I tightened my grip on her hand.
“Or,” Blackjack added, glancing at us, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, “you can ride with us to the beach to see what comes next. Your President already said she’s in this to the end. Might as well see one of the big plays with your own eyes.”
Valkyrie raised one eyebrow.
“Hell yeah,” she replied.
Liberty snorted. “Text me the location. We’ll meet you there.”
We then moved.
Priest and Turnpike hauled Vladimir up between them. He groaned as his leg took weight, eyes rolling.
“Careful,” I said. “Wouldn’t want you passing out before your big moment.”
He spat blood in my direction. It hit the boards before it hit my boots.
“You think… this ends it,” he panted. “You’re… stupid. You cut off one hand… the other still holds the knife.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll see about that.”
We muscled him toward the street-side service gate where one of Roman’s anonymous black SUVs already waited with its engine humming.
Roman’s wife followed, one hand on Gianna’s arm. Her heels clicked unevenly on the concrete. She lookedshellshocked.
Gianna looked like she’d already decided how to turn this into fuel.
As we loaded Vladimir into the back, I stared at him.
Vladimir wasn’t the head of this beast. Others were involved too. He was just the piece that had stuck his neck out first.
We’d take him to the beach like Roman wanted. We’d watch the old man do whatever the hell he thought justice meant.
And then?
Then we’d see what slithered out of the hole Vladimir left behind.
As I swung the SUV door shut on Vladimir’s groan, the wind off the ocean lifted the smell of death and blood away for a second.
The war wasn’t over. Not yet. If anything, this was just the end of act one.
But for the first time since Tesauro’s name got whispered at our gate, it felt like we’d cracked something in his foundation.
I caught Valkyrie’s eyes over the roof of the SUV.
King and queen, I thought.
We’d just survived our coronation.
Now we were headed to a beach to help bury a traitor and see what kind of kingdom we were actually fighting in.
Twenty Two
Jersey Boy
I’d forgotten what quiet engines felt like.
Not literally quiet. There were a little over a dozen of us, Devils and Vipers in staggered formations, pipes muttering low as we rolled away from Roman’s half-built monument. A black SUV carrying Vladimir led the way, its glossy shape swallowing and bending the boardwalk light.
