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HONOR

Chase is at the top of Damon’s list—I know that much. What I don’t know is what Damon has in store for me, or the truth about how the Circle managed to find me here. Whatever his plan is, it’s working. He’s pulling the strings, and I’m dancing to his tune.

But where is Chase?

My mind races, sifting through every interaction, every scrap of intel. Damon’s words play on a loop in my head. ‘If I ever find him, I’ll string him up in…’

The Chapel.

The word slams into me. The Chapel isn’t a myth. Damon had mentioned it before—back when I was still inside the Circle. A place where debts are paid and power is solidified. But I never found out where it is.

I press my mind into action. What do I know about the Chapel?

Damon once bragged it was a place hidden in plain sight. A space beneath their noses where even the law wouldn’t bother looking. Underground. Isolated. But accessible to the Circle.

How does that help me? It doesn’t. Montana is littered with places just like it.

Think, Honor. Think.

Who else has mentioned the Chapel?

Patch.

Yes, he did. When he snatched one of the Circle’s biggest rivals.

He’d boasted about a place ‘with arches like a damn cathedral.’ That’s why they call it the Chapel. ‘No one hears you scream beneath the old Overland warehouse.’

Overland. I almost miss it—an abandoned logistics hub south of the state line. It’s the kind of place Damon would love—sprawling, easy to fortify, and forgotten by most.

I can’t afford to be wrong. But with nothing else to go on, I push forward.

The Overland warehouse looms ahead, its weathered walls and rusting signage exactly as I remember from the maps. A perfect facade for the Circle’s twisted games.

I pull up and barely step out of the car before two guards emerge from the shadows by the front door. I recognize both of them—Sal and Tommy, Damon’s lapdogs.

“Honor Deveraux,” Sal sneers as he steps forward, his grin smug. “Back where you belong.”

I maintain a defeated look, letting my shoulders slump as I hold up my hands. “I’m here for Damon.”

“You sure as hell are,” he says, motioning for Tommy to search me.

Tommy steps in, running his hands over me with deliberate slowness. He doesn’t even try to hide the smirk when he finds my Glock. “Look what we’ve got here,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

But he doesn’t stop there. His hands drop to my boot, where he pulls out the knife I’d stashed. I grit my teeth, surprised and annoyed. He’s more thorough than Patch, I give him that.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Honor Deveraux,” he repeats, his tone dripping with condescension. “You could’ve been a true Stoneborn. But no, you had to go play house with your hero.”

Then he steps closer, pressing me against him. His hand brushes too high on my chest.

Big mistake.

I keep my expression neutral, my mind already working three steps ahead.

“Get moving,” Sal snaps, shoving me forward.

I let them push me through the door and into the warehouse. The ground floor is dark, the only light coming from bare bulbs strung up haphazardly. Rows of rusted shelving line the walls, some of them still holding forgotten crates. The air is heavy with the scent of dust and oil.

The guards stay close, guiding me past the rows of shelves toward the far corner of the warehouse. There, a metal staircase descends into the shadows.

I take the first step down. The deeper we go, the louder the sounds become—voices, the clink of metal, the buzz of fluorescent lights.

The stairs end at a narrow hallway, the walls lined with old brick. Arches loom ahead, their curved tops giving the place its namesake. The Chapel.

They lead me through the arches into a cavernous space, the high ceiling stretching above. And in the center of it all—Chase.

I stop breathing for a few seconds. He’s hung by the wrists, his body a map of pain—cuts, bruises, swelling that speaks of hours of torture. Every instinct in me screams to act. I swear I feel his pain in my own skin. But I force myself still. Not yet. Let them think I’m broken. Let them believe I’ve come crawling back.

Damon steps out of the shadows, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “Welcome back, Honor.”

“She’s clean!” Sal announces.

Damon strides toward me, arms open like I’m some long-lost friend. Before I can stop him, he pulls me into an embrace, the stench of him—cologne, sweat, power—sickening.

“It’s been too long,” he says smoothly.

I stand like a statue, my body rigid, my mind screaming for control. “Not long enough,” I reply.

Damon chuckles, his grip tightening as he pulls me closer. His breath brushes my ear. “Still so fiery. I’ve missed that.”

Behind him, Chase lifts his head, his face a mess of blood and defiance.

“Honor.” His voice is raw, broken. “I’m sorry.”

Damon climbs up a raised platform, only to plant a fist on Chase’s mouth. His massive frame sways, light catching on his chest and abs with each motion. It’s not just his sweat that glints, the fresh blood all around his body shines like thick glitter.

This was Chase’s nightmare. The thing he feared most when he was just sixteen. Being sliced alive. Fast forward to now, no matter how much he’s grown, no matter how strong he’s become—how much can one man take?

Mangled, hopeless. Can I blame him if he gave me up? But then again, giving me up is one thing. Giving up Oakley and Laramie? That’s a new kind of pathetic.

Damon’s gaze shifts toward the staircase, his expression expectant. “Where’s Patch?”

“I killed him,” I say flatly.

His face whitens, just for a moment, before he smooths it over with an air of forced calm. “Well, there’s no shortage of men who’d kill to take his place.”

“Why don’t you leave it to just us?” I glance at the guards circling us.

Damon narrows his eyes but motions to them. “Back to your posts. Now.”

The guards hesitate but obey.

“Wait!” Damon instructs. “Tommy, you stay.” He motions Tommy to stand by Chase.

Of course. He has picked his most loyal lapdog, tongue out and ready for orders. Tommy would do absolutely anything for Damon. Unlike Patch and the others, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or eliminate me. I just need to convince Damon I’m not worth the trouble—or the bullet.

I turn to Damon. “You know I won’t give up Oakley or my baby. But I didn’t come here for you.” I tip my chin toward Chase. “I’m here to finish him off.”

Chase’s head jerks up. His eyes are wide with disbelief, then fade as grimace takes over. The man’s too broken to form words.

“How dare you, Chase?” I tremble.

“Smart girl,” Damon praises, a slow, amused smile curling his lips.

I shift my jacket aside, letting Damon see the Colt tucked at my waistband.

Tommy swings his gun toward me in an instant.

“Easy, Tommy!” I say. “The only man I’m here to shoot is him.” I nod at Chase again.

Damon’s attention darts between me and Tommy.

“You still need me, Damon,” I say, my tone steady. “Patch might’ve found me, but he didn’t find the kids. They’ve moved. They’re gone. You won’t find them unless I tell you where.”

Damon doesn’t move, studying me intently.

“Take my word for it,” I warn.

At last, he signals Tommy to lower his gun. A dry chuckle escapes him, the kind that barely hides his irritation. “Honey, how the hell did you sneak that in here?”

“This Colt?” I say nonchalantly. It’s the Circle’s weapon of choice. “Tommy got a little too close. A Stoneborn always carries a second weapon behind their jacket. Right?”

Tommy’s face slacks as he searches behind his jacket.

Damon laughs, shaking his head. The box I thought I’d discarded long ago, has come back to me with the same, revolting arrogance.

“I underestimated you, Honor,” he says, his tone more amused than sincere.

“Do you know why I want to kill him, Damon?”

“He sold you out,” he replies.

“Yeah, that,” I respond coldly as my gaze drills into Chase. Then, through clenched teeth, I add, “And he killed my father.”

Damon groans, strolling to the edge of the platform as though this reveal is mildly inconvenient. “Who the hell are you?”

My head snaps toward Chase. “Ask him.”