Dredyn’s laugh is humorless. “He’s sending us on an errand. Apparently, one of the Syndicate’s ‘valued clients’ is late on a payment. We’re to collect and send a message. Immediately.”
Jasper’s shoulders tense.“He’s keeping us busy,”he signs, anger simmering beneath the composed surface.
“Exactly.” I feel sick with frustration. Our hands were literally on the trigger, and James yanked us away with one phone call. “He knows we’d be going for Harrington right about now, so he’s giving us busywork.”
“He thinks this will keep me in line; he’s dead wrong. We’ll do this job, but after that?—”
“After that, we break the leash,” I finish for him.
The alley behind Orion’s Club reeks of piss and desperation. I lean against our idling SUV, cold night air biting at my cheeks, and listen to the wet thud of fists meeting flesh echoing off the brick walls. A strangled cry rings out, followed by Dredyn’s snarl. “Where’s the rest, you lying sack of—” Another meaty impact silences whatever pathetic answer our target tries to give.
I close my eyes, letting the violent soundtrack wash over me. The primal rhythm of punishment thrums through my veins, notso different from the pulse I felt when Mara was beneath me, her body yielding to the edge of pleasure. The way she writhed under me, breathless and furious and needing more.
A minute later, I hear a final muffled groan and the scuff of boots on concrete. Dredyn and Jasper emerge from behind the dumpster, leaving the target crumpled and whimpering in the shadows. Job done.
We stride back to the SUV without fanfare, the three of us moving as one through the darkness. Dredyn’s breathing hard, knuckles split and wet with someone else’s blood. Jasper is eerily composed, wiping a fleck of crimson from his sleeve.
Inside the car, none of us speak at first. Dredyn finally lets out a bitter snort, flexing his bloodied hand. “Another night, another mess cleaned up. Daddy will be so proud.”
“Thrilled,” I drawl, dripping sarcasm.
“Are we done being his dogs?”
I catch his gaze in the rearview mirror. “For now”
Because being “for now” is what Omega Chi is built on. We’re the dogs the Syndicate walks on a leash; the boys they let loose when they need someone to break a knee or a jaw without asking questions that might get blood on their tailor-made cuffs.
We collect debts, send messages, and smile. Tonight was a message. Tomorrow might be something uglier. That doesn’t make it less necessary.
Jasper watches me in the mirror, his face half-hidden in shadow. He signs slowly, quietly,“We’re not dogs forever.”The motion is barely a breath, but it lands heavier than any fist.
That’s the cruel math of our world: obey, or disappear.
It’s a calculus that leaves a hollow in your chest where rage and shame take turns living.
We can be their dogs, or we can be the teeth they fear. The difference is strategy.
The difference is patience.
FOUR
MARA
Istep onto the sunlit terrace of the country club, blinking against the bright December sun that filters through white tents down below. My mother thought that some sun would do me some good this weekend, so she insisted we travel to south Florida.
Down the staircase, women in jewel-toned dresses chat at tables, their laughter tinkling like glass against their freshly poured mimosas. I stick to my mother’s side as we both descend the stairs. Her perfectly manicured fingers rest lightly on my elbow as she guides me under the main tent.
My mother was built for this life. As suffocated as she makes me feel, she seamlessly blends into this world way more than I feel I ever will.
She clears her throat, gaining attention from the other women. “Everyone, you remember my daughter, Mara.”
A chorus of polite greetings ensues. I smile as I’ve been taught—lips together, eyes soft, chin demurely dipped. “It’s lovely to see you all,” I say, though I don’t remember ever meeting any of these women, nor do I care to ever see them again after this.
Each time someone’s gaze flits over me, I feel them searching for cracks. Are they looking for signs of the girl who crashed and burned a few months ago?
Mother gently squeezes my arm—a silent directive to keep smiling. I obey, letting her maneuver me to the next cluster of guests. A white-gloved server passes with a tray of teacups and I take one, more for something to do with my hands than any desire to drink. The tea is lukewarm when I raise it to my lips, but I swallow anyway, forcing down the bitter taste. Around us, conversation flows about charity funds and holiday galas. I nod along, playing the part of the recovered prodigal daughter who has learned her lesson.
“We’re so glad you could join us, dear,” purrs a woman in emerald lace—one of Mother’s long-time acquaintances. Her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, curiosity thinly veiled. “Your mother tells us you’ve been resting after… after everything. But you’re looking wonderful now.”
