Cyrus’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing once in silent agreement.
Keira will never be scared again, never be hurt again, not while we are here to protect her. The thought settles into my bones with the weight of certainty. It’s not just a promise—it’s an inevitable truth. As certain as our ability to hunt, to kill, to eliminate any threat.
27
CYRUS
Keira pushes eggs around her plate, her usual appetite nowhere to be found. She hasn’t been the same since that message arrived. The dark circles under her eyes tell me she barely slept, even with us flanking her all night.
Ace catches my eye across the table with that subtle nod we’ve perfected over decades. It’s time.
“Keira.” My voice comes out gentler than usual. “We found them.”
Her fork clatters against the plate. Her eyes snap up, wide and vulnerable.
“Both of them?” Her voice is barely audible.
“William Patterson is dead,” Ace says. “Heart attack. Two years ago, in a nursing home.”
A complicated series of emotions crosses Keira’s face—relief, disappointment, and a flash of darkness I can’t quite name. Her fingers tremble around her water glass.
“And Richard?” she asks, the name catching in her throat.
I clench my jaw against the surge of rage. “Alive. Living in Boise. Married again.”
“With two stepdaughters,” Ace adds. “Thirteen and sixteen.”
Keira’s face drains of color. She presses a palm against her mouth, her breathing shallow. “No,” she whispers. “Not again. He can’t?—”
I reach across the table, taking her free hand in mine. “He won’t. Not for much longer.”
Ace leans forward. “We’ve gathered sufficient intelligence. Everything is prepared. We can handle it,” he says carefully, his eyes never leaving Keira’s face. “You never have to think about them again.”
I squeeze her hand, drawing her attention to me. “Or you can be part of it,” I add. “Your choice.”
Her eyes dart between us, confusion giving way to understanding. She knows what we’re offering—justice, vengeance, closure. Whatever she wants to call it.
“You mean...”
“We mean whatever you need,” I say. “Watch, participate, stay home. Your choice. We just need to know what you want.”
I watch a fierceness ignite in Keira’s eyes. Her fingers stop trembling. Her spine straightens.
“What do you want?” I repeat, giving her space to process.
She stares at her hands for a long moment, then lifts her gaze to meet mine.
“My first instinct is to say no.” Her voice is soft. “Let you both handle the darkness. Keep my hands clean.”
Ace shifts in his chair, and I recognize the look in his eyes—he’s already planning how to shield her from this.
But Keira isn’t finished. “Then I think about those girls. Thirteen and sixteen.” Her jaw tightens. “The basement. The camera.”
The rage inside me burns hotter. I’ve killed dozens of men, but this will be different. Personal. Much like our handlers. I’ll make it slower than usual.
“I want to see his face,” she whispers, and the conviction in her voice surprises me. “I want him to know I survived and came back to make him pay.”
Pride blooms in my chest—unexpected, powerful. This woman we claimed as prey has survived horrors we never knew, and still stands unbroken.
