“The hard part starts now,” Atilla continued.“Spade’s in his element.General too.They’ll get what we need out of Roth.It’s going to get ugly.You don’t need to see that.”
“I want to.”The honesty surprised me as much as it probably surprised him.
Atilla’s head tipped, eyes narrowing.“No, you don’t.Men like him… you don’t want their last words rattling around in your skull.You’ve already got enough ghosts.Let us carry this one.”
I looked toward the side door, chest tight with the urge to follow, to see his face, to reclaim a piece of myself by standing in front of him and not flinching.But another part of me -- the part that had kept me alive -- recognized a boundary.
“Can I watch from the monitor?”I tried.
“No.”Atilla didn’t budge.“We’re not recording sound down there.Spade takes notes.That’s enough.You’ll get what you need to know.Not every detail.Not every scream.That’s mercy, Jade.For you.Not for him.”
Mercy from Atilla didn’t sound like Roth’s twisted version of it.It sounded like protection with edges.
“Okay,” I forced out.
“Good.”Atilla’s gaze softened just a fraction.“Now go breathe.Eat.Sit with the women.We may need you and your brother’s scribbles again once Spade hears what he wants.”
Breathing sounded doable.Eating sounded like a joke.
Time dragged into an hour that felt like three.The clubhouse stayed on edge.The women moved around each other in quiet, efficient patterns -- cleaning as a coping mechanism, prepping food, checking doors, checking phones.The men who stayed above ground held positions like statues.
I tried to keep my hands busy.I wiped down counters that were already clean.I helped Solena refill water bottles.I started a batch of cookie dough and realized halfway through I was measuring flour with the precision people used for bomb disposal.Marci caught my wrist gently and guided the bowl away.
“Sit,” she ordered without malice.“Your hands are starting to tremble.I’ll finish.”
“I’m fine,” I lied -- and even I didn’t believe it.
“You’re surviving,” Marci corrected.“Different category.”
My phone stayed silent.Spade didn’t send updates.No news, I reminded myself, meant they were in control.
Eventually the side door opened.Kane stepped inside.His knuckles were scraped.A smear of something dark streaked the sleeve of his hoodie.His eyes looked older, like he’d watched something ugly and had to lock it away behind his face so he could keep functioning.
I moved toward him without thinking.“You need a medic?”
He shook his head.“Not my blood.”
My stomach flipped.“How bad?”
“Bad.”Kane’s gaze held mine.“Effective.”
He sank onto the couch like someone had cut his strings.I sat beside him, close enough that our sides touched, and threaded my fingers through his.His hand tightened around mine immediately, like that contact was the only thing keeping him from drifting too far into whatever he’d just done.
For a long moment, he didn’t talk.He just sat there, shoulders slowly easing down.
When he finally spoke, his voice stayed low.“He talked.More than I expected.Less than Spade wanted.They’ll go back in later.Roth’s clinging to the fantasy that his men will ride in and save him if he holds out.Spade’s tearing that fantasy apart.”
“Did he say Jason’s name?”My throat tightened around it.
“Yeah.”Kane’s jaw flexed.“Spade shut him down when he tried to make excuses.He’s not letting Roth rewrite history to make himself feel noble.”
Something in my chest loosened a notch.I hadn’t realized I needed that.
“He begged,” Kane added after a beat.“Tried to bargain.Tried to throw Diaz under the bus.”A harsh breath.“Watching him crumble… that felt good.”
“I wish I felt sorry,” I admitted, staring down at our hands.“But all I can think is he got what he deserved.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder, the weight of him real and warm.
