Tonight was different.

  This wasn’t about tactics or revenge or bloodlust.

  This was about her.

  And I wasn’t leaving without her.

  Not this time.

  Silence let out a soft whine beside me, her body tense, eyes watching the horizon like she could already see the devil I was about to become.

  I reached down and rested a hand on her head.

  “Soon, girl,” I whispered. “Soon.”

  I crouched low on the ridge, elbows buried in the dirt, the cool earth pressing through my sleeves as I sank into the dark like I was made for it.

  Below me, the land sprawled out broken and jagged—cracked highway veins long since bled dry. It was dead ground.

  Silence shifted beside me, her body still but alert, nostrils flaring as she caught something on the wind. She didn’t growl.

  They were close.

  We’d been tracking ‘em since nightfall—keeping our distance, letting the world fall quiet while I narrowed in on what mattered. Every breath I took tasted like ash and anticipation. Not fear. Not hesitation.

  Just purpose.

  I spotted ‘em moving slow through the ravine below—a convoy of four trucks, grinding down a dirt road lined with withered trees and twisted concrete. Looked like a funeral procession with too much firepower.

  Four trucks. Four dozen sins rolling across dead soil.

  I counted the men.

  Six per truck. Two up front. Two riding tail. Rifles gleamed under the floodlights bolted to their armor. They looked relaxed. Confident.

  They had no idea they were already ghosts.

  Silence leaned closer, her flank warm against mine. Her ears twitched as I whispered, “Count ’em.”

  She lifted her head just enough, eyes locked on the movement below. She couldn’t speak, but I didn’t need her to. We moved like twin instincts—wordless and exact.

  I traced the road with my eyes. Let the terrain speak to me.

  The route was fast—but exposed. They thought the cliffs around ‘em were cover. Truth was, they were just walls. Traps. You learned real quick in insurgency that speed makes people sloppy. Predictable.

  I scanned left—found a boulder half-buried in the hillside. Big enough to hide behind. Close enough to strike from. Dense thickets flanked the far end of the trail, perfect for pullin’ one body into at a time.

  They’d picked this path to avoid checkpoints. No oversight. No witnesses.

  No one to stop me from tearing ‘em apart.

  I curled my fingers into fists; the dirt gritting under my nails. My pulse ticked slow. Deliberate. I didn’t feel human anymore.

  I felt like justice.

  “Not head-on,” I muttered to Silence, my voice low, like it might spook the shadows. “We do this quiet.”

  She gave one soft huff, tail low, body coiled like a spring.

  I started charting the approach in my head. First the scouts. Then the lead truck. Break the column, isolate the middle.

  And once the last one realized what was happening—I’d be standing there, blood on my hands, teeth bared.

  They’d die knowing why.

  I gave a final look to the convoy. Somewhere inside those trucks might be her.

  Tired. Hurt. Bleeding.

  Waiting.

  They thought they were transporting product.

  They were delivering her straight into my arms.

  “Let’s move,” I said to Silence, and we slipped from the ridge, swallowed whole by the dark that’d always known my name.

  The convoy crept along the busted stretch of highway, tires crunching over gravel and bone-dry rubble like they weren’t carrying death in their bellies.

  I watched from the ridge, body low against the stone, the jagged cliff wall rising up behind me like the edge of a blade. Steep. Unforgiving. Just like I was about to be.

  Below, the canyon narrowed into a perfect funnel—one road in, no way out. It was nature’s design, a killbox waiting for someone cruel enough to use it right.

  And tonight, that someone was me.

  I shifted behind the rusted frame of an old semi, its red paint peeled to gray scars, roof half-caved in. The thing had been there so long it’d grown into the earth like it belonged. Good. Made for decent cover. First strike position.

  Ahead, the remnants of an overpass arched overhead—steel beams twisting like broken ribs, sunlight piercing through in jagged spears that lit up the dust in the air. I’d climbed this place in silence, mapped it like a surgeon charting veins.

