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“Then buckle up,” I whispered, my mouth ghosting his, “because this version of me? She’s not going to be tame.”
His smile was slow and certain. “Good. I didn’t fall in love with tame.”
Outside, the sky stretched on, endless and unyielding.
And we flew toward our next reckoning, hand in hand, fire in our blood.
32
ELIAS
Los Angeles sprawled beneath us, a glittering maze of ambition and decay, its skyline sharp against the dusk as our jet touched down. Vivi sat beside me, her green eyes fixed on the city, a mix of resolve and fire in her gaze. We’d come to hunt the con men who’d scammed her mother, two predators hiding under new names but running the same cruel game.
My cybersecurity contacts in Burbank had pinned them to a nondescript office in Van Nuys, and tonight, we’d end their reign.
Vivi’s fearlessness, her hunger for justice, burned brighter than ever, and I was ready to deliver it, to stand beside her as she reclaimed what was hers.
The town car wove through L.A.’s traffic, the air thick with heat and exhaust. Vivi’s hand rested on my thigh, her touch a quiet placeholder, her black dress clinging to curves that still drove me wild.
I’d traced their trail—Calvin Reed and his partner, now operating as “consultants” for a fake investment firm, preying on the elderly with promises of security. My spiders had crackedtheir email chains, bank records, and aliases, leading us to a strip mall office where they’d set up shop.
Vivi’s silence wasn’t fear; it was focus, a predator’s calm, and I admired her for it.
We parked a block away, the office’s neon sign flickering in the twilight. I checked my phone—PhantomZero’s latest trace confirmed Department 77 hadn’t retaliated yet, their network still in shambles, but I wasn’t naive. They’d come later, another way, and we’d stop them for good. For now, though, this was about justice, not shadows.
I turned to her, voice low. “You sure you want to be there for this?”
Her eyes met mine, unflinching. “I need to see it, Elias. They took more than money from her. They took her dignity.”
I nodded, respecting her steel. “Stay close. It’ll be quick.”
We slipped into the office through a back door I’d hacked open, the lock’s digital panel no match for my script. The space was cheap—fluorescent lights, fake plants, a desk littered with burner phones.
Reed and his partner, a wiry man with a cheap suit, were packing files, unaware. Vivi’s presence was a shadow beside me, her breathing steady, her fearlessness a quiet force. She wasn’t afraid of the violence to come, and that steadied me, her strength a mirror to my own.
I stepped forward, my Glock drawn but low, voice cold. “Hello, Calvin Reed.”
Reed froze, his partner scrambling for a drawer, but I was faster, slamming his wrist to the desk, the crack of bone echoing. He screamed, collapsing, and Vivi didn’t flinch, her eyes locked on Reed, who raised his hands, sweating.
“Who the fuck are you?” he stammered.
“Someone who knows what you did to Maureen Laveau,” I said, advancing. “And every other family you bled dry.”
Vivi stepped into the light, her voice sharp. “You took her savings. Her trust. You’re not getting away with this.”
Reed’s eyes darted, calculating, but I didn’t give him a chance. I grabbed his arm, twisting until his shoulder popped, a sickening snap that dropped him to his knees. His scream was raw, and I drove my boot into his knee, shattering cartilage, ensuring he’d never walk without pain.
Vivi watched, her face hard but unshaken, her acceptance of the violence a testament to her fire. She wasn’t here for mercy—she was here for justice, and I’d deliver it. I was happy to.
The partner lunged, a knife flashing, but I caught his wrist, snapping it backward, the blade clattering to the floor. I smashed his face into the desk, blood spraying, and crushed his other hand under my heel, bones crunching.
He’d never hold a phone to scam another soul.
Vivi’s gaze didn’t waver, her strength a quiet roar, and I felt a surge of pride. She was my equal, unafraid, unyielding.
“You’ll never con again,” I said, voice low, standing over them as they writhed. “If you try, I’ll find you. And next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
I zip-tied their wrists, leaving them for my contacts to handle—anonymously tipped to the feds with enough evidence to bury them for years.