My fangs snapped out.
I threw my head back, sank them into his neck, and tore into him like an animal.
He fought at first, hands clawing, body bucking, but it didn’t last. Strength bled out of him with every gulp I took, the world narrowing to the rush, the burn, the flood. I drank hard and fast until his struggles faded into nothing.
Growls rippled through the few survivors as they tried to circle around me.
I slowly lifted my head. Their eyes glowed. Rage. Fear. Vengeance.
I smiled.
Yes. This. More of this.Because if I stopped—if I let the quiet in—I’d?—
I shook my head hard and rose, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Blood smeared, turning my clean hand red, and I turned to Rack.
“Call Riot,” I said flatly. “We’ll need clean-up after I’m done.”
Then I turned back to the broken and burning room, where a few wolves eyed me to see if they could find a weakness. They didn't know that they’d already exploited my weakness, and now I had nothing left to lose.
I bolted around the room, using my speed against them. Everything from that point on was a blur of fangs, claws, and falling bodies. I tore through them like a storm, leaving nothing but silence and ruin in my wake.
I became the monster of the Syndicate.
One that was never to be fucked with again.
***
I sat on the curb with my back against scorched brick, a bottle of Hellfire lifted to my mouth. The burn went down rough and fast. Good. I swallowed again before the numbness could slip away.
I wasn’t ready for anything else.
Footsteps approached, unhurried, familiar. Someone dropped down beside me, concrete scraping under fabric. Smoke and lilies cut through the stench of blood and ash, settling in my lungs like a memory I didn’t ask for.
“When I sent you,” Ezra said, her even voice carrying the slightest humorous edge. “I thought you’d knock a few heads together. Not erase an entire gang.”
I tipped the bottle up and drank until my throat protested.
“Job’s done.”
She hummed, eyes on the Strip glowing in the distance. “Yeah. Now, I’ve got a demolition and rebuild I didn’t budget for.”
Of course that was her first thought. Even now, she was counting costs, already rewiring the future around the wreckage. That was Ezra, seeing three moves ahead while everything burned.
“Where’s Riot?” I asked.
Ezra’s breath left her slower and heavier than it should’ve been, and I turned to look at her.
She was leaning back on her palms, jaw darkening with a bruise that bloomed ugly against her skin. Blood streaked her sleeves. Her wrists, too red, too swollen.
My hand closed around one without thinking. She sucked in a sharp breath, and I stilled.
Broken. Both of them. Already healing, sure—but still. Ezra didn’t get hurt. Ever.
“What the fu?—”
“Riot’s handling another job,” she cut in. “Rack called me.” A pause. “More than once.”
I ran my thumb lightly over her wrist, then dropped it like I’d been burned. Guilt flared, sharp and useless. I buried it before it could surface.
