I collapse onto the bed,muscles screaming despite the scalding shower I just took. The sheets are cool against my overheated, battered skin.
I saved Liam. Nearly died for it. Then woke up in a Sovereign safehouse with one ofthemlooming over me.
Un-fucking-believable.
I should’ve been smarter. Faster. My father didn’t put me through hell so I’d end up shot and caught by the worst of them like some rookie. I pop another oxy, letting the sharp edge of the pain dull to a low, throbbing ache.
AndPriest—if I ever see that bastard again, I’m shooting him in the face. And if he calls me “kitten” again, I’ll cut his balls off first.
I shut my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. If I think too long, I’ll tear myself apart over what I should’ve done—where I screwed up.
So I don’t.
I just let sleep drag me under—deep and dreamless.
“So this is where you ran off to?” Raze’s voice cuts clean through the wet, wheezing whimpers echoing off the concrete walls. “Figured you’d be front and center to watch Thames get his skull turned inside out when we dragged him in.”
I don’t look up. Just wrench the tooth free and let it drop into the tin below with a soft clink.
“Think you missed one.” He huffs a laugh, kicking at the blood-slicked floor before leaning against the wall. He nods at the man strapped to the chair. What’s left of him, anyway.
Swollen eyes. Lips split wide. Teeth shattered. Blood crusts across his chest, his knees buckling against the leather straps holding him upright. But he’s still breathing.
Which is the point.
I roll my wrist, stretch out the cramp in my fingers, then pick up the pliers again—already coated with blood and bits of gum tissue.
“You’re in a mood.”
I pause mid-motion. My grip tightens on the handle.
“Is there a fucking reason you’re down here?” I shove the pliers into the traitor’s mouth and yank sideways. His scream rips through the room. I drop another molar into the tray and step back, wiping my hands with a stained rag.
Raze’s smirk widens. “Sterling wants to speak with you.”
Of course he does. That coward never reaches out unless he’s already pissed or planning to dump some shit job in my lap. I spit on the floor, the blood-flecked mess pooling near the traitor’s bare feet.
“So you’re errand boy now? High Chancellor’s little bitch?”
“Better me than the old man showing up and putting a leash around your neck.” He jerks his chin toward the traitor. “You done playing dentist, or do I need to tell Sterling that your ego’s bleeding more than your shoulder wound?”
I ignore him, turning my attention back to the man in the chair. His head lolls, face a bloody mess. I crouch in front of him, leveling my gaze with his swollen, leaking eyes.
“You’re going to tell me how you conveniently lost one of our weapon shipments. Because if you don’t, I’m going to move on from teeth and start cracking fingers next. And I won’t stop until you vomit bone.”
The man tries to speak, gargling nonsense through a ruined mouth. I gently pat his cheek.
“I’ve got time. You don’t.”
I head toward the steel door, and Raze pushes off the wall and follows behind me.
Our boots echo down the corridor—concrete walls soaked in blood, memory, and screams. The Vault stretches twelve levels beneath New Orleans, carved into the bones of the city like a buried infection. It’s the Sovereign headquarters for the South Section; high-tech and heavily fortified. No one knows it exists. And if they did, they’d wish they didn’t.
It’s a compound filled with living quarters, combat pits, medical facilities, and armories stocked heavier than military bases. It runs on order. On blood. On rank.
When I’m not in the field on missions, I spend most of my time in the Depths—the lowest level—where screams never reach the surface. The traitors, the cowards, the ones who disobey orders—they all go down there eventually. It’s the only place that makes this miserable fucking life worth something.
The elevator dings. I punch the button for the upper floor.