  It was perfect.

  Silence crouched beside me, her breath low and steady, ears twitching at every sound. She didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just waited. She knew what came next.

  We’d danced this dance before.

  My eyes scanned the path again, following their slow crawl into the bottleneck. Four trucks. Armored enough to give ‘em confidence, but nothing that’d save ‘em from fire and fury. I counted their rhythm—the lead guards with rifles at ready, backs straight like they had something to prove. Two more hanging off the rear, lazy with their eyes, cocky in the worst way.

  They had no idea what waited in these rocks.

  To my left, a half-buried gas canister caught the light. Old. Leaking. Dangerous.

  I smiled.

  One well-placed round would turn this pass into a firestorm. Trap the front. Cut off the back. Let panic do half the work for me.

  I ran the plan through my head again. Every strike timed. Every angle locked in.

  They’d entered the mouth of the canyon now—just far enough I could spring the trap and leave no survivors.

  And if she was in one of those trucks, then this was where it ended for them.

  Because when you stole something precious, you’d better be ready to die for it.

  I crouched lower, fingers itching against the grip of my rifle, and felt the adrenaline surge like wildfire through my veins.

  Tonight wasn’t for mercy.

  It was for retribution.

  And by the time they realized what they’d driven into… I’d already be picking ‘em apart from the inside out.

  The drums were old, rusted through in spots, but the stench still clung to the air—oil, smoke, fire… and regret.

  I cracked each one open with a crowbar I’d scavenged off a wreck; the lids screeching as they gave way. My heart pounded steady and hard, not from nerves—no, that was long gone. This was something else.

  A need.

  The wind whispered through the canyon, threading between rocks like a spirit with bad news on its lips. It told me to hurry. Told me they were close.

  This wasn’t just a rescue.

  It was a reckoning.

  I poured the black powder into makeshift canisters I’d carved out of old toolboxes and scrap metal. My hands moved steady, even as they trembled with what was coming. I tied rags around the tops—strips from my own shirt, soaked in fuel—and wedged them just beneath the collapsed edge of the overpass.

  Once the lead truck crossed?

  There’d be no turning back.

  “Just a little closer,” I muttered, crouched low in the shadows. My breath slowed. My focus narrowed to the sound of wheels grinding gravel.

  Silence stayed tight at my side, ears perked, tail low. Her muscles were coiled like she could already smell the blood.

  The front truck rolled into position.

  Time stretched. One beat. Two.

  Then—

  BOOM.

  The canyon lit up in orange and red, fire blooming across the trail like judgment. The blast hit my chest like a hammer, shoving the breath from my lungs. The lead truck swerved hard, slammed sideways into the wall, wheels screaming and steel crumbling.

  Chaos.

  Silence was gone in a blink, slipping through the smoke like a ghost with teeth.

  I followed.

  Didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to breathe. Just moved.

  The second truck tried to reverse. Too late.

  I slid between the wreckage, low and fast. A guard shouted—too slow. My knife flashed once, clean through the neck. Blood sprayed the air. Another reached for a rifle, but I was already on him, steel bitin’ deep between his ribs.

  A shot rang out—missed me by a mile.

  They didn’t know how to fight me.

  They weren’t ready for vengeance.

  I was smoke.

  I was ash.

  I was the promise made in blood.

  Silence ripped through one man’s thigh, jaws locking with a wet crunch. His scream echoed off stone before I ended it with a clean strike to the spine.

  Their cries bounced down the canyon, twisted up in firelight and fear.

  And still I moved.

  I didn’t stop until the last truck—paint chipped, doors reinforced—sat at the far end, rumbling like it thought it could still make it out alive.

  I kicked the damn thing open, fury behind the motion, breath like fire in my lungs.

  The door slammed back, banging off the metal frame.

  I stepped inside.

  And froze.

  Empty.

  Just shadows. Cold steel. No voice. No chains. No her.

