James was waiting at the bottom with a gun in his hand.
“Kiernan.” He looked older, harder than I remembered. “You came.”
“Let them go. This is between you and me.”
“I’ve just been telling them about Elise.” His voice was eerily calm as he stepped closer, removed the two weapons I carried, and tossed them into a dark area beside us. “About what you did to us. About how she died in this very room because of what you did to her. To us.”
I held his gaze. “I was not responsible for Elise’s death.”
“Weren’t you?” He circled me. “You have no idea what it felt like to be discarded by you. To watch Elise spiral because she couldn’t survive without the structure you’d given her, then ripped away.”
“James—”
“No. I’ve waited seven years to say this to you.” The calm cracked. “You moved on. You built your precious club with all your safety rules, and you told yourself that made up for it. That you’d learned your lesson.” He gestured toward Oliver and Ophelia. “Now, you’ve found new toys to play with.”
“They’re not?—”
“I’ve been watching. I’ve seen the way you look at them. The way you touch them. You never looked at us that way. Never touched us that way.” His hand tightenedon the gun. “You’re capable of it. You just couldn’t feel it for me. For her.”
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
James blinked. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t agreement.
“I couldn’t give you what you needed. Either of you.” I took a step closer. “You deserved a dom who could be fully present. Someone who wasn’t disappearing for weeks, holding back pieces of himself. I knew I couldn’t be that person, and I took you on anyway because I was selfish. Because I wanted what you offered without paying the price for it.”
“Pretty words.” His voice wavered.
“It’s the truth.” I met his eyes. “Elise went looking and found the wrong dom because I failed her. You’ve spent all these years in hell because I failed you. Nothing I say changes that.” I spread my hands. “But Oliver and Ophelia haven’t failed you. They’ve never even met you. Whatever justice you think you’re owed, they’re not part of it.”
“They’re part of you now.”
“Then, take me.” I stepped forward. “I’m right here. Willing. Let them go, and take whatever revenge you need.”
Rage and grief warred across his face.
Then he looked past me. To Oliver. To Ophelia.
The moment he made his decision was written in every line of his body.
“You really do love them.” He said it like a revelation. Like a knife sliding between ribs.
“James—”
The gun swung toward Oliver, and time slowed down. James’ finger tightened on the trigger. Oliver’s eyes went wide, and I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself in the line of fire.
I felt the impact before I heard it—a punch to the chest that spun me sideways and dropped me to the stone floor. At first, there was no pain, just pressure.
Then my nerves caught fire.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest was a solid wall of agony. I tried to move, to see if Oliver was okay, if the bullet had passed through me and hit him anyway, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. All I could do was lie on the cold stone and feel the warmth spreading beneath me, soaking into my shirt, and pooling on the floor.
Somewhere far away, there was shouting. Footsteps on the stairs—too many of them, too fast. Callen’s voice, and Gus’, and Rafe’s. The words blurred into a roar.
A second shot rang out. Not as loud.
Then Ophelia was there, on the floor beside me. She was crying, saying my name and other things I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ears.
Hands landed on my chest. Pressure that should have hurt, but didn’t. Oliver’s face swam into view above me—pale, terrified, blood still crusted at his temple. He was saying something over and over, the same words, but I couldn’t make them out.
