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"Twenty years," he said, the words spilling out like pus from an infected wound. "Twenty fucking years I gave that club. Bled for them, killed for them, watched brothers die in my arms. Andwhat did I get? Passed over for every promotion, every position of real authority."

The Serpents approached from the shadows, moving with the casual confidence of predators who knew the prey was already caught. One carried zip ties, another had his hand resting on his weapon. The third just smiled, the expression all teeth and anticipation.

"Then pretty boy shows up," Eddie continued, like he needed me to understand, to absolve him somehow. "Fresh from the military with his fancy planning and his spreadsheets. Suddenly he’s VP. Not only that, he beats me down in front of everyone over some civilian piece of ass—no offense. He's Duke's golden boy?"

"Is that what this is about? Your pride?" The words tasted like copper and disappointment. All those lives lost, all that blood spilled, because Eddie couldn't handle being second-best.

"This is about survival." He handed me over to the nearest Serpent like I was a package, something to be signed for and delivered. "Venom made a better offer.”

My blood ran cold at the mention of Venom, long-time President of the Serpents.

“Simple as that,” he continued. “Enough money to disappear, start fresh somewhere they've never heard of the Heavy Kings."

The zip ties bit into my wrists as the Serpent yanked them tight, plastic edges designed to hurt. Another ran his hands over me, checking for weapons or wires, lingering in places that made my skin crawl. I forced myself to stay still, to not give them the satisfaction of struggling.

"She's clean," he reported, stepping back with obvious disappointment.

"Tyson will kill you." I said it quietly, not a threat but a simple statement of fact. “And Duke will let him.”

Eddie's laugh held no humor. "They'll have to find me first. By tonight, Eddie Vaughn will be nothing but ashes in a warehouse fire. Tragic accident, faulty wiring. Maybe they'll even give me a memorial chair."

"Tell that to Rico and Johnnie." The names hit him like physical blows. I saw him flinch, saw something that might have been shame flicker across his features. "Tell their families that your hurt feelings were worth their lives."

"For what it's worth," he said, already backing toward his car, "I argued against hitting the party. Told them civilian casualties would bring too much heat. Venom wouldn't listen. Said he needed to make a statement."

"How noble of you." I spit the words like bullets. "The reluctant traitor. You still gave them our location, our security positions. Their blood is on your hands just as much as Cruz's and Venom’s."

He couldn't meet my eyes anymore, fumbling with his keys like a drunk. The Serpents laughed, enjoying the show, but I kept my focus on Eddie. Memorizing his face, his mannerisms, every detail that might matter if I survived this.

"She's all yours," Eddie told the lead Serpent. "Package delivered as promised. Tell Cruz we're square."

"Tell him yourself." The voice slithered from the darkness like oil given form. "Hello, princess. Miss me?"

Cruz stepped into the weak light filtering through broken windows, and my body reacted without permission—muscles tensing, breath catching, that old familiar fear trying to claw its way up my throat. He looked exactly as I remembered: perfectly styled hair despite the early hour, suit that probably cost more than most people's cars, shoes that gleamed with obsessive care.

Only his eyes had changed. The controlled possession I remembered had been replaced by something wilder, hungrier.The eyes of a man who'd lost his favorite toy and spent every moment since plotting to get it back.

"Leaving so soon, Eddie?" Cruz didn't look away from me, studying my face like a painting he was considering purchasing. "Stay. Watch. Learn what happens to men who try to take what's mine."

Eddie's sedan peeled out with a screech of tires that echoed through the empty space. Running like the coward he'd become, leaving me gift-wrapped for a monster in an expensive suit.

"Just you and me now," Cruz said softly, stepping closer. "Well, and my associates. But they're more furniture than people, aren't they? Not like us. Not like what we had."

"We had nothing," I said, proud when my voice didn't shake. "You had a possession. I had a prison."

His manicured hand reached out, fingers tracing the air near my face without quite touching. "Purple hair. Street clothes. That crude necklace." He made a soft sound of disappointment. "What has that animal done to my refined girl?"

"Made me happy," I said simply. "Something you never could."

The slap came too fast to dodge even if my hands had been free. My head snapped sideways, cheek burning with the sharp sting of his palm.

"Still that mouth," Cruz mused, flexing his fingers like the slap had hurt him more than me. "Don't worry. We'll work on that.” He sighed. “I gave you culture. Education. Taught you about wine, art, proper conversation. Introduced you to people who mattered. Shaped you into something worthy of being seen with me."

"You isolated me from my friends. Controlled what I wore, what I ate, who I could talk to." My voice rose despite my efforts to stay calm. "You didn't shape me, Cruz. You tried to erase me."

His backhand caught me across the same cheek, harder this time. I tasted copper where my teeth cut the inside of my mouth.The compass necklace fell to the concrete with a small metallic sound.

The tracker. I was still wearing my tracker.