Page 14 of What We Burn

This guy is the worst.

“Please,” Tyler sobs. “I didn’t do it. I promise.”

I look at Micah. Micah looks at me.

We believe him. Tyler didn’t do it. Tyler didn’t even know it happened. Whatever else he is—and the list is long and unflattering—he’s not the one who put a rope around Sage’s neck.

Fuck.

I still want him dead, though.

The warehouse door scrapes open.

The footsteps are measured. Deliberate.

Holden walks to the edge of the light and stops.

No mask. Doesn’t need one—Tyler couldn’t see him if he tried. He has his hands in his jacket, eyes sweeping the scene, taking in the vomit, the blood, Tyler’s swollen face, the knife in my hand and the two of us in our skull masks standing over him like the cover of a metal album nobody’s proud of.

“Outside,” he says. To us. Not to Tyler.

“We’re not⁠—”

“Now.”

The night air hits me and I rip the mask off, sucking in a breath that doesn’t taste like rubber. Micah does the same. His face underneath is calm, composed, the swollen knuckles of his right hand the only evidence of the last hour.

“It wasn’t him,” Holden says. No preamble. “He was at a bar getting hammered, moaning about his girlfriend dumping him. Bartender confirmed it. Security footage confirmed the timing. As do his credit card and Uber receipts. He was six miles away when Sage was attacked.”

“Can we just kill him, anyway?” I ask. “Fucker deserves it after threatening our girl.”

Holden’s jaw tightens. “He’s a piece of shit, but he’s not our piece of shit. Cut him loose. Drop him somewhere he can’t trace back to here.” He pauses. “Clean up his face but make it clear to him that if he mentions this to anyone, Brock won’t be the only one missing. Last thing we need is him filing a report.”

“What about the rest of them?” I ask. “Chris, Darren, whoever was in that group chat. I vote we drag them out here tonight, work them over—we’ve already got the bleach out and I’ve got energy to spare.”

“No.” Holden doesn’t even slow down. “Think for one second. If we keep snatching up Brock’s bros, someone’s going to notice. News gets out that half his crew went missing the same week? It puts a target on all of us and makes this a fuck ton more dangerous for Sage. Don’t be dumb. Cut him the fuck loose. He didn’t touch her.”

“Didn’t touch her this time,” I force through gritted teeth. I glance at Micah. “You heard him, right? He said Chris is the one who can’t let it go. Chris is the one still telling people she’s lying.”

Micah lets out a breath. “He said Chris wanted to go to her apartment and he talks shit.”

“Same fucking thing,” I say.

“Then we add Chris to the watch list.” Holden’s tone is final. “We don’t paint a target to scratch an itch.”

A growl rumbles in my chest, an unfed animal, pissed I’m being made to let this go when every part of me knows I shouldn’t. I turn away. “Fuck this.”

Holden’s hand drops to my shoulder and his fingers dig in a fraction shy of pain. He pulls me back, turns me like I weigh nothing. It should make the rage worse. Instead it short-circuits, and I don’t have a file for what that means.

He doesn’t speak at first. He waits for me to look up, which is a fucking power move because he’s taller and I’m not exactly small. When our eyes lock, he brings his other hand up, palm flat against my jaw, and tilts my face so I can’t squirm away. My guts go tight.

“We’re gonna handle this,” he says, voice low. “You got me?” His grip on my shoulder doesn’t loosen. “I’m not just saying it. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. For Sage. For all of us.”

I nod, once, and Holden lets me go.

Somehow, the pressure of his hand stays behind, the shape of it still burning on my jaw and crawling up the back of my neck. I don’t know what the fuck that is, but it’s not anything that’s ever happened before.

We both stand there, looking at each other.