One brow lifts. “Mateo.”
“I didn’tbreakhim,” I say, offended.
“Yet,” Saint murmurs.
I beam. “Exactly.”
Saint sighs like I exhaust him.
“Put him in,” Wraith’s voice rumbles from inside the van.
Wraith is all shadow back there — broad shoulders, tattoos swallowing what the dim interior light hits, eyes like polished amber in the dark. He’s in black, forearms inked and flexed, jaw tight. There’s a tension in him that hasn’t eased since we pulled Damien. He’s been quieter. Meaner. Sleeping with Ember in his arms like if he lets go, the house will vanish around him.
He looks at Marcus like he’s looking at garbage he can’t wait to take out, and it makes my grin even more feral.
Ilovemy family.
We guide Marcus into the van. It’s not graceful, but it gets the job done. He climbs. I “help.” Help being loosely applied. He goes down on his knees the second he’s inside because Wraith’s hand is already on his shoulder, huge and unforgiving, forcing him there.
Marcus yelps. “Please—I didn’t—I haven’t—”
“Shut up,” Wraith says without inflection.
Marcus shuts up immediately when his gaze connects with Wraith’s. Saint climbs in after them, then turns and offers me a hand up, gentlemanly. I quirk a smile at him and take it, because yeah, I’ll play his pretty games. He swings the van door shut behind us.
We’re rolling before Marcus quite processes that he has left his block and entered something else entirely. That’s my favorite moment.
Thedawning.
That tiny flicker in the eyes when they register that they’re inside the wolves’ mouth and the teeth are already behind them.
Marcus’s breathing goes fast and shallow. “You—you can’t—you can’t just—”
“Just what,” I ask sweetly, dropping onto the bench across from him. I sprawl, wide-kneed, relaxed, forearms on my thighs. “Collect you? Sweetheart, we absolutely can.”
“This isillegal—”
Saint chuckles low. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs. “You haven’t even seen illegal yet.”
Marcus licks his lips, eyes jumping between us. Me. Saint. Wraith. Back to me. He’s trying to pick the weakest link. He’s praying there is one.
Bad news,cariño. There’s not one.
His gaze stops on Wraith the longest. Of course it does.
Wraith’s crouched in front of him like a hunting dog at rest. One big hand on Marcus’s shoulder, pinning him to his knees without even trying. The other arm draped loose across his thigh. He’s leaning in close enough that Marcus can feel his breath.
“Listen,” Wraith says softly.
Marcus swallows so hard I hear it click. “P-please—”
“No,” Wraith says. “You’re going to listen.”
Marcus goes silent.
“You’re going to the house,” Wraith continues, voice low. “You’re going to sit in a chair. You’re going to tell Ember Callowayexactlywhat you did, what you said. You’re going to tell her exactly what you threatened. You’re going to tell her exactly who you reported to and exactly what they told you to do when she told you no. You’re going to do it without lying. You’re going to do it without crying. You’re going to do it without trying to make her feel like she’s crazy. If you don’t, I will hand you to him—” he jerks his chin at me “—and I will take a break.”
Marcus stares at him, trembling. “Who—who is ‘him?’”