  The silence in that truck felt like a coffin.

  No.

  My heart dropped so hard I thought it took my stomach with it. I stumbled forward, hands touching nothing but floor and false hope.

  “No. No, no, no…”

  The rage that’d carried me through that fire—gone.

  What was left was panic.

  She wasn’t here.

  And that meant one thing:

  They’d moved her.

  And I was already too late.

  I roared before turning to everyone I didn't want. And then… I unleashed.

  The last driver stumbled backward, boots slipping in the blood of his own brothers.

  He looked at me like I was death made flesh.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  I stepped over the bodies, slow and steady, my boots slick, leaving a trail through the mess I’d carved. The air reeked—gunpowder, iron, piss. The kind of stink that clung to a place long after the bodies were gone.

  My blade dripped red. My chest heaved. But I didn’t stop.

  Couldn’t.

  The rage was a wildfire under my skin—hot, relentless, devouring every last scrap of mercy I might’ve had left. And God help me… it felt good. Too good.

  He tried to crawl back, hands up, eyes wide, mouth working like he could bargain with a storm.

  “Please!” he cried, voice cracking. “What do you want? I can get you anything!”

  I narrowed my gaze; the drawl sliding off my tongue like rusted iron. “You can’t get me a goddamn thing, son.”

  He flinched like I’d already stabbed him.

  “Unless,” I added, takin’ a slow step forward, “you can get me a girl from Magnus Rex.”

  His eyes widened more—panic bloomed across his face like rot. “I-I can!” he stammered, voice hitchin’ in his throat. “The auction! I know the schedule—I can get you in! Just—just don’t kill me!”

  Pathetic.

  The desperation in him stunk worse than blood. He reeked of cowardice, of survival at any cost.

  I should’ve gutted him.

  Right there.

  But I didn’t.

  Because buried under all that rage was a single name still whispering in my bones.

  Everly.

  She was the reason I hadn’t turned into a full-blown demon out here. The reason I still fought with purpose and not just bloodlust.

  This bastard might be the crack I needed to slip through.

  “Talk,” I growled, stepping in close enough he could feel the heat radiating off me like the last breath of a firestorm.

  He nodded so fast it looked like it hurt. “I—I got contacts. Buyers. I know the names, the times—they let me run recon. I just get the girls moved. But Rex, he likes to make a spectacle. You… you want in? A seat? I can get it for you. I swear!”

  I leaned in slow, voice like gravel and brimstone. “Live or die, that’s your pitch?”

  “Yes!” He pressed back against the truck, eyes darting, whole body trembling. “Please. I can help you. I will.”

  I stared him down, letting the silence stretch long and cruel. My fingers flexed around the hilt of my blade. I could still feel the blood of the last one seepin’ through the grip.

  He wasn’t worth the dirt under my boots.

  But if he got me to her?

  He was useful.

  “You’ve got one chance,” I said, low and deliberate, like a prayer with teeth. “You lie, you stall, you breathe wrong—and I’ll make sure your guts decorate the canyon walls.”

  He swallowed so hard I heard it.

  “Understood,” he croaked.

  I gave him a cold smile—no warmth, no mercy.

  “Then start talking.”

  Chapter 7

  Everly

  I sat on the edge of the bed, the silk beneath me soft and traitorous. Everything in this room tried to convince me I was somewhere safe, somewhere beautiful. But the chain around my ankle told the truth.

  It clanked softly as I shifted, the metal biting into my skin, raw and red from too many days of dragging across the floor. I could walk in slow, useless circles if I wanted. I didn’t.

  The mirrors reflected me from every angle—gold-framed and flawless, like paintings of a life that didn’t exist. Velvet curtains hung heavy at the windows, their folds thick enough to muffle sound. Everything shimmered. Everything lied.

  I lowered myself onto the floor, knees pressing into the cold stone. I laced my fingers together and bowed my head.

  “Please,” I whispered, voice trembling. “Just let me go.”

