“He trusted you,” Monty says as he steps closer.“And look how you repay him.”
I stumble back until I hit the wall.There’s nowhere to go despite this house being the size that it is.
And then before my brain can process what’s happening…pain.
His fist slams into my stomach and it feels like my entire body folds in half.The air leaves me in one violent rush, and I collapse to my knees, gasping, choking.
The floor slams into me, my vision sparks white.I think I’m going to be sick from the impact but that goes away when Monty grips my hair, yanking my head up so hard tears jump from my eyes.
“Where you gonna run, kid?”he growls.
“Fuck you,” I wheeze, but it’s pathetic.
He laughs again—low, delighted.
Then he pulls out a syringe.
My heart stops.
The liquid inside glints like something that erases people.
“Stress got to you,” he says casually.“Overdose.House fire.Tragic really.”
My stomach heaves and then my phone buzzes against the floor where it fell.The sound cuts through the room like a gunshot.Monty's eyes flick to it, and his expression shifts.
He picks up the phone, reads the screen, and a wicked smile spreads across his face.The smile is so genuinely pleased it makes my stomach lurch worse than Monty’s fist did.
"I'm at the front gate.Open it up."He reads the text out aloud.
He turns to me and now his smile is one that ishungry.Like he’s been waiting years for this moment.
“You know what,” he says softly, thumb already moving over my screen, “change of plans.”
Panic spikes through me.
“No—no, wait—” My voice cracks.“He’s not part of this.This is between me and?—”
“Oh, but he is.”
He taps something, then hits send.
My stomach drops because I know Nate has just called in like a wolf to slaughter.
I’d known about Monty and Nate’s history—small pieces, overheard through doors I wasn’t supposed to stand near.Bits of conversations Dad had with Monty about “keeping that older boy in line.”The nights I’d followed Nate without him knowing, watching him meet Monty’s crew at the docks, trading cash for pills or powders, trying to numb whatever hell he was living through back then.
And the way he always came back bloody or shaking or both.
I never knew the whole story.Just that Nate hated him with a kind of cold, bone-deep fury I’d never seen before.
The kind you only earn by surviving something.
“He’s been part of this,” he says, leaning in, his breath hot against my ear, “since the day he decided you were worth saving.”
My vision blurs and panic claws up my throat, fast and suffocating.
“You’re gonna watch,” Monty murmurs.
Calm and comfortable like a butcher sharpening his knife.
