Page 155 of What We Burn

“That appears to be the organizing theme,” Odin says. “The platform is divided into geographic yards. Each yard has its own operators, targets, and moderators. Access is invitation-only. A new member must be vouched for and provide evidence of participation before gaining full access.”

“So everyone on there has hurt someone?”

“Everyone with an active account has provided something the administrators consider proof,” Holden says.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

He doesn’t flinch from it. “Yes, wildcat. Every one of them has hurt someone.”

I stare at the screen.

Knox said there were thirty-seven of them. That means that at this very moment, in this very city, thirty-seven men are sitting in their homes, drinking coffee, going to work, and coaching their kids’ teams while they trade women like instruction manuals.

Over my dead body.

“Which one do we take out first?”

Odin doesn’t blink. “None of them.”

The room goes very still.

I turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“No Kennel member is to be touched until we understand the structure of the network.”

A laugh slips out of me. Short and sharp. “You just showed us proof that thirty-seven men are hunting women for sport.”

“I showed you one geographic section of a network we believe extends well beyond this city.”

“Great. We’ll start with these thirty-seven and work outward.”

Milo raises his hand. “Seconded.”

“Milo,” Eli warns.

“No. Fuck that.” Milo sets his laptop aside and stands. Energy snaps through his body, too much of it to contain in a couch. “We know what they’re doing. We know Jake participates. We know Tyler is connected to the invite chain—that he was pushing this shit on Amy before she dumped him. I’ve said from the start that Tyler is a rotten apple who has spent years smearing his rot over every man stupid and hateful enough to stand near him.”

He grabs his laptop again and types. The screen returns to the map then zooms in and enlarges.

Another username sits near the center. Lines run from it to Jake’s and several usernames that haven’t been identified yet.

“Jake didn’t find this platform by accident,” Milo continues. “Tyler vouched for him. Tyler sent invitation links to two other devices. He’s in private chats explaining how to cut women off from money, friends, and family until they become”—his fingers hook in the air—“compliant. And when you look at his fucking posts, it’s obvious he was talking about Amy.”

The words come out coated in acid.

Milo turns to Odin.

“If you click on Brock’s username, his last post is a fucking photo of Sage sitting at that party wearing the pink dress. And do you know who responded to his ‘possible new pet’ comment? SMAN69—who we’re pretty fucking sure is Stephen. These men are rapists with admin skills, and I want them dead.”

The last words are quiet.

Milo makes jokes about absolutely everything. But he isn’t smiling now.

“I agree,” I say. “The moment we know who they all are—they die.”

Knox’s head lifts slightly.

Holden rubs a hand over his mouth. Micah looks at the screen again, his face carved from something cold.