Page 23

I paced the cabin's worn wooden floor, counting steps to keep my mind focused. Five steps forward, turn, five steps back. The floorboards creaked under my weight, each sound amplifying in the heavy silence. My wrists burned where the zip ties bit into my skin, and my mouth felt like sandpaper. Twelve hours since Ryder had revealed his true colors, twelve hours of fear and fury and desperate planning.

The cabin's windows had been hastily boarded up, leaving only thin slices of fading daylight to cut through the gloom. Dust particles danced in these narrow beams, the only things moving freely in this prison. A musty scent hung in the air. I could taste it on my tongue, mixing with the metallic tang of fear.

I glanced at Diesel, lying in the corner with his eyes fixed on me. They'd muzzled him and tethered him to the stove with barely enough slack for him to stand. His dark eyes never left mine, carrying a silent promise that we were in this together. My brave boy, my one constant companion through everything. Even now, he was trying to protect me, straining occasionally against his restraints when he heard footsteps outside.

"We'll get out of this," I whispered to him, my voice sounding strange in the quiet. "I promise."

The memory of Ryder's betrayal played on loop in my head. I'd trusted him. Not completely—I didn't trust anyone completely except Duke and Diesel—but enough. Enough to believe he was loyal to the Kings and, by extension, to Duke.

"Sorry about this, Mia," he'd said, pulling zip ties from his jacket pocket. "Nothing personal. Just business."

When I'd fought back, he'd pulled a gun. The betrayal had stung almost as much as my fear.

"The Kings are finished," he'd told me while binding my hands. "Venom's been planning this takeover for months. I'm just making sure I land on the winning side."

I shuddered at the memory, my stomach clenching. He still wore the King’s patch on his cut. But underneath, his loyalty had been to the Serpents all along. A spy. A traitor.

My thoughts turned to Duke, as they always did when I was afraid. Duke Carson, with his steel-blue eyes and quiet strength. The man who'd saved me when I was at my lowest, who'd shown me what it meant to be protected instead of controlled. The man who'd become my solid ground in a world that had never felt stable before.

My chest ached thinking about the impossible choice he would be facing. I was leverage, I knew that much. They clearly knew about our relationship. They would demand something in exchange for my life—the club, the territory, everything Duke's father had built and that Duke had sworn to protect.

Would he choose me over the club? Should I even want him to?

I shook my head, pushing away the doubt. Duke would find a way. He always did. But I couldn't just sit here waiting for rescue like some damsel in a tower. I needed to help myself.

I sat down in the chair Ryder had let me have.

I tested the zip ties around my wrists for what felt like the hundredth time, twisting and pulling until the plastic cut deeper into my already raw skin. The chair beneath me was old, with loose joints and protruding nails. One nail in particular, at the back of the seat, had caught my attention hours ago.

Shifting my weight, I positioned my bound hands behind me, fingers searching for the nail. I found it quickly now, my fingertips mapping its contours. It protruded about half an inch from the wood, just enough to work with. I'd been methodically trying to loosen it, wiggling it back and forth with agonizing slowness.

My shoulders ached from the awkward position, muscles screaming in protest. I ignored the pain. Pain was just another sensation, something I'd learned to push through long before I met Duke. Jesse had taught me that lesson well.

Jesse. I wondered if he was on his way. The thought sent ice through my veins. Diesel must have sensed my fear because he whined softly behind his muzzle, drawing my attention back to him.

"It's okay," I murmured, though we both knew it wasn't.

I returned to working the nail, twisting it gently between my fingers. The wood around it had begun to soften from my efforts, splinters digging under my fingernails. I barely noticed. All that mattered was the infinitesimal progress—the nail moved a fraction more with each attempt.

Finally, the nail came free. I clutched it in my palm.

The cabin creaked and settled around me, wind finding its way through the cracks between boards. Each unfamiliar sound amped up my anxiety, making my heart race. Then came voices, filtering through the thin walls — real voices, not just the whispers of an old building.

". . . waste of time babysitting her," someone grumbled outside. "Should be with the others at the main road."

