I roll my eyes. “Relax. I’m not playing with it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Hands off,” Ronan growls, yanking Riker’s junk out and stretching it taut. There isn’t much there, pathetic really, but I still draw my blade lightly across the top of his shaft. The cut is shallow, intentional, and the line of red swells up instantly like it’s eager to run.
He howls—high, ugly, desperate—and that’s the moment he shatters. “Bryce!” he sobs. “Bryce Blackthorne. He’s the one who recruited me. He paid me. I never saw his face, but I know his voice. I know the number he uses. Please. It’s on my phone. Under a different name. I’ll show you. Just don’t cut my dick off. Please.”
Silence detonates inside the van.
Bryce.
Ronan goes statue still. Rowan’s jaw locks. Emerson’s eyes go dead.
I rock back on my heels, twirling the blade like it’s a damn fidget toy. “Good. Now tell me what he’s under in your phone.”
A beat of silence. Then he mutters, barely audible, “Vanna White.”
Everything goes still. Emerson makes a sound like he’s choking back a laugh. Ronan just stares.
I tilt my head, eyebrows climbing. “I’m sorry… did you just say Vanna White?” The absurdity hits, and a laugh tears out of me before I can stop it. The guys joining the theatrics.
It takes a minute to pull myself together. My laughter finally dies down, trickling out in little aftershocks I have to smother with the back of my hand. I wipe a tear from my eye, exhale, and tilt my head at him again.
“Alright. Fun’s over.” My voice goes flat, blade tapping against my knee. “Anything else you want to share?”
He shakes his head fast, voice cracking. “No. That’s all. I talk only to Bryce. Over the phone. Last time was this morning.”
Pathetic. But at least the fear made him honest.
“Good boy.” I pat the top of his head with the side of my blade.
He sobs harder. “So, we’re done, right? You’re letting me go.”
My smile is sweet but cruel. “Oh, honey,” I whisper. “You were dead the second you opened your door.”
Ronan knocks him out with a single punch, clean and merciless, and before the bastard can slump forward, Rowan’s cutting his throat in one practiced sweep. Emerson crouches beside the body, calm as ever, pulling the keys from his pocket and pocketing the phone we’ll need later. No words. No hesitation. Just the four of us working in the quiet rhythm we’ve bled together.
We haul the dead weight out of the van, each of us taking an arm or leg, dragging him toward the water. The moon hangs low, turning the river into a sheet of black glass, glossy and cold enough to swallow secrets whole. The current churns dark and hungry, waiting.
Ronan counts under his breath, more a growl than a number, and together we heave. The body sails for a heartbeat, then hits the surface with a thick splash, sucked under fast as if the river wants him gone as badly as we do.
The van is next. Stripped of everything useful. Nothing left but metal and blood and the ghost of screams. Emerson and I brace our shoulders against it while Ronan and Rowan give the last shove. The frame groans, then tips, nose down, sliding over the bank. Another splash. Louder. Final.
The water closes around it. No ripple lasts long. By the time we step back, our breaths fogging in the cold air, both man and machine have already disappeared into the dark.
Gone.
Exactly where monsters belong.
I stand at the water’s edge; the wind tangling my hair against my cheeks. My heart beats hard and even. My blade is clean again. My purpose unmistakable.
We turn back toward town; toward the place I arranged for our new vehicle to be waiting. And in my chest, one truth burns bright enough to lead us forward.
Bryce is next.
Once I get my hands on that phone, I’ll be able to trace Bryce’s location. I can feel it in my bones.
By the time we round back to the house, it’s late enough that the shadows feel heavier than the air itself. The guys try to steer me straight to bed, muttering about exhaustion, regrouping in the morning, making smart choices. They mean well; I know they do, but the second Rowan says the wordswait until tomorrow,something inside me snaps clean in half.
“Tomorrow?” I stare at them, all three of them, and the rage crawling up my spine flares so hot I swear it tastes like blood. “You want me to sleep while Kimber is out there? While those bastards…” My voice cracks, but only for a breath. I force it steady again. “You saw what they did to me. To Reign. You watched the video. And you want me to wait?”