We're halfway to my bike when Ripley stops, turning to face me.
"This is because of me," she says. "He's targeting me because of you. Because of us."
"He's targeting you because he's a bastard who can't accept that his son got what he deserved." I take her hands. "This isn't your fault."
"But if I wasn't here?—"
"Then I'd have nothing worth protecting." The words come out fiercer than I intended. "You're not the problem, Ripley. You're the reason I'm still fighting. You understand?"
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nods.
"I understand."
"Good." I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now let's go home. We've got a war to plan."
We ride back to the clubhouse together, her arms wrapped tight around my waist. And in my mind, I'm already mapping out the next moves.
Varro wants a fight? I'll give him one.
But I'm going to win.
CHAPTER 13
Ripley
Days after the interrogation, I'm still shaking.
Not visibly—I've learned to hide that, to push the tremors down deep where no one can see them.
But inside, I'm a mess.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that room.
The gray walls. The metal table. Chief Varro sitting across from me, asking the same questions over and over, his voice soft and reasonable while his eyes promised destruction.
Where were you the night Cain died?
Did you know what Leviathan was planning?
Did you help him?
I answered truthfully. I was at the clubhouse. I didn't know anything. I didn't help.
But the truth didn't matter.
Varro wasn't looking for truth.
He was looking for cracks. Weaknesses. Ways to break me open and use whatever spilled out against Levi.
I didn't break. Not completely. But I came close.
And now I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"We need to talk about Varro."
Leviathan's voice cuts through my thoughts. We're in his office—our unofficial war room—with Zenon, Klutch, and Behemoth gathered around the desk.
Papers are spread across every surface: police reports, photographs, pages of handwritten notes.