"Orders are orders," another voice replied. "Besides, Venom wants her guarded proper. She's the bargaining chip."

I stilled my movements but kept my ears trained on their conversation, straining to catch every word.

"You think Carson will actually do it? Sign over everything?"

A harsh laugh. "For her? Jesse says he will. Says Carson's gone soft for her."

"Jesse says a lot of shit," the first voice countered. "But if he's right about this, we take Ironridge tomorrow. No blood spilled."

"Plenty of blood after, though," the second voice said darkly. "Can't leave stragglers. Especially not Kings."

They moved away, their voices fading, but I'd heard enough. They were planning to kill Duke and the Kings, even if Duke gave them what they wanted. A complete takeover of Ironridge.

My stomach lurched with dread, but also with fierce determination. I wouldn't let that happen. Duke had saved me; now I needed to save him—from the Serpents and from his own protective instincts that might lead him into a trap.

I worked the nail with renewed vigor, ignoring the blood slicking my fingers as my raw skin tore further. The nail wiggled loose a fraction more, and I felt a small surge of hope.

I had survived Jesse before. I had survived the streets, foster homes, hunger, and abuse. I would survive this too.

The rumble of approaching motorcycles shattered the silence I'd been clinging to. At first, just a distant growl that could have been thunder, then growing louder until it vibrated through the floorboards beneath my feet. I watched Diesel struggle against his restraints, a growl building in his throat despite the muzzle. My palms sweated around the small nail hidden in my fist as heavy boots thudded up the cabin steps.

My heart pounded painfully against my ribs, each beat a desperate message: danger, danger, danger. I forced myself to breathe, to appear defeated rather than defiant. Better they underestimate me. Better they think I'd already given up.

The door crashed open, flooding the dim space with harsh twilight. The sudden light blinded me momentarily, and I squinted against it, making out only silhouettes in the doorway.

It was him. Jesse. Standing in the doorway like some conquering hero, flanked by three other Serpents. He looked worse than when I'd last seen him—thinner, harder, his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes fever-bright with substances I recognized all too well. His Serpent cut hung loose on his frame, patches declaring his rank and kills, a visual warning of his violence.

"Well, well," he drawled, sauntering into the cabin with exaggerated confidence. A predator entering its den, certain of dominance. "Look who's come home."

His cold, possessive gaze raked over me, lingering in ways that made my skin crawl. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to show fear despite the terror clawing at my insides. I'd learned long ago that fear only fed men like Jesse.

"You've been a real pain in my ass, Mia," he added, his voice carrying a dangerous edge beneath the false friendliness.

I said nothing.

Before Jesse could continue, one of the other Serpents — a bull-necked man with a shaved head and ENFORCER patched prominently on his cut — shoved him aside with casual disregard.

"Save the reunion for later," the man growled, his voice gravelly from years of cigarettes and shouting. "We got business first."

The hierarchy became instantly clear. This man outranked Jesse, and from the flash of hatred in Jesse's eyes, that rankled deeply.

The enforcer pulled out his phone, checked something, then nodded to the others. "Looks like Carson's actually gonna do it. Word is the Kings are gathering paperwork, emptying accounts." He grinned, revealing a gold tooth among yellowed ones. "Venom says they're preparing the full transfer."

My stomach dropped. Duke was really considering surrendering everything? For me?

Jesse laughed, a high, unnatural sound that raised the hair on my arms. His pupils were dilated, his movements jittery. He was high on something — meth probably, from the look of him.

"What'd I tell you?" he crowed, waving his arms expansively. "President big-shot Duke Carson, ready to hand over everything his daddy built just for a piece of ass."

He strutted toward me, confidence bolstered by the news, and roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my skin, leaving bruises to match the ones already forming from Ryder's rough handling.

"He must love that pussy," he sneered, his face inches from mine, breath hot and sour. "Never did much for me."

I spat in his face.

The reaction was instant. His hand cracked across my cheek, snapping my head sideways. Pain exploded across my face, but I refused to cry out.

The enforcer shoved Jesse back again, clearly annoyed by the diversion.

"Keep it in your pants," he ordered. "Venom's orders were clear."