  Silence answered.

  I didn’t know if my prayers ever made it past the ceiling. Maybe they got swallowed by the velvet. Maybe God had stopped listening. Or maybe… maybe He never had. But I kept praying anyway.

  My thoughts drifted to Magnus. He didn’t come often. But when he did… the air shifted. Thickened. Like the room braced for something terrible. He looked at me the way men looked at gold they hadn’t stolen yet. Like I wasn’t a person. Just something waiting to be owned.

  The door creaked open.

  I didn’t move.

  Dread coiled tight in my stomach as he stepped inside, his boots clicking against the marble floor. He always smiled when he entered, like he knew I hated him and fed on it.

  “There she is,” he drawled, his voice slick with amusement. “Looking like a little painted doll in a jewelry box.”

  I stared straight ahead. If I looked at him, he’d win something.

  He walked closer, slow and deliberate, and my breath hitched when I saw the glint of his rings catching the candlelight.

  “Still saving yourself?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious animal. “Is it for your husband?”

  He grinned when I didn’t answer.

  “Or is it for God?” He chuckled then—deep, ugly laughter that echoed off the marble and made the chain at my ankle feel even heavier.

  I didn’t respond.

  Silence became my shield.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers along my cheek like he was checking the ripeness of fruit. “You’ll change your tune after the auction. Once the others are gone.” His smile sharpened. “Then it’s just you and me, little bride.”

  He turned away with a swagger in his step, his mood too celebratory to linger. The door slammed shut behind him.

  I stayed kneeling.

  Not because I was weak.

  Because it was the only place left where I still knew how to be strong.

  I bowed my head again, closed my eyes, and whispered a name—not even sure who I meant it for anymore.

  God. Walton. Someone.

  Please.

  I sat in the dim light, the glow from the chandelier casting shadows that danced like ghosts—mocking silhouettes of the girl I used to be.

  The silence was thick, heavy, broken only by the muffled sounds bleeding through the velvet curtains—laughter, soft moans, the sound of wine being poured into crystal glasses.

  It reminded me I wasn’t alone.

  Even if I wished I were.

  Magnus’s wives drifted through the room like smoke, graceful and poisonous. They moved across the velvet couches in silk and smirks, draping themselves over him like ornaments. Their beauty was stunning—sharp, deliberate, cruel. It felt like a blade drawn slow across skin.

  I sat beside the bed, not close enough to touch, but close enough to see it all.

  One of them ran her fingers through his hair, voice laced with venom masquerading as charm. “Don’t you worry about her?” she asked, nodding toward me with a sugar-sweet sneer. “She looks so lonely over there.”

  I wanted to spit. To scream. But I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.

  I would not give her the pleasure.

  My heart pounded like a drum in a burning cathedral, but I kept my face still.

  Another wife curled closer on his other side, her painted lips brushing his ear. “She could be enjoying this too,” she purred, eyes flicking toward me like I was prey too limp to be worth chasing. “Wasting a body like that.”

  They all laughed—soft and melodic, like the sound of knives being unsheathed.

  My chain shifted when I moved, the clink of metal against marble louder than my breathing. I pulled my legs closer to my chest. My skin felt too exposed. My soul felt scraped raw.

  They looked at me like I was next.

  Sometimes they stared, smirking as they drank their wine and whispered things I couldn’t quite hear. Sometimes they didn’t look at me at all, as if I’d already disappeared.

  I curled my fingers into fists on my lap. Dug my nails into my palms until the pain gave me something real. Bit the inside of my cheek until the iron bloomed on my tongue.

  But I didn’t cry.

  I would not break for them.

  “Everly,” Magnus said lazily, his voice low and taunting from where he lounged like some king of rot. His gaze gleamed like oil. “Why don’t you join us?” He smiled. “You might learn something.”

  The words dripped with suggestion, with filth, with poison. I met his eyes for a split second, then looked away.