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Aaron shakes his head.

“Then explain it,” I cut in. “Explain how you kept her photos. Explain the scheduled blackmail email set to go to her father. Explain why we found hundreds of screenshots saved under fake file names in your private drive.”

He swallows. “I just wanted her attention.”

“That wasn’t attention,” Caleb snaps. “That was war.”

Sienna drops to his eye level. “You’re mad because I didn’t let you rape me before I left?”

Me and Caleb glance at each other. This motherfucker is going to die now.

“Sie,” he pleads, and I hate that he’s using her fucking nickname like he knows her. I walk up and punch his fucking throat, which sends him into a choking frenzy.

“I don’t want him dead,” she says. “But I want him broken.”

“He’ll be more than broken,” Caleb promises.

Aaron laughs, the sound brittle. “You think you’re going to scare me out here like a bunch of frat boys in masks playing mafia?”

I crouch beside him. He flinches. “You think we’re pretending? No one’s pretending. You fucked with the wrong woman. And now you’re going to pay for every second of it.”

I motion to Logan. He steps forward, camera up, red light blinking.

“What the hell is this?” Aaron snarls. “You’re recording?”

“Collateral,” I say. “You die, this drops. You talk, it drops. You breathe her name, it drops.”

Aaron turns toward Sienna. “You’re really okay with this? You’re going to let them—”

“I’m not letting them,” she says. “I’m asking them.”

Her voice cuts sharper than any blade we could bring out here.

“Strip him,” I order.

Caleb and Thatcher grab him. He thrashes, curses, but they move fast. Jacket first. Then shirt. He’s lean but not built for this kind of fight. Thatcher knees him in the ribs, and he crumples just enough for Caleb to yank his jeans down to his ankles.

He’s exposed. Dirt smearing his chest. Scratches from the fall. Sweat crawling down his sides.

Sienna doesn’t blink.

Aaron spits at the ground. “What, you want to beat me up now? You going to carve your name into my back like psychos?”

“No,” I laugh. “Should we castrate him?”

Logan points the camera directly at his face.

“You’re going to jerk off,” Caleb says.

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Better man than me,” I say.

“No way in hell,” Aaron scoffs.

I lean close, my voice calm. “Then we cut it off. Film that instead.”

He looks around. No one speaks. The threat isn’t empty. He knows it. He’s not a fool. Just pathetic.