My jaw clenches. The idea of anyone else seeing her like I do—of anyone owning even a fraction of her—is unbearable. Because despite all the lies and betrayal that exists between us now, she still owns every piece of my black heart.
I remember the nights Lily showed up in my room, tears in her eyes, heartbreak written across her face. I’d believed every look, every sob.I’d believed her. Every goddamn time. And now?
Now I don’t know what was real and what was a lie. I fell for her hook, line, and sinker but did I ever mean more to her than a means to an end?
With the only people we know connected to this thing dead and buried, we’re at a standstill. A void. A wall we keep crashing into with bloodied fists and nothing to show for it.
Liam and Aidan have been with me every night, backs bent over encrypted servers, hunting shadows in endless lines of code while grief sharpens their focus like a blade. Seeing two where there was always three serves as a permanent reminder of what we’ve lost. Nearly two years on, Cole’s death isn’t something any of us can just move past. He was barely nineteen—the same age as Lily at the time—wide-eyed, a cocky little shit, and still figuring out how to be a man. And yeah, the bastard who killed him is six feet under, rotting where he belongs, but somehow that doesn’t feel like justice. Not to his brothers, and not to me.
“I’m sick of running in circles,” Aidan mutters, cracking his neck like he’s trying to loosen the weight dragging him down. His voice is low, raw at the edges—sleep-starved and stretched thin.
He looks it, too.
The dark circles under his eyes have their own shadows by now, bruised deep into his skin. His usually sharp, meticulously kept fade has grown out into something rougher, the blonde strands falling over his forehead every time he lifts his head to look at another useless lead.
“There’s something we’re missing,” Liam sighs, pacing like a caged animal. Every movement is tight, coiled, like he’s one wrong word away from snapping.
His hair—normally tied back in a neat, low ponytail that never slips—has completely given up. Half of it falls around his face, sticking to the sheen of stress on his skin, the rest is half-tied, half-loose like he ran his hands through it too many times and couldn’t be bothered fixing it.
His eyes flick to the wall, then to me, then back to the screen—sharp, frantic, hungry—like he’s trying to force the answer into existence by sheer will.
And the worst part? He might be the only one who still believes an answercanbe forced.
Aidan watches him, and for half a second—just a blink—there’s something softer behind the steel. Concern, maybe. Guilt, as if he blames himself for Liam's unravelling and Cole’s death. Then it’s gone, buried so deeply if I didn't know better I’d think I imagined it.
“Come on,” Aidan sighs, pushing off the desk. “Matt’s got packing to do, and Cora needs us first thing.”
The mention of Cora shifts something in Liam. The edge dulls, just slightly. She’s the closest thing to family they’ve got left. Something about being by her side from when she first set foot in this world to now, has them bonded so deeply I don’t think Jonathan himself could force them to stop being her guards.
Liam grunts, still pacing. “Just because this bastard’s flying off to Italy doesn’t mean we’re done.”
“As if you could get rid of me that easily,” I say, half a smile tugging at my mouth as I watch them head for the door.
But the truth is, I already feel like a ghost in this room. They’re still chasing justice. Still trying to make sense of the wreckage but half the time I feel like I’m just going through the motions. Scared of what I’ll find. Terrified of what Iwon’tfind.
The door clicks shut behind them, and the silence that follows is suffocating.
I shove clothes and gear into a duffel bag, trying to focus, trying to push the nagging sense of helplessness aside. My passport sits beside my gun. I stare at both, thinking how absurd it is that I’m about to cross an ocean with a suitcase full of designer suits and enough firepower to blow a hole in a safe house.
Then my laptop chimes—a notification that Lily’s stream has started.
I don’t think. I simply react.
My heart slams against my ribs as I open the tab. She’s only just begun, wrapped in a baby-pink robe tied so loosely it may as well be pooled around her feet. Her eyes sparkle under the ring light, makeup dusted like glittering sin across her cheekbones. She’s the image of innocence, with just enough filth laced into every movement to make me feel unhinged.
To her horny viewers, she’s a fantasy come to life. To me, she’s a beautiful contradiction—an angel with a dark, twisted soul. That contrast makes my chest tighten. How can something so pure-looking be so utterly corrupted? The question haunts me.
I settle into the shadows, watching her tease and play. Each glance at the camera, each coy smile, each barely-there reveal is a calculated dance. She baits the viewers with skin, flirtation, and a promise of more if they just tip enough. The tip jar fills fast, and that’s when the real show begins.
Lily’s always been talented with design, but her lingerie skills? Next level. Tonight, she’s draped in a baby-pink one-piece that hugs every curve—the sheer mesh cups revealing everything, the crisscrossing fabric sculpting her torso before dissolving into the tiniest thong. When she turns, giving a slow, deliberate show of her lace-trimmed ass cheeks, I almost lose control. She knows exactly what she’s doing, wielding her power like a weapon.
The chat explodes:
JimsCuntDestroyer:Fucking hell. Look at those tits.
AdamsLadder:Fuuuuuck me.
CometoDaddy:Need to be balls deep inside you.
