Page 72 of Envy

“Bad fucking idea making that the first thing you say.”

My voice is lethal as Evie eases from my arms, standing on her own with a hand still braced on my chest for support. She holds me there, asking an unspoken question. I nod, allowing her to step toward the bastard.

“You don’t scare me anymore,” Evie says. Despite the trembling of her split lip and unsteady legs, she lifts her chin, letting that dark part of herself out to play. And fucking hell, it’s beautiful. “You’re nothing, Jonathan. You don’t control me anymore.”

“A person named Jonah has been using the Blue Lagoon as a drop point,” I explain, not wanting to hurt her but needing Evie to understand what’s at stake. Her brows furrow as I continue. “The same one frequented by your family. Curiously enough, the church we’re standing in is also set up as a point to traffick women and children.”

Evie sucks in a sharp breath, but there’s no surprise in her eyes. Only crushing sorrow.

“Based on condemning evidence, including pictures and correspondence to known criminals,” Noctis says, “we believe Jonathan is the connection to the entire southern circuit. All of which I’ve ensured is established on his personal devices.”

“Go to hell,” Jonathan spits.

“Already there,” I growl, prowling forward. “I’ve been living in hell since the day my sister was taken. Dragged away kicking and screaming by assholes just like you.”

“No hitting,” Noctis chides, seeing my fists flex. “It won’t match the story.”

“Come on,” Mavros whines, shoulders slumping. “Just once? What if we avoid the face?”

“No,” Noctis says, rolling his eyes at Mavros’s pout. “But his kneeisalready fucked. Can’t see that being a problem.”

Perfect.

My foot connects with the twisted joint, sending Jonathan curling up on his side, writhing in agony. His screams soothe the vacancy in my heart—the one left when Morana was taken. I crush the ragged, bleeding tissue beneath the sole of my boot, pressing until he loses consciousness from the pain.

I wait until he wakes, until I catch the flash of fear staring back at me, before I start again. “One month ago, there was a group of women at this church. Ones you piled into the back of a white van. Where are they?”

There’s a moment where he considers lying to me, but a single glance at his shredded limb has him reconsidering.

“Some have been sold, but most are being held downtown at a place called the Devil’s Lair.”

Noctis has his phone back out, thumbs flying across the screen. “Got it,” he confirms, eyes bouncing over the information. A few seconds later, his movements slow, the hope flitting across his face fading. A heartbeat later, I know why.

“Is this woman at the Devil’s Lair?” Noctis asks, flipping his phone to show Jonathan a picture of Morana.

“I should’ve known this was about that bitch.” A sneer twists his face as he looks away, but I’m there, pinching his chin between my leather gloves.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” he grits out, a haunting smile tilting his lips. “Unless the boss changed his mind. She was in Vegas not too long ago. Rumor has it, she’s his favorite. Off-limits to everyone else.”

Erik and Mavros are at my side in an instant, waiting for me to lead the charge. It’s always been the plan: find Morana and kill as many of the bastards as we can. The three of us were the first to start this hunt—but then I catch sight of Evie. Of the memories flashing through her eyes from tormented nights long ago. And I know I can’t take this death away from her.

“Go,” I order, catching the flicker of confusion in Erik’sstormy eyes. “Mavros, Noctis, go with Erik. Proceed cautiously. I don’t trust this asshole, but if sheisthere, if she’s alive?—”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to bring her home safely,” Erik finishes, clapping my shoulder. “I promise you, brother.”

I nod as footsteps sound behind us. We don’t flinch, every one of us familiar with the cadence of the cleaners by now.

“Can I use a knife?” I ask the cleaners, my voice steady as Dominic, Bane, and Adrian move to my side, letting them get to work.

“A gun would be better,” one of the crew says, already positioning Jameson’s limp body at the appropriate angle to Jonathan.

“Here,” Dominic says, stepping forward. “Use mine.”

“No,” Jonathan says, eyes cutting to Evie. “You can’t let them kill me. I’m your brother.”

Evie stands there, silent and stoic, staring at the person who’s haunted her dreams for years. Swallowing down the urge to end his life right then, I take a step back, holding out the handle of the Glock for her to take.