My fist rams into his face without warning. He’s not helping his cause by calling Rowan names.
This is exactly why I brought him to Ironreach.
There is no version of this night where he leaves alive. No alternate ending where he gets mercy. He was hired to kill Rowan; that kind of intent only ends one way.
And whoever sent him will hear about it. They’ll hear when the police get my carefully timed tip. They’ll hear when his name splashes across the front page, when the story twists so it’s their man who ended up dead at Ironreach, not Rowan as they planned. That will be my warning to them that Rowan Hale is untouchable.
This was a direct hit on her. And someone is going to pay for it with their life.
Miguel releasesthe restraints and steps back, letting the man crumple from the chair and hit the floor in a heap.
I don’t rush. Fear is the first thing that breaks him.
I circle once, slow, measured. His breathing turns shallow. The body knows when it’s being prepped for disposal.
“You were sent,” I say calmly. “To my city. To kill the girl.Mygirl.”
His head jerks up. I see the moment he realizes exactly who he messed with.
I crouch beside him and seize his jaw, my grip crushing as I force his mouth open. He whimpers, the sound breaking when my thumb drives up beneath his chin, digging hard into the soft flesh under his tongue. His teeth click together, bone grinding as panic steals his breath.
I slam his head back against the concrete. The sound is wet. Final-sounding. He gasps, eyes rolling, saliva stringing from his mouth. I don’t give him time to recover.
My fist connects with his ribs—once, twice—until something gives with a dull, sickening crack. He screams then. High and broken. A man realizing his body is no longer loyal to him.
I feel it in my own hands. The vibration of damage. The certainty. This is the point of no return.
I wrap my forearm around his throat and pull his head backward. I apply just enough pressure to close the airway. His feet kick uselessly. His hands claw at nothing. His face turns red, then purple, eyes bulging, veins standing out like wires pulled too tight.
When I release him, he collapses against the ground hacking, sucking in air like it’s the most precious commodity on earth. He sobs. I let him. Tears don’t move me.
I drive my knee into his thigh. The femur cracks clean, the sound sharp and unmistakable. He howls, body arching, then slumps when the pain overwhelms his ability to process it.
I watch him fold and I unleash my rage.
I lean in close, my mouth near his ear. “Here’s the part youdon’t understand,” I tell him quietly. “This was always how this ended. The moment you accepted the job. You just didn’t know it yet.”
I choke him again—longer this time. Until his struggles slow. Until his eyes glaze. Until his body starts to go limp in that dangerous way where the line blurs.
I feel it then. The weight of it. The knowledge that I’m no longer stopping a monster—I am one. And I won’t stop at anything to protect what’s mine.
When I finally let him fall forward, his chest is not moving. Blood runs from his nose and mouth, pooling on the concrete. His jaw hangs at the wrong angle. One eye won’t close.
I step back.
The room is quiet again.
The aftermath settles fast. The body is ruined. Not artful or dramatic. It’s just broken. I wipe my hands on a towel then stuff it into my pocket.
Someone will find him.
And whoever sent him will read it and understand something vital:
Rowan Hale is protected.
And I am not a man you get a second chance with.
I walk out of Ironreach knowing exactly what I’ve become.
