Page 105 of Dance With A Devil

“Let the real men handle that,” Desmond laughs.

“Yeah,” Branson adds, “At least we don’t get our asses handed to us by our own flesh and blood.”

I go cold.

“Don’t worry about Wyck,” I say through a clenched jaw. “I raised that boy. I know where the fractures are. One good strike, and he’ll shatter.”

Archie stands, adjusting his jacket. “We have to reel them back in, Bash. Before they tear it all down.”

Tear what down?

This empire built on sacrifice? This throne of blood and secrets?

We did what we had to. What none of them would.

And I’d do it all again.

Because when the smoke clears… When the bodies fall… It’s not about power or money or legacy.

It’s about survival.

And I’m not fucking done yet.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dash

The trees blur past in streaks of green and shadow, but my mind is moving faster than the car.

Faster than the road. Faster than the chaos trying to crawl up my spine.

Come on, Ryan. Pick up.

She answers on the third ring with her usual brand of smug. “This better be good. I was in the middle of something.”

“It’s better,” I say, flat and sharp. “Wyck got a call from a burner. Short burst, encrypted signal. The fucker disconnected before I could lock on. No trace. No footprint. Just static and a stormcloud of intent.”

Silence. Then she laughs, bright, brittle, unbothered.

“You? Failing to trace a call? Shit. The earth just tilted off its axis. Should I build a bunker?”

“Ryan,” I snap, teeth grinding. “Shut up and listen. He threatened Athens.”

That sobers her. One beat. Then two.

“Well... fuck.”

“Yeah.” I don’t give her time to catch up. “I need you to hack Wyck’s line. Mirror every incoming call, every ghost signal. If that asshole dials again, I want his voice in your ear before the first ring ends.”

“I’m on it,” she says. “And the app?”

“You know what I’m going to say.”

Her breath hitches, dramatic, theatrical, annoying. “You want to testWicked Sisterhood?”

“Don’t say the name out loud.”