The third Serpent, who'd been silently watching from near the door, finally spoke. His voice was coldly indifferent, like we were discussing the weather rather than lives and territories.

"Venom says we wait for confirmation before we move," he said, inspecting his fingernails. "Once the papers are signed, we take over Ironridge tomorrow." He glanced at me, his eyes flat and emotionless. "Then you can do whatever you want with her before we get rid of her."

He said it so casually—get rid of her—like I was trash to be disposed of. Which, to them, I was. Just a means to an end.

I studied this third man carefully. Where the enforcer was all brutal physicality and Jesse was twitchy aggression, this one radiated cold calculation. He wore his cut like a business suit, each patch and marking a carefully chosen statement. Intelligence gleamed behind his eyes, making him far more dangerous than Jesse could ever be.

The fourth Serpent, younger than the others, with fresh, shiny tattoos crawling up his neck from beneath his cut, shifted nervously by the door. His cut wasn't as decorated as the others', his patches fewer. A prospect, maybe, or a new member.

"What if they try something?" he asked, glancing between the older Serpents. "The Kings aren't exactly known for rolling over."

Jesse snapped around, pacing the cabin like a caged animal. The enforcer's dismissal had clearly wounded his pride, and now he sought to reassert himself.

"They won't risk it," he declared, movements sharp and jerky. "Not with me holding their precious president's girlfriend." He laughed again, that high, unsettling sound that set my teeth on edge.

"Besides," Jesse continued, clearly enjoying being the center of attention again, "Venom's got it all planned out. Once we get what we want, she's dead anyway." His gaze flicked dismissively toward me. "They all are."

The younger Serpent still looked uncertain. "Seems too easy," he muttered.

The cold, calculating Serpent smirked. "That's the beauty of it. We leverage what Carson cares about most. Kill two birds with one stone."

"Such a shame," Jesse taunted, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back. "You could've had it good with me. Instead, you ran to the Kings like a scared little girl."

I met his wild eyes steadily. "I'd rather die than be with you again."

He leaned in close, his lips nearly touching my ear. "That can be arranged, sweetheart. Real slow, too."

"Enough," the calculating Serpent interrupted, checking his watch. "Venom expects updates. Enforcer, come with me. We need to call in."

The enforcer rose, joints popping, and followed him outside. The young Serpent hesitated, looking between Jesse and the door.

"Go with them, prospect," Jesse ordered, waving him away. "The grown-ups need to talk."

The young Serpent frowned but obeyed, clearly relieved to escape the tension in the cabin.

As the door closed behind them, Jesse's posture changed subtly. His shoulders relaxed, his movements slowed. He was alone with me now, no one to perform for or compete with.

"Just like old times," he murmured, pulling a flask from inside his cut. He took a long swig, then offered it to me with mocking politeness. "Drink?"

I remained silent, watching him carefully. This quieter Jesse was more dangerous than the loudmouth he presented to his brothers. This was the Jesse I remembered—the one who could switch from charm to cruelty in a heartbeat.

He shrugged at my silence, taking another drink. "You know what's funny?" he asked, pacing a slow circle around my chair. "Carson thinks he's saving you. Emptying the club's accounts, signing over territory, all that shit." He laughed softly. "But Venom never intended to let any of you live."

He crouched before me, his face uncomfortably close. "This was always about wiping out the Kings. Taking everything. Your boyfriend just made it easier by playing the hero."

"Duke's smarter than that," I said, speaking finally. "Smarter than you. Smarter than Venom."

Jesse's expression darkened. "We'll see how smart he is when I send him your fingers one by one."

Diesel growled from his corner, straining against his restraints. Jesse glanced at him, annoyed.

"Should've put that mutt down first thing," he muttered. "Always hated that dog."

"He always hated you too," I replied. "Dogs know trash when they smell it."

His hand flashed out again, but this time I was ready, turning with the blow to lessen its impact. Still, pain bloomed across my cheek, joining the throbbing from his earlier strikes.

"Still got that mouth on you," he observed, standing again. "We'll fix that soon enough."

