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“How much longer?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intended.

Ryker glances at his watch. “Not long now.”

He looks so calm, so collected—as if arranging someone’s murder is just another Tuesday night activity. I suppose for him, it might be. The thought should terrify me. It doesn’t. It makes me feel strangely safer than I can recall ever feeling.

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms.

I step into his embrace, the solid wall of his chest anchoring me as my thoughts spiral. His heartbeat is steady and strong against my ear, his breathing even. How can he be so calm when I’m unraveling?

“Are you sure about this?” I ask. “What if they trace it back to you?”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh. “They won’t. The people I’ve hired are professionals. They’ll make him disappear without a trace.”

I pull back slightly, searching his face. “But you said he’d suffer first.”

Something dark flickers behind Ryker’s eyes. “He will. They have their instructions.”

I swallow hard, imagining what those instructions might entail. Part of me wants to know the details; another is grateful for Ryker’s discretion.

“What happens after?” I ask. “To... to the body?”

“It will never be found.” His voice is matter-of-fact, clinical. “Your family will report him missing. The police will investigate, but they’ll find nothing. No evidence, no trial. People disappear every day, Kira.”

The methodical nature of his planning should disturb me. If I’m being honest, however, I’m relieved he’s thought of everything.

“And my mother?”

“Will never know what happened to him. She’ll wonder, she’ll grieve perhaps, but eventually, she’ll move on.” Ryker’s hand comes up to cup my face. “They all will.”

I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his certainty. “And me? How do I move on?”

“You already have.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “The moment you decided he didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. The moment you chose your future over his.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, interrupting the moment. I freeze as he pulls it out, his expression revealing nothing as he reads the message.

“It’s done,” he says simply.

Two words. Just two words to signify a man’s life ending. My uncle’s life. The monster that haunted my nightmares for years.

I wait for guilt to crash over me. For horror. For regret.

All I feel is lighter. As if a weight I’ve carried since childhood suddenly lifted, Ryker gave me peace of mind and solace I never thought I would find.

“They sent confirmation,” Ryker adds, his eyes never leaving my face. “Do you want to see it?”

I hesitate. “What kind of confirmation?”

“It’s... definitive,” he says carefully. “But not overly graphic. You’ll need to be sure you want to see it.”

My heart pounds as I nod. “I need to see. I need to know it’s really over.”

Ryker holds out his phone. The screen shows an image that makes my breath catch—my uncle’s face, pale and still, visible through the partially unzipped opening of a black body bag. His eyes are closed, and his features slack in death. A gloved hand holds today’s newspaper in the frame, confirming the date. There’s no blood, no visible wounds, just the unmistakable stillness of death.

“Oh my God!” My fingers tremble as they hover over the screen. “It’s really him.”

“It’s over,” Ryker confirms quietly. “He’s gone.”

A dam I’ve held intact for too long breaks, freeing the little girl that no one believed or protected. I sink to my knees, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. Ryker follows me down, gathering me against his chest as the first sob tears from my throat.