Chapter 210

War

Fuck.

Logan is clawing at the walls again.

"Kill him!"

His voice bounces around my skull like a ricochet, desperate and feral.

"You've already done enough damage for a lifetime, you selfish, psychotic fuck," I mutter under my breath. "Stay in your cage, or you're gonna get both of us killed. And if that happens—who the fuck's left to protect her?"

He quiets. But I feel him.

Gnawing at the edges.

Foaming at the mouth.

Watching through my eyes as Alyssa kneels a few feet away, trembling—her eyes squeezed shut, like that'll block out the nightmare closing in. Every silent sob she swallows wraps another wire around the control I'm barely holding onto.

Mine.

His.

Both of ours, if I'm honest.

But I'm the only one who knows how to survive this while keeping Alyssa safe.

So Logan can scream all he wants in the back of my head—he's not getting out.

And Silas?

This shriveled, smug sack of shit lounging behind his desk like he's already won. Sipping his whiskey. Smirking like I'm just another hired hand who gives a damn about money or having an alliance with him.

He doesn't see the fury I've got caged behind my teeth.

Doesn't realize he's sitting on borrowed time.

He needs to die.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Worse than his son did.

But his death belongs to King.

Me? I've only got one job tonight.

Keep her safe.

Keep her breathing.

Keep her from being passed around like some whore for sport.

And so far—it's working.

Silas still thinks I'm on his side.

Thinks I walked in here blind, ready to serve up the Reapers on a silver fucking platter. That I'm just another monster like him and Bones—just another bastard who sees women as holes to fuck and leash.

And apparently, according to his latest sick revelation, Alyssa's been his property since she was a fucking child.

That word makes my knuckles ache.

Property.

Maybe in the past, I would've shrugged it off. Looked the other way. Minding my own business is how I've survived this long.

But not anymore.

Seeing her like this—her knees raw, her wrists red from the zip ties, her body shaking like it's seconds from collapsing—it's opened my eyes.

No woman deserves this kind of shit.

Especially not her.

And if I play this just right—say the right things, keep Logan caged, keep my rage on a short enough leash—we might all walk out of here breathing.

Right now, that's a big fucking might.

It's taking everything in me to not jump across this room, break that glass in hand, and slit his throat with it.

"Do it."

Logan's voice slashes through my head again—hot, cracked, wild.

"Shut the fuck up, Logan," I snarl inwardly.

God. Why doesn't he have a mute button?

He listens.

But once again—he doesn't leave.

He lingers. Right at the edge of my thoughts, breathing heavy through my ears like some goddamn ghost in a pressure cooker.

As long as he stays put, we're good.

I scan the room again.

Five guards. All armed. Just waiting for me to twitch wrong so they can put a bullet in my skull.

And me?

Not a goddamn weapon on me. Just my fists. Bared. Calloused. Not exactly ideal against an army of triggers.

Great.

The old woman's still kneeling near the wall like she's waiting for her god to forgive her. Hollow-eyed. Empty. A shell in a floral dress.

She's not a threat.

She's a casualty. One of Silas's broken toys, shoved into the corner so she can be forced to watch him obsess over his new favorite one.

And... I guess King's mom is part of that collection too.

Fuck.

I don't even think I wanna be in the room when King gets to him.

That shit might actually scar me.

Alyssa hasn't moved in a while.

She just sits there, staring at the floor, her red hair spilling around her face.

I don't like it.

She looks too much like the old lady does.

But it's not the same. I can see it in the tightness of her body, the way her fingers flex.

She's not surrendering.

She's waiting.

Just like me.

Still, her damn circus needs to get here already.

The gunfire outside is getting louder. Closer.

Silas doesn't even blink. Just leans back like he's hosting some goddamn cocktail hour while the world burns down around him.

He opens a drawer, pulls out a second glass, and uncorks something amber and expensive.

"To the end of the Reapers," he says, lifting it toward me with a smirk.

In this world, refusing a drink is asking to get shot next.

So I step forward, take the glass, and knock it against his with a hollow clink.

Then down the whole thing in one burn.

He watches me through the rim of his own glass, quiet and calculating.

"Since Lee's dead," he finally says. "Consider this another reward. For luring my son's killers here. For bringing me his disobedient, worthless bitch." He tips his head toward Alyssa like she's roadkill. "Since she looks like a whore with that red hair, might as well treat her like one. Want a turn before my men tear her apart? Or did you already break her in?"

My jaw flexes.

Fingers itch.

But my voice stays steady. Cold.

He's testing me.

Poking at the mask. Seeing if I'll slip.

"She's still got some fight in her," I reply flatly. "I could finish the job."

He grins, settling into his chair like he's gearing up for the evening's entertainment.

Shit.

Guess we're taking this roleplaying thing to the next level.

I turn. Lock eyes with Alyssa.

She gives me a subtle nod. A thread of trust glinting in her gaze.

I glance at one of Silas's men. "Cut her loose."

The guard moves fast. One clean swipe, and the zip ties fall away.

I crouch behind her, my hands brushing over the angry red marks on her wrists. Then I guide her hands forward, palms to the floor.

"Got a blanket or something?" I call out, my voice laced with mock annoyance. "Ain't tryin' to scuff my fucking knees."

One of the fuckers snickers and tosses over a thin wool blanket from the closet.

I lay it down, then lift Alyssa and ease her onto it. Her knees must be screaming by now.

It's not like these fuckers care that she's pregnant.

Not when they're all planning to take turns raping her.

I peel off her leggings and panties, leaving King's oversized shirt draped over her.

They don't deserve to see her.

Neither do I.

Not like this.

I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear.

"Forget them. Focus on me, little psycho."