I pull him into a rib-crushing embrace, the kind that steadies a racing heart. The kind that promisesI’ve got you—even if the rest of the world comes undone. When we step back, I clap him on theshoulder and force my voice steady. “Call Ronan. We need to fill him in.”
Rowan dials, and when the screen lights up, our brother’s face fills it. Ronan’s smirk is pure arrogance, smug and sharp enough to cut, but it’s the details that make my stomach twist. There’s blood smeared across his jaw, dried in streaks down his neck. His hair is a mess, wild and tousled like hands—no, fingers—just raked through it. And the look in his eyes? It’s feral. Dangerous. Like he’s riding a high that has nothing to do with drugs.
I don’t know whether to be relieved he’s alive or terrified of what the hell he’s been doing while we’ve been here.
“Hey,” he greets, voice casual, cocky, like we’re just catching up after a long day instead of standing on the edge of war. “Got some news to share with you.” His eyes narrow, sharp and assessing, flicking back and forth across the screen. He takes us in like we’re pieces on a board, already calculating moves before we’ve made them. And then it happens—his smirk falters, just barely, because he sees it. He sees us. The weight off our shoulders, the rare ease in our expressions. Smiles. Real fucking smiles for the first time in years. His head tilts, suspicion gleaming. “What happened?”
Rowan and I exchange a look—a wordless beat where the weight of it all hangs between us. But for the first time in years, it isn’t sharpened with blame or poisoned with regret. It’s heavy, yeah, but it’s shared—something that almost feels like relief. My throat tightens, the words scraping raw as I force them out.
“Kimber’s with us,” I say, and even that alone feels like a miracle. “We’ve got custody—papers signed, sealed. Picked her up ourselves.” The memory flashes through me: walking out of that station, Kimber’s small hand clutching mine, the officer sliding the file across the counter like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the single most important moment of my life. I drag in a breath, steadying. “We used a ditch car, circled downtown, shook anyone who might’ve been watching. Dropped it outside a candy shop, slipped through the back. Rowan was waiting. Nobody followed. Nobody saw.” My jaw clenches. “And Bryce… he didn’t know. Not until just now. He called, screaming, losing his shit.” I pause, my chest burning, the word clawing its way up my throat again like it doesn’t belong to me, like saying it out loud might break it apart. But I push it out. “Safe.” I swallow hard. “My sister’s safe.”
Ronan doesn’t respond right away. The cocky grin fades into something darker, more dangerous. His jaw ticks, his eyes harden, and I can almost feel the shift in him through the screen. Then his attention flicks away, off to the side. His posture changes, softens in a way I’ve never seen from him before. He mutters something low, almost tender, and then leans out of frame. It’s the way his body moves, the way his mouth lingers, pressing against someone unseen, that makes it click.
Rowan stiffens beside me, his eyes narrowing, voice dropping to a whisper like saying it any louder might shatter the fragile air between us. “He’s with Berk.”
The words hit me like a fist to the chest. My mind scrambles, my mouth moving before my brain catches up. “Are you with Berk?Is that who you’re talking to?” The question cracks as it leaves me, her name tearing its way through my throat. “I don’t expect her to talk to us. Not after what we did. But… please. Tell her thank you. For Kimber. For saving her.”
At Kimber’s name, Ronan’s expression darkens again, storm clouds rolling in, a flicker of something dangerous shifting under the surface. It throws me, confusion tightening in my gut. But then his lips curl into a deliberate smirk, and he tilts his head, smugness dripping off him again. “You want to say hi, baby?” His lower lip juts out in a mocking pout before he looks back at us. “She’s not ready yet. But we’re stopping at her place to grab her things before we head your way.”
Rowan leans in, steady where I’m unraveling. His voice is rough, heavy with truth, every word a vow. “Berkley… I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes. Thank you—for Kimber. And for helping us burn this poisonous empire to the ground.” His voice wavers, just once, before he clears his throat, pushing through.
