evacuate the survivors. Maria arrived, took one look at the scene, and transformed into a general—directing traffic, organizing transport, making sure everyone got out.
Twenty-three people. Fifteen women, five girls, three boys. The youngest was twelve. We'd saved them. It should have felt like victory. But as I watched them being led to safety—hollow-eyed, traumatized, carrying wounds that would never fully heal—all I felt was rage.
Chen had allowed this. Protected it. Profited from it. And she was still out there.
Dawn crept over the compound as the last of the survivors were evacuated. I sat on a loading dock, watching the sky turn pink and gold, trying to feel something other than empty. Tyler had found a first aid kit somewhere, was stitching up his own arm with the casual efficiency of someone who'd done it before.
Axel found us there. He looked like hell—covered in soot and blood, exhaustion carved into every line—but he was alive. We all were. "Chen's files," he said, holding up a hard drive. "Everything. Financial records, communications with Viper, names of everyone she's been protecting." He handed it to Tyler. "Your evidence just got a lot stronger."
Tyler took it, something like hope flickering in his eyes. "This could bring down half the Bureau's organized crime division."
"That's the idea."
"What now?" I asked. Before anyone could answer, a phone rang.
We all froze. It was coming from Slash's body—a burner phone that we'd missed. Tyler crossed to it, checked the screen. "Unknown number." He answered, put it on speaker.
Silence. Then a voice I recognized—calm, pleasant, professionally warm.
Michelle Chen.
"I assume Viper is dead," she said. "And Slash, given that he's not answering. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Men like them are replaceable."
"This is over, Chen." Tyler's voice was hard. "We have your files. Your records. Everything."
"Do you?" She sounded amused. "Then I suppose you also know about the secondary location. The one Viper kept off the books." A pause. "Thirty-seven more. That's how many I have. Women and children. Tucked away where your Phoenix friends will never find them."
My stomach dropped. "You're bluffing," Tyler said.
"Am I? You spent eight months inside Viper's operation. Did you really think you saw everything?" Her voice hardened, the pleasant mask slipping. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to destroy that hard drive. Every copy, every backup. And then you're going to disappear—all of you—and pretend none of this ever happened."
"And if we don't?"
"Then thirty-seven people die. Slowly. Painfully. And I'll make sure the last thing they know is that you could have saved them." Another pause. "You have twenty-four hours to decide. I'll be in touch."
