"Bingo." He grins. "The original plan was just to snatch you, have some fun, maybe send pieces back to your boyfriend as a message. But then Hargrove got involved, saw potential. Why waste good merchandise on a simple revenge killing? Better to make you disappear into the system. Psychological torture for the VP, profit for the operation."
Each word lands like a stone, building a wall of truth I've been seeking for weeks. I was never random. Never just unfortunate. I was deliberately targeted, my life destroyed as retribution.
"Kane kept tabs on you," Mercer continues, clearly relishing my reaction. "Regular updates, photos. Wanted to know you were being kept in line. Called it his 'long-term investment in Saints Outlaws suffering.'"
"And Falcon never knew," I manage, keeping my voice steady despite the churning in my gut. "You made it look like I left willingly."
"Beautiful setup," he agrees. "Credit card trails, security footage with a lookalike. Kane's a fucking artist when it comes to psychological warfare. Your boy spent months tearing himself apart, wondering why you walked out. By the time he gave up searching, you were deep in the system, moved through three different facilities. Untraceable."
The door opens suddenly, and Falcon stands in the threshold, his expression carved from stone. I wonder how long he's been listening, how much he's heard.
Mercer's smile widens at the sight of him. "Well, look who decided to join us. We were just discussing your old lady, VP. Special project of Kane's. He'll be disappointed to hear she's back with you."
Falcon's control is absolute, not a flicker of emotion showing despite what must be roiling beneath the surface. "Cara," he says simply, "we're done here."
I stand, grateful for the direction despite the questions still circling in my mind. I've heard enough—more than enough—to understand what happened to me. To understand why.
As I move toward the door, Mercer calls after me, "Hey, sweetheart! Ask your man what happened to Kane's sister six months before you disappeared. Might explain a few things about why he was so interested in you specifically."
Falcon's hand closes gently around my arm, guiding me from the room. Behind us, Mercer's laughter echoes against concrete walls.
The small office adjacent to the interrogation room offers privacy to process what I've just learned. I sink into a chair, mind racing with revelations. Falcon closes the door behind us, his movements measured, controlled.
"How much did you hear?" I ask finally.
"Enough." His voice is tight, contained. "I should have been there from the beginning."
"No," I counter firmly. "He wouldn't have spoken so freely with you present. We needed the truth."
"That wasn't truth," Falcon says harshly. "That was his version, designed to cause maximum pain."
"There was truth in it," I insist. "The specific details about Kane's involvement, the surveillance before I was taken, the deliberate targeting—those align with fragments I've remembered."
He doesn't argue this point, instead pacing the small space like a caged animal. The control he displayed in front of Mercer fractures slightly, revealing the rage beneath.
"Kane's sister," I say quietly. "What was he talking about?"
Falcon stops pacing, conflict evident in his expression. "It's complicated."
"I think I can handle complicated," I reply, an edge entering my voice. "I just confronted a man connected to my captors and learned I was abducted as revenge against you. Try me."
He sinks into the chair opposite mine, running a hand over his face. "Six months before you disappeared, we had a situation with the Kings. Their heroin was killing kids in our territory—laced with something that caused fatal reactions. We shut down their operation, destroyed their product."
"So far this matches what Mercer said," I observe.
"What he didn't mention was that during the operation, Kane's sister was at one of the distribution houses." His eyes meet mine, unflinching. "She overdosed in the chaos. Died before paramedics arrived."
Understanding dawns. "And Kane blamed you personally."
"The club collectively, but me specifically as the one who led the raid." His voice is hollow. "We didn't know she was there. Didn't even know Kane had a sister. She was using a different last name."
The pieces slot together with terrible clarity. "So taking me wasn't just business. It was personal vengeance."
"Cara—" He begins, but I cut him off.
"Don't you dare apologize," I say firmly. "None of this was your fault. You were doing what needed to be done—stopping dealers from killing kids. Kane's sister made her choices. He made his. You are not responsible for their actions or the consequences."
Surprise flickers across his face at my vehemence. Perhaps he expected blame, recrimination. Instead, I feel only clarity—and a strange, terrible relief at finally understanding.
