Page 65 of Vows of Ruin

Torque shoves the driver into the passenger seat and climbs in. “Let’s move!”

The doors slam shut. The van pulls away, sirens wailing behind us as fire trucks arrive. As we pass them, my body finally relaxes, and I feel the weight of every life we pulled from that hell.

The safehouse smells like antiseptic and fear.

Doc is everywhere at once, checking pupils, stitching cuts, starting IVs. The girls are clutching each other, their skin is pale, eyes hallowed. Tears streaking most of the faces looking around. Beside them, the twelve drugged men we dragged from the basement aren’t in much better shape. It’s silent except for quiet sobs and the sound of vitals being taken.

Everyone’s working. Riot’s hauling bottled water from the van. Elias is setting up a laptop and tapping into the nearest security feed. Hunters posted near the door, eyes sharp. Even Wrecker hasn’t moved. One of the young girls, the one he carried out, is curled against him like she might fall apart if she lets go.

Doc glances at me as I drop down on one of the crates we’ve turned into makeshift seating. Her gaze goes straight to the blood at my temple.

“That needs stitches,” she says.

I wave her off. “I’m fine. It can wait.”

She doesn’t argue with me, just looks at Reaper.

He sighs, already standing. “I got it.”

He grabs a suture kit and sits beside me. I tilt my head as he kneels, cleaning the cut with gentle fingers. “Sorry, baby.” He says quietly. “I think this one’s my fault… when I tackled you.”

I smile, though it stings, and cup his jaw. “Not your fault, love. It’s that fucker I share blood with.”

He tenses at that. I pull out my phone to check the time, and blink down at a spiderweb of shattered glass. The screen is black.

“Of course.” I hold it up. “Dead.”

Reaper reaches into his pocket and pulls out his. Same. Cracked. Worthless.

“I need a phone,” I say, raising my voice slightly.

Wrecker shifts without a word. The girl clinging to his arm doesn’t even flinch. He tosses his phone across the room, and I catch it midair.

“Thanks,” I mutter, already dialing. The Serpents watching Matthew answers on the second ring. I don’t even wait for a hello.

“Matthew doesn’t move,” I snap. “He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t fucking breathe without permission. Tie his ass to a chair and keep him there. I’ll deal with him when I get there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they say quickly.

I hang up and toss the phone back to Wrecker, who catches it without looking.

“Sparrow?” Max’s voice is low, but there’s an edge to it now. He’s standing near the hallway, arms folded. “What the hell is going on?”

Oh. Right. We didn’t tell him yet.

I glance at Liam. He sighs and looks at Max. “Sebastian was there.”

Max’s body goes rigid. “Please tell me you shot that fucker?”

“No,” Liam says. “He threw a grenade. Slipped away before I could get a clear shot.”

“Son of a—” Torque stands from where he’s crouched near a girl with blood-stained knees. “What the hell is he doing state-side?”

Elias doesn’t even look up from his screen. “Nothing flagged on customs or private jet logs. Must’ve come in under a new alias. I’m calling the Serpents in Lisbon now. We need to get ahead of whatever he’s planning.”

Liam finishes the last stitch and presses gauze to the cut.

“There,” he says, brushing a thumb under my eye. “It might scar.”