He walked to the cabin's single dirty window, peering through a gap in the boards. "Your boyfriend's not coming, Mia. By now, he's probably in Venom's office, signing away everything his daddy built." He turned back to me, eyes glittering with malice. "All for nothing."

***

Hours passed in a haze of tension and fear. The Serpents drank from bottles they'd brought in, passing them around as night fell deeper around the cabin. Occasionally, one would flick a beer cap at Diesel or make kissing noises at me, laughing when either of us reacted. I stayed silent, conserving energy, watching. The nail remained clutched in my hand, slick with sweat and tiny traces of my blood, a small comfort in an increasingly desperate situation.

The enforcer dominated the conversation, bragging about past violence with clinical detachment. The calculating Serpent mostly watched, offering occasional corrections when the others exaggerated. Jesse seemed distracted, his eyes constantly darting to me, then away, like he couldn't decide whether to ignore me or focus entirely on me. The young prospect tried hard to fit in, laughing too loudly at jokes and offering eager agreement to whatever the older members said.

Through their casual conversation, I gleaned valuable information. Ryder had been feeding them intel for months. The Serpents had people watching all major routes into Ironridge. Venom had set up temporary headquarters at an abandoned mill south of town, where Duke was supposed to bring the paperwork tomorrow.

As the night deepened, the enforcer's phone rang. He stepped outside to take it, his voice a low rumble through the thin walls. When he returned, his expression had changed—more focused, less relaxed.

"Gotta go check the perimeter," he announced, grabbing his jacket. "Venom wants extra patrols. Says Carson's being too cooperative. Might be a trap."

The calculating Serpent nodded, immediately on alert. "Better safe than sorry."

"Take the prospect," the enforcer ordered, nodding at the youngest Serpent. "Show him the routes."

The prospect looked uncertain, glancing between Jesse and the enforcer. "What about her?" he asked, jerking his chin toward me.

"Malone can handle one tied-up bitch," the enforcer snorted. "Can't you, Malone?"

Jesse straightened, chest puffing out slightly. "Been handling her for years," he smirked.

"Don't do anything stupid," the enforcer warned. "She's leverage, not a plaything. Not yet, anyway."

"I know the plan," Jesse snapped, irritation flashing across his face.

The three Serpents filed out, the door slamming behind them. Their motorcycles started up moments later, engines growling into the night before fading into distance.

The moment the door closed, I noticed a shift in Jesse's demeanor. The affected bravado he'd displayed for his brothers dissolved, replaced by something darker and more volatile. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and turned to face me fully, no longer pretending I wasn't the center of his attention.

He crouched before me, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath, mixed with cigarettes and something chemical that clung to his clothes and skin. His eyes roamed my face, tracing the marks his earlier blows had left.

"You made me look weak," he said in a dangerously soft tone, so different from his earlier posturing. "Running away. Hiding behind Carson."

I kept my face blank, though my heart hammered against my ribs. This was the Jesse I remembered—the one whose quiet voice preceded his worst violence.

"Everyone laughed, when they found out you were with him," he continued conversationally. "Said I couldn't control my woman. Said she'd rather fuck a King than stay with me."

His fingers traced along my jawline in a mock tenderness that made my skin crawl. I fought the urge to recoil, knowing it would only provoke him.

"Venom says we wait until the transfer's complete," he murmured, his finger trailing down to the hollow of my throat where my pulse betrayed my fear. "But I think we should send Carson a little message now. A finger maybe? Or an ear? Something you don’t need."

His hand trailed lower, dragging down to the collar of my shirt. "Or maybe we take some pictures—show him what happens when someone takes what belongs to me."

The nail dug into my palm as I tightened my grip. Not yet. His brothers would hear gunshots, would come running. I needed to wait, to choose the perfect moment.

"I never belonged to you, Jesse," I managed to say, keeping my voice steady despite the fear churning in my gut. "And Duke is going to kill you for this."

His face twisted with rage, transforming from calculated menace to animal fury in an instant. His hand cracked across my face hard enough to snap my head sideways. The taste of copper filled my mouth as my teeth cut the inside of my cheek.

"Duke Carson isn't coming for you," he snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back painfully.

