Page 56 of Vows of Ruin

I shrug. “She’s hellbent. Might as well let her walk through the front door with Torque instead of crawling in through the damn vents.”

Max nods in agreement. “This is true.”

Torque exhales slowly, resigned. “You’ll need to dress nicely. Cyrus always has a dress code, dark suits, high-end fashion, something loud enough to scream money.”

Margot perks up from where she’s perched on the arm of the couch, practically vibrating. “Say less. I got this.”

Torque eyes Wrenley again. “You won’t be able to carry a gun. Security will be tight.”

Wrenley shrugs, casual as sin. “As long as I have my dagger, I’m good.”

Wrecker lets out a laugh from behind her. “Yeah, she is!”

Max and I lock eyes with Torque. “T,” I start, already knowing the words forming on both our tongues.

Torque holds up a hand. “I got her. I swear it on my ink, and with my life.”

I nod once. Because in our world, that promise isn’t just words. It’s binding. And if Cyrus is involved? This war just went nuclear.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Wrenley

The engine purrs like a predator beneath us, sleek and silent as Torque navigates Max’s favorite car, a matte black Aston Martin DBS Superleggera, through the dim, winding streets toward the warehouse. The interior smells like leather and danger, like power and old secrets. We haven’t said much since we left the mansion. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind that settles in when there’s too much to say and not enough time to say it.

Torque finally glances over at me. “You look nice.”

Before I can say anything, static crackles in my ear and Max’s voice cuts through. “That dress is too revealing.”

I smirk, eyes still on the road ahead. “My shadow, if you didn’t want me to wear it, you shouldn’t have bought it for me.”

Laughter rolls through the comms. Margot snorts. “She’s not wrong, boss.”

“I’m regretting my choices,” Max mutters.

“You always do,” Liam adds. I can hear the smile in his voice. That soft, smoky tone that makes my spine tingle.

“Focus,” Elias says dryly. “You’re about to walk into a den of criminals, not a damn runway show.”

“We’re all criminals.” Torque replies.

I glance at Torque, eyebrows raised. “Right or left-handed?”

“Right. Why?”

I shift in the seat, tugging the sheath down my right thigh and looping it around my left instead. “If I have to pull this, I don’t want to accidentally stab you. I’ll stay on your left, in case you need to pull your weapon.”

“Can you throw that thing with your left hand?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Before I can answer, Wrecker’s voice breaks in. “Oh yeah, she can. I’ve been working with her. After she stuck that woman in the throat, I wanted to see if it was a fluke.”

Liam chimes in, dry and sandpaper. “Turns out she can do it over and over again, left and right.”

“God help whoever pisses off our queen.” Riot adds.

“Damn right,” I say, eyes locked on the looming silhouette of the warehouse in the distance.

Torque pulls the car to a stop. The warehouse towers above us like a sleeping giant, quiet but far from lifeless. The windows are dark. The lot is mostly empty, but I know better. I know where our people are, tucked in shadows and corners with eyes on every possible escape route.