I smirk and lean into her, the motion easy and sure. “Whatever you say, baby. We’ll follow your orders.” The words are a promise more than a tease, and when she tilts her head back, I close the small distance and press a kiss to her mouth, a quiet anchor. She looks like she’s been carrying a weight, and that brief touch is my way of telling her I’ll step into whatever fire she asks me to, no questions.
Ronan drops into the chair beside her with a soft thud, settling close enough that his shoulder brushes hers. He presses the side of his head to hers, a half-grin tugging at his mouth. He always knows when to lean in. “Alright, Pix,” he says, his voice growling and dangerous. “Let’s hear it. You’ve got one of those master plans cooking in that brilliant head of yours, right?”
Her smile creeps back, wicked and proud, and it lights the room in a way nothing else does. The spark in her eyes tells me she already has the map in her mind. Ronan nudges her again, like a kidpoking a sleeping animal to wake it up. “Come on, Pix. Talk to us. Give us something to tear apart.”
She laughs, that bright sound that makes my chest loosen, and then she dives into the details. We cluster around her, leaning in as she lays out the plan for the last warehouse, how they funnel shipments, who’s been skimming, and where the weak links are. She flits between the big picture and the tiny, lethal details as if she’s reading a favorite book.
Ronan, Emerson, and I trade looks while she lays it out, silently sorting which parts fall to us. We work through routes and timing—who keeps eyes on the docks, who intercepts the shipping records, where the pressure lands first. When she steers us toward dragging our fathers into the open, the air tightens. The plan is stripped down and ruthless: destroy the warehouse, follow the money, squeeze their partners until there’s nowhere left to hide.
I lower my voice when it’s my turn. “We move fast and decisive. No mercy. Keep it clean so there’s no chance of them slipping through.” Ronan nods, jaw locked. Emerson leans in, focus etched deep around his eyes. This isn’t just payback—it’s precision, discipline, the kind of hard planning that keeps us breathing while everything else burns.
When Berk finishes, the room is still for a beat, everyone tasting the plan like pennies on their tongues. Then Ronan cracks a grin, and I feel the tension break just enough to breathe. “Perfect,” he says. “Now let’s burn it down.”
Her smile is all fire and promise, and in that light, I know she’s not just fantasizing about retribution. She’s building it, piece by deliberate piece, and we’ll be the ones to set the match.
“Just one more thing,” Berk says, lifting a finger before any of us can speak. She spins in her chair, grabbing her phone from the desk and scrolling with practiced precision. The corner of her mouth curves, that look she gets when she’s about to surprise us with something both brilliant and reckless.
She dials a number and holds the phone to her ear. “Hey, Dahlia,” she says, her tone light, almost singsong. “It’s me. Did you get what I sent you?”
A pause follows, then a faint echo of laughter comes through the other end. Berk’s grin spreads wickedly. “Happy to do business,” she says, giggling softly in a way that doesn’t match the sharpness in her eyes.
I exchange a look with Ronan. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing, leaning forward as if he’s watching a live show.
“Listen,” Berk continues, her voice shifting from playful to serious in a heartbeat. “I know. Do you still see him?”
Another pause. She listens, then a small, knowing smile tugs her lips. “I figured he wouldn’t be able to stay away,” she murmurs. “He tossed the last phone, right? Can you bug the new one? You should have one left from the last batch I gave you.”
She waits again, her fingers drumming on the desk as the person on the line talks. Then her expression shifts, her brows drawing together. “Nothing? You haven’t seen or heard from him?” she asks, the sharpness in her tone softening into concern. A pausefollows, and then her eyes flicker with surprise. “Tonight? Perfect. That works. This should be the last time. Fingers crossed you won’t ever have to see him again after this. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Her voice softens, gentler now, the steel in it replaced with a fragile cadence. “No, thank you,” she says quietly. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” Another voice speaks on the line, low and distant, before Berk smiles faintly. “Sounds good. Talk soon.”
She ends the call, setting the phone down like it’s nothing, but the air in the room has gone thick. The silence stretches as we all stare at her.
“What?” she asks finally, feigning innocence. There’s a teasing glint in her eyes, the curve of her lips daring one of us to press further.
Emerson leans forward, arms crossed. “Who was that?”
Berk’s smirk falters for a second, replaced by something softer, heavier. “That was Dahlia,” she says. “She’s the one I’ve been using to bug their phones. You might remember her—she was in our grade back in school.”
Recognition flickers across Emerson’s face, but Berk keeps going. “Turns out our fathers had their hooks in more people than we knew. Reign and I weren’t the only ones.” Her voice tightens, quiet fury simmering beneath each word. “They used her for years, hurt her, threatened her family to keep her in line. She’s still in it, still trapped.”
Ronan’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw flexing, but Berk keeps her gaze steady. “She’s supposed to meet with Bryce in a fewhours. I asked her to plant another bug on his new phone. If Dean’s still in the wind, he’ll reach out to Bryce eventually. My guess is, he already has.”
She glances at the screens, where files and encrypted lines flicker like tiny pulses of light. “Those two will try to use each other now that shit’s falling apart,” she says, her voice cold and measured. “With only one warehouse left standing, their accounts nearly drained, and their partners pulling out, they don’t have much left. They’ll either cling to each other or throw the other under the bus. Either way, they’ll talk—and when they do, we’ll be listening.”
Her words hang in the air, sharp and certain. She glances at us, waiting for a reaction, but none of us speaks right away. Ronan moves first. He rises, crosses the short distance to her, and grips her hair gently, tilting her head back until she meets his gaze. His eyes smolder with a dark and fierce intensity, and for a moment, the whole room charges.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re incredible.”
She opens her mouth to answer, but he doesn’t let her. He kisses her instead—hard, deep, full of heat and gratitude. The sound that escapes her is soft, a quiet, breathy moan that ripples through the space like a secret as he devours her mouth.
I don’t turn away. I don’t pretend I don’t feel it. My focus stays on her, locked and burning, desire tightening through me until my cock is hard as steel. Every instinct I have is screaming to close the distance, to haul her under me and take control of the moment and fuck her hard. The want is sharp and demanding, coiled tight and restless, and I don’t bother hiding it.
When I glance at Emerson, it’s only for a second—but it’s enough. The same dark, possessive hunger stares back at me, unmistakable. He feels it too. We don’t need words for that understanding; it passes between us like a spark. All I can think about is her—how easy it would be to drag her close, to have my way, to remind her exactly who she belongs to. Restraint hangs by a thread, and I’m not sure how much longer I’m willing to hold it.
Chapter Twenty
Ronan