He pulled my face close to his, close enough that I could see the blown pupils of his eyes, the tiny burst blood vessels across his cheeks, the flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth.

"It's just you and me now, sweetheart," he hissed. "Just like old times."

He released my hair with a shove, sending me and the chair teetering. For a moment, I thought I'd topple over, but the chair settled back on all four legs with a thud that rattled my spine.

Jesse paced before me, agitation radiating from every movement. He was getting worse, the drugs and alcohol feeding the paranoia and rage that had always simmered below his surface.

"You think you're so much better than me, don't you?" he snarled, spinning back to face me. "Think you're special because the president of the Heavy Kings slums it with you? Think that makes you anything more than what you've always been? Trash. Nothing. Nobody."

Each word hit like a physical blow, echoing the things he'd said during our time together.

"You're pathetic, Jesse," I said quietly. "All this—betraying people, hurting people—and you're still just Venom's little errand boy. Calling your big brother by his scary nickname while everyone in the org laughs at you behind your back."

His nostrils flared, and I knew I'd struck a nerve.

"Shut your mouth," he growled.

"Even now, you're just following orders," I continued, each word deliberate. "While Duke leads his club, you're stuck babysitting me because that's all Venom trusts you to do. And you can’t even do a good job of that."

He moved with shocking speed, backhanding me across the face. Pain exploded through my head, and for a moment, the room swam out of focus. When my vision cleared, he was directly in front of me, hands gripping the arms of my chair, face inches from mine.

"You want to see what Venom trusts me to do?" he whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "I could cut you into pieces right now, and he wouldn't say a word. Not one word."

He reached for his belt buckle, the implication clear in his eyes. "But first, I think I'll remind you what you're good for."

Diesel growled from his corner, a low, threatening sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Jesse shot him an annoyed glance.

"Shut that mutt up or I'll shut him up permanently," he snapped.

"Touch my dog and I'll kill you myself," I said, the words emerging with a conviction that surprised even me.

Jesse laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Big words from a little girl all tied up." He leaned closer, his hand moving to my thigh. "But I like it when you fight. Makes it more fun when you break."

To my horror, he walked calmly over to Diesel and then, giving me an evil look, he kicked my dog—my best friend—hard in the ribs.

“Diesel!” I screamed, hoping that the poor boy wasn’t hurt too badly. Diesel whimpered in the corner.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jesse shouted.

I stared into his bloodshot eyes and saw nothing human there. Whatever Jesse had once been—before the drugs, before Venom's influence, before violence became his only language—was gone now. There would be no reasoning with him, no appealing to better nature or decency. He was too far gone.

“I’m going to need to teach you some fucking managers, bitch.”

Jesse reached for his belt buckle, but before he could undo it, a sudden commotion erupted outside—shouts, then a muffled thud, followed by an eerie silence.

Jesse froze, head cocked toward the door. "What the—"

The door flew open with explosive force, slamming against the wall with a crack that sent splinters flying. And there, filling the frame like an avenging angel, stood Duke Carson.

My breath caught in my throat. Blood spattered his leather cut and the white t-shirt beneath. His knuckles were raw and split, his jaw tight with barely controlled fury. But it was his eyes that held me—cold, focused, and more terrifying than I had ever seen them.

Behind him, I glimpsed Thor's massive frame and Tyson's leaner silhouette, both securing fallen Serpents on the ground outside. The calculating Serpent lay motionless, a dark pool spreading beneath his head. The enforcer was still moving, but barely, with Thor's boot planted firmly on his chest.

For a moment, time seemed suspended. Duke's eyes locked with mine, a thousand unspoken words passing between us in that split second. Relief. Rage. Love. Determination.

Then Jesse yanked me up from the chair, one arm snaking around my throat while the other pressed a knife against my skin. The blade was cold, its edge biting just enough to break the surface, a thin line of warmth trickling down my neck.

"One more step and she's dead," Jesse screamed, his voice cracking with panic as he backed us toward the cabin's rear wall. I felt the edge of his knife press deeper against my skin, warm blood trickling down my throat. I kept my eyes locked on Duke, whose body had gone completely still, like a predator calculating the perfect moment to strike. His hands rose slightly in a deceptive gesture of surrender, but his eyes never left mine, and in them I saw not fear, but absolute conviction.