Silence stretches across the call, heavy and suffocating, until the faintest movement cuts through it. A glimpse. A shadow. Ronan dips his head, burying his face in the curve of her neck, his lips pressing to her skin in a kiss that feels more like a claim. My chest squeezes so tight I can’t breathe. And then, without warning, the call cuts out.
I slam the phone down harder than I should, pulse hammering, fury and relief tangling like barbed wire in my veins. That smug bastard did that call on purpose. He wanted us to see just enough to know she’s with him.
Chapter Nine
Rowan
I place a hand on Em’s shoulder, the weight of it meant to steady him, though the irony isn’t lost on me. Imagine that—me, of all people, being the one to comfort instead of collapse. My chest is a furnace, my throat raw, but I try anyway. Because he needs it. We both do.
“Hey,” I murmur, though my voice is anything but soft. “She’s with us. Got our backs. She always has.” The words scrape out like gravel, heavy with memory.
The image that follows makes me want to tear my skin off. The state she was in when I dragged her to that basement—already battered, already raw—I see it now in a way I didn’t allow myself to then. The meaning is sharp, piercing through every wall I built to keep the truth at bay. She put herself in the line of fire to shield Ronan. And then what did I do?
I took her downstairs. Added my own hands to the pile of hurt already crushing her.
The thought never fails to rip me open, a jagged wound that refuses to close. It splits my ribs apart, leaves my heart exposed, bloody and beating with regret. No matter how many times I replay it, how many times I wish I could rewrite the memory, the truth doesn’t change. I betrayed her. I hurt her when she was already bleeding for us.
Em doesn’t flinch at my words. Doesn’t look away. He never has, not when it matters most. Instead, he shifts beneath my hand, steadying himself, and then steadying me, the way we’ve always done. We’re jagged edges, broken in different places, but when pressed together just right, we somehow hold each other up.
“Ro,” he says quietly, my name thick with warning and something softer beneath it. His eyes pin mine, grounding me. “You can’t keep ripping yourself apart. Not like this.”
I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend I wasn’t the one who dragged her down there when she was already half-dead from trying to save us?” The words are knives, each one twisting deeper. “She fought Trent, Em. For Ronan. She put herself in harm’s way—again—and then I…” My throat closes, the rest strangled on its way out.
Em’s grip tightens on my shoulder, firm enough to stop the freefall. “You did what you thought you had to. You did what they trained us to do. And yeah, it was wrong. We both know it. But don’t you dare forget that you’re not our fathers. You’re not them.” His voice is sharp, steady, but his jaw works, the cracks showing in him just as much as in me. “You’ve got guilt because you care. Because you love her. That’s the difference, Ro. That’s what makesusdifferent.”
I stare at him, chest heaving, every part of me wanting to argue—but I can’t. Because he’s right. Because as much as I want to sink into the pit of my own mistakes, he won’t let me. Just like I won’t let him when it’s his turn to spiral. We’re brothers, but morethan that—we’re each other’s ballast. When one of us sinks, the other drags him back to the surface.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches, heavy but not suffocating this time. My heart still pounds, still bleeds, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing me apart anymore. Em’s steady gaze holds me together, stitching me up where words alone can’t.
Finally, I nod, rough and reluctant. “She deserves better.”
“Yes, she does,” Em says, no hesitation. “So, we give it to her. From here on out, we give her better. Whatever it takes.”
And just like that, the balance tips back into place. Not whole, not healed—but enough. Enough to keep moving forward. Enough to keep us fighting for her.
I nod, the weight of the vow already anchoring deep in my chest. “Whatever it takes,” I echo, the words tasting like blood and truth on my tongue. I glance at Em, and he gives me the same hard stare, the one that brooks no room for retreat. We both know what we’ve promised isn’t light—it’s a line drawn in the sand. From this moment on, there’s no failing her again. Not one inch. Not one breath.