Beau laughs, low and infuriating. “Easy, killer. Just making sure you don’t snap anyone’s neck—” a pause, “—in broad daylight, I mean.”
My jaw ticks, my fingers drag slowly over the tank of the bike, the metal vibrating faintly under my gloves like it knows I’m holding back.
He smiled at her.
Looked at her.
Touched her.
After what happened two nights ago? Not a fucking chance her next target gets to breathe the same air as herfor more than a minute. If she doesn’t drop him fast enough with the drugs, I’ll gut him where he stands, and she can hate me for it later.
“Bram is here.” My voice is flat, venom-dipped, and the comms go silent for a beat.
“Bram, as in—” Caleb’s voice cuts in, alert.
“Yup.” My gaze doesn’t leave her. She laughs at something Sterling says, her hand brushing his arm again.
Fucker.
“He’s dangerous,” Caleb mutters, low enough that even through comms it feels like a warning.
“I know.” My spine straightens. A shadow moves in my periphery—him, walking toward them.
Bigger than I remember, bulkier. Great!
He has the same dead eyes. “I’ll kill him before he gets to her,” I grunt, Beau and Caleb both hum their agreement.
Bram’s gaze sweeps her. Slow. Methodical.
Up. Down. Lingering. Back up again.
His lips stay shut, but a muscle jumps in his jaw, his fists flex, and he cracks his neck to the side once. I know he’s onto her; he smells trouble.
She turns and walks away, and his attention follows. He leans to Sterling, says something and he nods. After Bram peels off, to the wrong direction, not to the officebut straight after her.
“He’s going after her,” I growl, the sound vibrating in my chest. The bike roars to life under me, but I hold the pace slow, calculated, tailing his black SUV through the back streets.
She’s not heading home. She’s going to the hideout, and now so is he.
“On our way,” Beau’s voice cuts in.
I’m not waiting for them, not risking it, not when it comes to her.
He thinks he can touch her.
He thinks she’s unprotected.
He doesn’t know I’d skin him alive just for breathing near her.
I shadow him through a busted fence and into the rusted shell of the old burned warehouse, he parks and moves inside.
I follow, mask on, gloves tight, my boots soundless against the concrete.
He climbs the stairs after her. “I’m guessing you’re the bitch who made Henry and Camden disappear,” Bram sneers the second he hits the door.
“I knew something was off,” he continues, voice dripping venom. “Both of them vanish in the same fucking week.”
“Well,” she snaps, “it’s not like the world lost anyoneimportant. Just two less rapists roaming free.”
