Randy laughed once, wet and broken.
“You think I care?” he spat.
And I realized, with sick clarity, that he wasn’t bluffing.
Not because he wanted to kill her.
Because he wanted to win.
Because in his mind, everyone had stolen something from him—Rose, the story he believed about his life, the control he thought he’d earned.
And if he couldn’t have it back …
He’d destroy it.
Sabine’s body shook in Randy’s grip.
My niece.
Rose’s child.
And the first day I’d tried to step into her life, the world had put a gun to her head.
I stared at Kane, at the angle of his arm, at the stillness of him—coiled violence held on a leash so tight it had to hurt.
I didn’t know what he was capable of in full.
But I knew he was capable of ending this.
And I also knew that if he moved wrong, if any of us moved wrong?—
Sabine would pay for it.
My voice came out raw.
“Randy,” I whispered. “Please.”
His eyes were empty.
“Talk,” he said.
And the barrel pressed harder.
32
KANE
Iwas processing everything in rapid, fragmentary detail, my tactical brain automatically cataloging information even as adrenaline sharpened every sense to painful clarity.
The way Randy's lips moved when he spoke directly to Ella. Tight. Twitching visibly at the corners. Like the words physically hurt forcing their way out but he couldn't stop the compulsive need to make her understand, anyway.
The way he held the gun pressed against Sabine's small head. Amateur grip, fingers wrapped wrong. Pressure too tight on the trigger. Whole hand shaking with uncontrolled emotion instead of steady, deliberate intent.
Dangerous. Unpredictable. Volatile in the worst possible way.
The way he couldn't stop talking specifically to Ella, ignoring me almost entirely. Needing her to witness his pain. To validate that he was actually the victim in this entire situation. To confirm his justified rage.
I knew exactly what I should've done the second I'd entered this room and seen him holding that weapon.
