Then it’s gone, replaced by something steadier. Harder. A quiet, contained fire.
“Val,” she says, her voice coming out slightly panicked.
“I came to take you home,” I say.
“This is my home,” she replies calmly.
My jaw tightens. “No. It’s not.”
She pushes off the wall, crossing the room with slow, measured steps. She stops a few feet from me, head tilted slightly, studying me like I’m the one who’s changed.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “Whatever he promised you, whatever you think you’re owed—you don’t have to pay it like this.”
“You think I’m here because of Killian?” she asks softly.
“Aren’t you?”
She laughs. It’s a small sound. Tired. “This isn’t about him.”
“Then what is it about?” I demand. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you climbed out of my window and ran straight into the arms of the people who’ve been trying to kill Xavier and dismantle the very club, the veryfamilythat raised you.”
Her eyes flash. “My family?”
“Yes,” I say. “Your family. Asher. Zay. Xavier. Me. Jackie. The club?—”
“The club is the reason my family is dead,” she cuts in.
The words hit like a slap.
I blink. “What?”
Her jaw works. “You ever wonder why I never talk about my background?”
“I figured you didn’t want to,” I say, thrown. “That’s your right.”
She shakes her head, a bitter smile twisting at her mouth. “I didn’t talk about it because it didn’t matter. Not compared to what came after.” She steps closer, her voice tightening around something old and raw. “My twin mattered. And Marcus fed him to the Vipers.”
The name lands hard. “Marcus,” I breathe, barely aware I’ve said it aloud.
Images stir at the edges of my memory—faint at first, then sharper, pushing against the walls I’ve kept around them. Marcus in the alley with that too-bright look in his eyes; Marcus leaning in, all heat and cruelty; Marcus’ fingers closing around my wrist with that awful certainty that he could do whatever he wanted. His laugh. His gaze. The way he made my skin crawl.
Talia watches me with a humorless curve to her lips. “You got him out of my life, Valentina. I should have thanked you earlier.”
My back stiffens. “Talia?—”
She leans in before I can finish, her breath brushing the edge of my jaw as she whispers, “Because of you, I finally get to avenge my twin.”
The words strike with surgical precision. The air thins. I pull back sharply, heart thundering. “What are you talking about?”
And that’s when the memories begin to loosen—slowly, then rapidly, as if some inner lock finally gives way.
Neon light flickering through a cracked window.
Rain dampening the air.
Marcus’ hand at my throat—not squeezing, but applying just enough pressure to show he could. His voice at my ear, low and taunting. My pulse hammering. My mind going white.
Then the metal pipe.