Unit 47. Registered to “A. Stone.” Paid in cash. No contact information.
Arizona Stone. Michael. Same fucking person.
I initiated the transfer protocol, copying everything—rental agreements, payment records, access logs. Anything that might tell me what he was storing here, what he was planning, why this place mattered, and of course, I transferred the money into an offshore account that only I could access.
The progress bar crawled across the screen. 10%. 15%. 20%.
Come on, come on.
And then I heard it. A muted noise from the back room. A thump. A groan.
I froze, my hand hovering over the keyboard.
Someone’s here.
Every instinct screamed at me to grab the thumb drive and run. To get the fuck out before whoever was back there discovered me. To choose survival over curiosity.
But I didn’t.
You’re so fucking stupid, Alex.
Once the transfer was complete, I pulled the thumb drive free and shoved it into my pocket. Then I moved toward the back room, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath coming too fast. The door was slightly ajar. I pressed my back against the wall and peered through the gap.
And my blood turned to ice.
Eros.
I recognized him immediately. He looked different from the last time I saw him, but I would know him anywhere. A brother from the Gods of Mayhem, Oscar’s brother, a friend I once considered my brother. He was also the brother whom Morpheus told me had been injured in Diamond Creek when theDeath Dogs attacked. Who had been recently shot to hell. He was lying on the concrete floor, his face swollen and bloody, his hands zip-tied behind his back.
And standing over him, pointing a gun at his head, was Michael.
Arizona. Victor. Whatever the fuck his real name is.
He looked different from what I remembered. Thinner. Harder. His hair was shorter, his jaw covered in stubble. But it was him. The man who beat and tried unsuccessfully to get me to submit. Who enjoyed lording his power over me. Who made my life a living hell for months before I had enough. But more importantly, he was the man who paid someone to kill Eros and the other members of FIRE. And now he was about to execute Eros.
“You should’ve stayed down,” Michael said, his voice cold and flat. “Should’ve died at Diamond Creek like you were supposed to.”
Eros spat blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”
Michael laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Brave words for a dead man.”
He cocked the gun.
Move. Do something. Don’t just stand there.
I looked around frantically. There, leaning against the wall near the door. A broom.
A fucking broom. That’s your weapon?
But it was all I had. I grabbed it, my hands shaking, my mind screaming at me to run, to leave, to save myself.
He’s going to kill Eros. He’s going to pull that trigger, and Eros is going to die, and it’ll be your fault because you could’ve done something and you didn’t.
I moved. Silent. Fast. Adrenaline drowning out the fear as I raised the broom and swung it as hard as I could, aiming for the back of Michael’s head. The impact reverberated up my arms.Michael stumbled forward, the gun flying from his hand and skittering across the concrete floor.
For a second, everything stopped. Then Michael turned slowly, his hand going to the back of his head, his eyes locking onto mine, and I saw it.
The recognition.
