Page 100 of Deadly Force

I don’t flinch. My voice is steady. Cold. Lit with fire.

“One day, you’re going to stand before a Judge who saw every thought, every act, every girl you destroyed.”

His sneer falters.

“Repent,” I say, low and fierce. “While there’s still breath in your lungs.”

He stares at me, and for one flickering second, I think I see something human. But then it's gone. Drowned by something far worse—gleeful, unrepentant,demonic.

His fist slams into my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes down my neck, hot and sharp.

I lift my gaze slowly, blood sliding from the corner of my mouth.

“You can hit me,” I breathe, voice like steel. “But it doesn’t change what’s waiting for you.”

His nostrils flare. Rage seething.

I don’t stop.

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness.”

His second punch never lands.

A floorboard creaks outside the door. Then a low laugh, casual, entertained.

Like someone’s been listening this whole time and just heard the punchline.

Caleb

My boots echo despite every effort to stay silent. Dread tightens in my gut with each step toward Brooke’s desk. I open the drawer. The gun I gave her is still there, shoved beneath a manila folder. Her phone blinks on the desk, a list of missed calls from me.

This could be nothing. Maybe she’s just using the restroom? But I don’t believe it. Not with the gun. Not with her phone out in the open.

I sweep the newsroom like clearing a hostile building—every door, every shadow, every hallway. Lawrence’s office is dark. Copy room—empty. Conference room—silent. Lights off everywhere, except one. A thin crack of brightness spills from thebreak room door. I move in, weapon drawn, finger on the trigger guard.

The door creaks as I push it open. Empty. The white ceramic mug with her initial 'B' sits on the counter, the tea bag string draped over the rim. I press my palm to the electric kettle. Still hot. Steam rising in a thin curl. She was here. Minutes ago. Maybe less.

The earpiece crackles. Delilah’s voice cuts in, fast and tight. “I spliced the security camera across the street. She hasn’t left.”

My jaw locks. “Who’s inside?”

“The security guard. Her editor, Lawrence. And someone who came in the side entrance ten minutes ago. Everyone else left over an hour ago.”

“Pull up the blueprints,” I say. “Full layout. Vents, stairwells, crawl spaces—everything.”

While Delilah works, I keep moving. No time to be wrong. Every second matters.

I pass the end of the hallway, then stop.

Something faint. Muffled.

I crouch beside an old floor vent near the base of the wall, half-covered in dust and tilt my head.

There it is again.

I lean in, breath held, straining to catch it.

Brooke’s voice. Sharp, clear, rising from below. “You’ve betrayed your own. You’re a disgrace to the badge.”