"It's over, Malone," Duke declared, his voice controlled despite the fury radiating from him. The calm in his tone was more terrifying than any shouting could have been. "Your brother's not coming. We intercepted your reinforcements. There's nowhere to go."

Behind Duke, Thor filled the doorway, his massive shoulders blocking most of the view outside. Blood stained his knuckles, and a savage satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Tyson stood slightly to the side, his normally composed features hard with cold determination, a gun held steady in his hand.

Jesse's arm tightened around my throat, cutting off some of my air. I forced myself to stay calm, to keep breathing through my nose in shallow sips.

"Back off!" Jesse screamed, spittle flying as he pressed the knife harder against my skin. "I swear I'll cut her open right here!"

Duke took a careful half-step backward, his movements deliberate. "Think about it, Jesse," he said, his voice reasonable, almost conversational. "You kill her, you've got nothing. No leverage. No way out."

"Shut up!" Jesse's voice cracked again, panic edging into hysteria. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing!"

I felt his body trembling against mine, his heart hammering wildly through his chest. He was unraveling, which made him more dangerous but also more vulnerable. Duke knew it too—I could see it in the calculated way he was slowly drawing Jesse's focus, deliberately pulling his attention away from me.

As Jesse's attention fixed on Duke, I felt the nail in my palm, still clutched tightly despite hours of strain. My wrists burned from the zip ties, but the pain felt distant now, secondary to the surge of adrenaline flooding my system.

Duke took another careful step back, drawing Jesse's focus further away from me. "Put the knife down, Jesse," he said. "We can talk about this. Find a way out that doesn't end with you in a body bag."

"Liar!" Jesse's voice rose, verging on hysterical. "You came here to kill me!"

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already," Duke replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "But this can still end without more bloodshed. Your call."

As they talked, I gathered my strength, testing the weight of the nail in my palm, mentally mapping Jesse's vulnerable points. Thigh, eye, throat. Duke had taught me where to strike when outmatched by size and strength.

Jesse's knife hand shifted slightly as he focused on Duke, creating a fractional space between the blade and my skin. It was now or never.

With a sudden burst of desperate strength, I drove the nail backward into Jesse's thigh, putting every ounce of my weight behind the movement.

The nail sank deep into his flesh. Jesse howled in pain and surprise, his arm loosening around my throat as instinct made him reach for the wound. I ducked beneath his arm, twisting away as I moved. The knife slashed across my collarbone as I turned, a shallow cut that burned like fire, but adrenaline dulled the pain to a distant concern.

I stumbled forward, nearly falling as my bound hands threw off my balance. Behind me, Jesse cursed viciously, his moment of shock giving way to rage.

"You fucking bitch!" he screamed, lunging after me, his face contorted in fury.

But his movement brought him directly into Duke's waiting grasp. Duke moved with the fluid precision of someone who'd spent a lifetime in violent confrontations. He caught Jesse's knife arm in a practiced hold, twisting sharply. The crack of breaking bone cut through the cabin, followed by Jesse's scream as the knife clattered to the floor.

Jesse writhed in Duke's grip, still dangerous despite his injury. He lashed out with his free hand, catching Duke across the jaw with a wild punch.

I didn't think. I just moved.

The knife lay on the floor between us. I lunged for it, my fingers closing around the handle. The weight of it felt strange yet familiar in my hand — a tool of terror transformed into something else. A means of reclamation.

Time seemed to slow as years of fear and abuse crystallized into grim resolve. Jesse broke free from Duke's grip, spinning toward me with murder in his eyes. I stood my ground, fingers tight around the knife handle.

As he rushed at me, I drove the blade upward into his chest, reclaiming my power with every inch of steel I buried in his heart.

His eyes widened in shock, a bewildered expression crossing his face as if he couldn't believe what had happened. He looked down at the knife, at my hands still gripping it, then back to my face. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just a trickle of blood from the corner of his lips.

