Conscious.
Alert.
Her eyes are open, focused, tracking Flint as he paces in front of the cage.
Flint's standing just outside the cage, talking to her, gesturing.
Two other Copperhead Kings brothers are nearby—one sitting on a hay bale smoking, another standing by the door keeping watch.
Only a couple visible. Where are the others?
Doesn't matter right now.
Focus on Grace.
"—thought you could run," Flint's saying, his voice mocking, cruel. "Thought you could marry that enforcer and it would change things. Thought you could mark yourself with his name and suddenly you'd be off-limits. But look where you are now, sweetheart. In a cage. Right where you belong. Right where you've always belonged."
Grace doesn't respond. Just stares at him with pure, undiluted hatred burning in her eyes.
No fear. No pleading. No tears.
Just rage.
That's my girl.
That's my fucking girl.
I look back at Phantom, at Banshee, at the brothers behind me.
They've all seen her now. Seen the cage. Seen my wife locked up like an animal.
Phantom's face is murderous. His daughter. In a cage.
I mouth one word: "Now."
Phantom nods, hand going to his weapon.
Banshee checks his gun one last time, flicks off the safety.
Ghost and Shiver move into position, and I kick in the barn door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grace
The cage is maybe six feet by six feet.
Not tall enough to stand in fully.
Not wide enough to lie down comfortably.
Just enough space to sit, to crouch, to exist in this metal box like an animal.
I've been conscious for maybe thirty minutes now.
Long enough for the throbbing in my head from where they hit me to settle into a dull ache.
Long enough to work feeling back into my fingers despite the zip ties cutting into my wrists.
