Metal skitters across the floor.
“You—”
I haul him up, slamming him against the wall behind the desk hard enough to rattle his teeth.
Roark’s eyes burn. “You think killing me ends it? You think my people stop because you feel?—”
I don't let him finish.I press the muzzle of my gun to his sternum.
Roark’s eyes flicker, finally afraid.
“You should’ve let me disappear,” I say calmly. “You should have let her walk away. She wasn’t part of his business.”
He spits blood and rage. “No one leaves.”
"I do." I fire once more.
Roark’s body goes slack and sinks to the floor.
Broncosteps into the doorway, weapon raised. His eyes sweep the room, landing on the dead man. No surprise. No judgment. “It’s done?”
“Almost. There's still Gemma's shell company.”
Anson appears, shoulders filling the hall. He stares at the body on the floor, then looks at me.
“Light it up,” Bronco mutters.
"And her company?"
"Call Derek at Citadel. His wife Riley will take care of it."
"She's a hacker," Anson adds. Hegoes to the desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a folder. Then another, and a ledger. He flips through them with quick, precise movements.“Contracts. Client list. Payment records.”
“Find hers.”
Anson’s fingers stop. He slides a page out and holds it up.
Gemma’s name, with the price and signatures.Her death sentence.
I look at my brother and nod. "Light it up."
Bronco grabs the whisky and splashes it around the room. Anson hands him a lighter without a word, and the room goes up in flames.
Heat hits my face as I watch, andsomething inside loosens.
One last call to make. Then it's done.
The farmhouse lightsglow against the dark when I pull into the drive the next day.
For a second, I sit there with my hands on the wheel, the engine ticking beneath the hood, smoke still clinging to my jacket. The scent of ash follows me—in my hair, on my skin. In my lungs.
War leaves marks.
So do choices.
The front door opens before I even cut the engine.
Gemma.
