“Finally,” he drawls. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve, Alex.”
I sigh, letting my gaze trail across what remains of Dominic Blackwood. “Was this level of enthusiasm really necessary? I did ask for him conscious.”
“And behold!” He gestures proudly at Dom’s blood-rimmed eyes. “He’s as requested. I always deliver.”
With a flourish, he yanks the gag free and skin tears with it, blood stringing between lips and the sodden cloth.
“See?” Kian grins. “Still perfectly able to scream. I’m nothing if not accommodating.”
Luna inches closer to my side, drawn not to comfort, but proximity. Her fear folds beneath the need for certainty and direction. Kian’s eyes flick to her, and amusement flickers across his face.
“My, my,” he purrs. “Isn’t this sweet? The little scientist hiding behind her savior.” His bloody fingers twitch.
Dom coughs, blood hitting the floor in a thick splatter. “Luna . . .”
“Oh, that’s rude,” Kian chides, delivering a backhand so sharp it echoes. Dom’s head snaps to the side, fresh blood smearing his cheek. “Interrupting your betters? Didn’t I raise you to show respect?”
“Luna.” Dom’s voice is a raw scrape of agony. “Please. Look at me. This isn’t who you are. Think about Aria. What this will do to her.”
Her hands tremble around the syringe, and a breath catches in her throat, softness flashing in her eyes.
It has to die.
“My sister?” Bitterness threads through her voice. “The one you turned against me? She barely looks at me now because of you.” Her lip trembles, but the needle steadies. “Our parents are dead because of you.”
“No, Luna . . . I swear, I didn’t . . .” Dom thrashes harder, chains groaning. “Your mother . . . it was her, not me. I would never—please—you have to believe me!”
That one flicker of doubt in Luna’s eyes threatens to ruin everything, and I move behind her, hand sliding up her back.
“Of course he denies it,” I murmur. “Like he denied dragging Aria into every circle of hell, and everything he’s done to tear your family apart.”
“I would never hurt her!” Dom’s voice crescendos in desperation. “You know I wouldn’t! I love her!”
I turn her face toward mine, severing the line between her gaze and his. “How many times has she bled for him? How many times has she run, hidden, suffered? All because of his obsession with her. His ‘love’ is nothing but destruction.”
Behind us, Kian snorts. “He’s right, you know. My boy’s ‘love’ is violence dressed up in finer packaging.” He jams the gag back into Dom’s mouth and yanks it tight. “There. Much better.”
Luna’s hands tremble violently around the syringe. I place mine over hers, steadying the shake, directing the pressure with the precision of a master sculptor wielding a blade. “You can do this,” I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. She softens instantly, folding into me with that sweet, malleable trust I’ve so carefully cultivated.
She nods, steel replacing uncertainty, and the needle finds the hollow of Dominic’s neck as Kian clamps him in place. His body convulses violently, a muffled scream shredding through the gag. His eyes go wide with terror, then slowly vacant as the serum floods his system.
“We’ll need to monitor for neurological rejection,” Luna says, her voice slipping into clinical cadence. But I see how she trembles, how her scientific precision barely masks her horror. “The initial integration period is crucial.”
“Go wait in the car,” I tell her gently, brushing a hand against her arm. “We’ll go home soon. You’ve done enough for tonight.”
She obeys without question, and doesn’t glance back at the ruined body behind her. But I note the way she clutches herself as if her ribs might split open from within. She’ll need careful reinforcement tonight—warmth, fragility, the reminder that she’s needed.
As the door seals behind her, Kian approaches Dom, theatrically peeling the gag from his mouth. “Now then, let’s have a proper father-son chat, shall we? Though I must say, you’re a rather disappointing conversationalist these days.”
“Kian.” My voice carries a warning.
“Oh, come now, Alex. Where’s your appreciation for the craft?” He rises, blood-slicked hands spread in mock piety. “After everything this ungrateful little bastard’s cost me, I’ve earned some fun with the programming.”
He grips Dom’s chin cruelly, forcing their eyes to meet. “Let’s start with the flaw that’s always annoyed me most—your need for restraint. That precious, performative morality. From now on, you won’t just kill, you’ll crave it. That leash you wear like a badge of honor? I’m cutting it. You’ll become exactly what you fear most:me.”
“The serum is unstable enough without your—”
“And that expensive whiskey you drown yourself in every night?” Kian’s eyes dance with delight. “It’ll turn to blood on your tongue, but you’ll keep drinking, desperate for the numbness and relief that will never come.”