"That’s for Diesel," I whispered.

Jesse's legs buckled, and he slumped to the floor, blood spreading across his Serpent cut in a dark, expanding stain. His eyes remained open, fixed on nothing, the light behind them already fading.

I stood frozen, watching him die, feeling nothing but a strange hollowness where I'd expected to feel . . . something. Relief? Satisfaction? Guilt? But there was only emptiness, a vacuum waiting to be filled.

Duke was at my side instantly, cutting through my bonds with a pocketknife. The plastic restraints fell away, and blood rushed painfully back into my hands, pins and needles stabbing through my fingers. I hardly noticed. My eyes remained fixed on Jesse's body, on the knife still protruding from his chest.

"I killed him," I said, my voice sounding distant and strange to my own ears.

Duke's hands were gentle as they turned me away from the body, carefully examining the cut across my collarbone. His fingers traced the edges of the wound, his touch impossibly tender despite the violence that still lingered in the air.

"You saved yourself," he corrected softly. "And me. You did what you had to do."

I nodded mechanically, still processing. This wasn't the first time I'd seen death—life on the streets had shown me plenty—but it was the first time I'd caused it.

I didn't regret it.

Couldn't regret it.

But the weight of it settled on me nonetheless.

Duke gathered me carefully in his arms, mindful of my injuries. I melted against him, finally allowing myself to feel the terror and exhaustion I'd been holding at bay. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, his arms solid and secure around me. Safe. I was safe.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. "I never stopped coming for you."

Across the cabin, Thor had freed Diesel, removing his muzzle and restraints. My dog bounded over to us, whining anxiously as he circled my legs, nudging my hand with his nose. I dropped to my knees, burying my face in his fur, letting his familiar scent and warmth ground me in the moment.

"You okay, buddy?" I murmured, checking him quickly for injuries. He seemed unharmed, just frightened and agitated. "It's okay now. We're okay."

Tyson moved efficiently around the cabin, checking the perimeter and securing weapons. Always the strategist, always thinking three steps ahead. He paused by the door, meeting Duke's eyes over my head.

"We need to move," he said quietly. "Others could be back any minute."

Duke nodded, helping me to my feet. "The truck's hidden half a mile south. Thor, take point. Tyson, watch our six."

The practiced coordination of the three men reminded me that this wasn't their first rescue, their first battle, their first kill. They moved like parts of a single organism, communicating with glances and gestures more than words.

As we stepped outside, I saw the bodies of the other Serpents — the enforcer and the calculating one. The younger prospect was zip-tied to a tree, gagged and wide-eyed with terror. Still alive, though likely not for long.

The night air felt shockingly fresh after the stale confines of the cabin. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs, feeling the cool breeze against my skin. Alive. I was alive.

"Venom will come for us," I said with raw steadiness as we moved through the darkness toward the hidden truck. "For me."

Duke's arm tightened around me. "Let him try," he vowed, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "You're never going to face anything alone again. In fact, I want him to try—it’s how we’ll beat them—drive them out of Coldwater entirely. That’s what we need to do—finish them off forever."

We paused at the edge of the clearing, looking back at the cabin that had nearly become my tomb. In the distance, I could hear the faint wail of sirens—someone must have reported the gunshots or commotion. Soon, this place would be crawling with law enforcement.

Duke turned me to face him, his hands framing my face with careful tenderness. His thumbs wiped away tears I hadn't realized were falling.

"We need to go," he said softly. "Are you ready?"

I nodded, meeting his eyes. Then we were kissing, our lips meeting with desperate intensity. The kiss tasted of blood, tears, and triumph—salt and copper and life. His hands tangled in my hair as mine clutched at his cut, both of us needing the reassurance of touch, of presence.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, something had shifted between us. A beginning forged in fire, sealed with the promise that whatever came next, we would face it together.

"Let's go home," Duke whispered against my lips.

With Diesel at my side and Duke's arm around me, I walked away from the cabin and into the darkness. The future was uncertain, dangerous, filled with threats I could only begin to imagine. But for the first time in my life, I wasn't facing it alone.

I was a King now. And Kings feared nothing.