Mara studies me for a long second, then melts back against my chest with a tiny, content sound.
“Bossy,” she mumbles into my throat, but there’s a smile in her voice.
“Damn right,” I mutter.
Talon falls in on our other side, shoulder brushing mine, and reaches over to tuck a loose strand of snow-wet hair behind her ear.
“Listen to the man, Princess. We’ve got plenty of nights to wreck you, because we have you, forever.”
She hums, already half-drifting. “Fine. But I still want marshmallows—the big ones.”
I huff a quiet laugh and keep walking, carrying my girl through the falling snow toward the warm glow of the safe house.
“Anything you want, Hellcat.”
FOURTEEN
TALON
Chase Harrington is still in my goddamn basement. If it were up to Jasper, we would have just murdered him and been done with it. But I fought for this—begged, even. Not out of mercy. Fuck mercy. Chase knows things. There’s shadows in his skull that could crack the Syndicate wide open.
He’s our key, rusted and bent, but still turning.
So, that’s why, for weeks now, we’ve been taking turns going at him, trying to get him to admit to something. My phone buzzes on the table. It’s our group chat.
Mara:
Beck and Rook are driving me back to the safe house.
I smile and flip my phone over. It buzzes a few more times, probably from Dredyn or Jasper answering Mara. They’ve been circling her like starved wolves since her brother brokered that fragile truce, letting her slip back to campus for classes. As if lectures on psych or lit could shield her from the storm brewing.
Mara’s the gravitational pull now. This fragile, fierce core we orbit—Jasper, Dredyn, and me. She’s the reason my blood runshot, and there’s an ache that never dulls. That’s why we’ve been digging in the dark, piecing together scraps on the Syndicate, the elite puppeteers, pulling strings from ivory towers while their OCK muscle—us, the alumni grunts—bleed in the dirt. Psi Theta Omega’s the velvet glove over their iron fist, but we’re done bending. It’s coming… their “fuck you” to our rebellion.
I pull up a chair in front of Chase and sit down. I’ve spent about the past hour beating the shit out of him while asking questions. I figured it’s about time to give him a break. His head lolls forward, his chin slick with blood and spit. The stitches in his hand are almost ready to come out.
I’m the one who’s been making sure it’s kept clean.
His breaths come out wet and ragged through the mangled mess of his nose. I lean in, elbows digging into my knees, and drink in the ruin we’ve sculpted from his pretty-boy face. The guy who snuffed out Jasper’s sister like she was nothing. Who thought he could chain Mara and call her his.
Defeated.
Mine to break.
“You ready to talk yet, pretty boy?”
He tries to lift his head, but fails, only a whimper leaking out of him. I reach out and hook two fingers under his chin, forcing his gaze up toward me. His good eye’s bloodshot, swimming in terror. God, that fear... it’s a drug, flooding my veins.
“You know what I love most about this part?” I murmur, thumb brushing the split in his lower lip.
He jerks, chains rattling.
“When they finally realize no one’s coming. Not the Syndicate. Not daddy’s money. It’s just me, and I’ve got all the time in the world.”
His throat works the lump down. “Valen.”
“Valen Mercer. The officer over at PTO?”
He nods. “They are very close. Or... were, as kids.”
