“Permanently?” I ask, voice barely above a breath.
He doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”
A cold spike of understanding settles behind my ribs. “Why didn’t he do it?”
Asher’s expression hardens, something conflicted flickering deep beneath it. “Because he was still figuring out who was working against him.”
My pulse trips. “The moles,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He says it without hesitation.
“You knew he suspected people?”
“Yes.” Again, no hesitation.
“You knew who?”
His nostrils flare. “No.”
I flip through the pages, watching the marks shift column to column, like a pattern I haven’t cracked yet. My fingertips brush the sharp corner of the paper; the edge bites back. “So Xavier thought someone—somepeople—were betraying him, and he did… nothing?”
“I didn’t say nothing.” Asher’s voice cuts sharper now, controlled. “I said he was waiting.”
“For what?” I demand.
“For confirmation,” he says. “For the right moment. For things to line up.”
I squeeze the list until the paper wrinkles, nails biting into the page. “Two days ago,” I say slowly, my voice trembling with something hot and rising, “someone shot him in the middle of the Raider compound, and he was waiting for a right moment?”
“Yes.” His reply is low, steady, unwavering.
I meet his eyes, anger swelling hot in my chest. “Feels like waiting cost enough.”
Asher watches me closely, his jaw working as if grinding through a thousand calculations. “What are you suggesting?” he asks, but he already knows the answer. I can see it in the way his shoulders square.
“I’m not suggesting,” I say. “I’m deciding.”
His gaze sharpens, a warning flickering behind the calm. “Careful.”
“No.” I shake my head, breath quickening. “You’re the one telling me this desk means power. That this is where orders get written. That I’m the one with the crown now.” I tap the list hard enough to make the paper jump. “Then I want to use it.”
His voice drops. “How?”
“We round them up,” I say.
His shoulders go rigid. “Them who?”
“The ones he didn’t trust.” I flip back to the first page and drag my nail under the underlined names, deliberate and slow. “The ones whispering in corners. Watching. Waiting to see if Xavier dies. The ones planning to tear apart what he built.”
I look up, meeting his stare head-on. “We drag them in. Put them in a room. See who sweats.”
“This isn’t a cartel parlor game,” Asher snaps, stepping closer, voice low and cutting. “You don’t line up Raiders and hope someone cracks.”
“Isn’t that what Xavier did with Landon?” I shoot back, pulse hammering. “Dragged him out and made an example?”
His jaw tightens. “That was different.”
“How?”
