"I talked to her myself," Ronan replied. "Then the cops showed up."
Jerico closed his eyes, processed the information. "She's not a threat," he finally said, but the words felt thin. "Didn't we make sure? She was expensive." He found himself staring at the security feeds again.
Ronan exhaled on the line. "I put a private eye on her. Just in case. If someone is behind this and that someone is good with tech, you need to get your shit sorted."
"I see."
"Talk to you later." The line went dead.
Ronan was right. They had a lot of secrets that could never come out.
It took several minutes for Jerico Thorne to lose control.
He stared at his smeared reflection in the monitor replaying the security footage from the night of his downfall, watched the twitch of his own hand as it reached for the iPad, and then—without thinking—he sent it hurtlingat the wall. The crack of the display was gunshot-loud, and the iPad dropped, screen spidering, before landing face down in the corner.
Papers leapt from the desk as if startled. The tulip vase went next, spinning in a slow, mocking arc and then shattering against the arm of the chair.
He swept everything off with the back of his arm, then he braced both hands on the desk and stood motionless for a moment, chest heaving. Then he found his voice, low and hoarse.
"Fuck," he said.
And then, quieter, "Fuck."
He reached for his phone, thumbed through the contacts, and landed on a nameBozak.
He called.
A single ring and a pickup. "Mr. Thorne," the man answered, voice as oily as always. "It's been a minute."
Jerico's tone was arctic. "I need a full background run. Kimberly Holt. H-O-L-T."
A silence on the line before the man asked, "Timeline?"
"Now," Jerico said. "I want actionable data in twenty-four hours."
"Understood." Bozak's voice vanished, the call terminating with a click.
Jerico set the phone down, exhaled again.
It was only then that he noticed the photo.
It had been in the same spot for years, on the floating shelf by the window. Jerico, Ronan, and Caius, arms slung like brothers at some charity gala. All teeth and suits and the easy confidence of men who had never lost a single thing. They were barely out of college then, only starting to make waves.
Jerico moved to stand in front of the shelf and stared at the photo, his face in the picture more open, more alive, than he could remember. He reached out, cupped the frame in both hands, and regarded it for a long moment. Remembered the wild night the three of them had. The women they fucked, the drugs they messed around with. Those were the good old times. When the future was ahead of them. Now that the future was here, both he and Wick had been on the way to ruin.
And Kimberly Holt was somehow there when Ronan got arrested.
No, definitely not a coincidence.
Jerico set the photo back on the shelf but face down.
He wondered if Caius was next.
19 seven
I couldn't breathe.
I knew it even as I dreamed—the sensation was so strong I could've choked on it. Something held me down. My body fought, but there was only the heat. All the old training kicked in, the counting, the slow rationing of breath, but it didn't matter. The heat pressed in, burning my eyes and lungs.
