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“‘Permission’?” I echoed, my voice dripping with disbelief and fury. I stepped into his space, deliberately closing the distance, forcing him to feel the heat radiating off me. “You think I need your permission to act? You think I’ll sit on my hands like some obedient dog while monsters walk free?”

He smiled, the edges of his mouth cutting like a knife. “No. But once we’ve got proof on as many of them as possible, we decide how this ends. And if it’s you lighting the match, Pretty—then you set their world on fire.”

The air shifted. Even Enzo was quiet now. Robbie stared as if he didn’t recognize Killian anymore. Welcome to the club. It was as if he didn’t care what I did or how I did it. Almost as if he approved. And that confused the hell out of me.

“You’d do that?” Robbie asked, voice barely audible. “You’d let Jamie… I mean, you’d help us eliminate them.”

“I’m not here because I love the smell of motor oil,” Killian said. “I’m here because what happened to you—what’s happening to other kids, women, the undocumented, the unhoused—that doesn’t get to stand. Not on my watch.”

I stared at him. Trying to reconcile the tailored suit with the fire in his voice. Didn’t add up. The room went quiet. “Didn’t take you for a crusader,” I finally said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Pretty.”

“Stop calling me that,” I growled. And meant it. Except, maybe I didn’t.

He turned from me and spoke to Rio. “I need those files. All of them. Make sure he sends them to me”

I bristled. No one was in charge of me.

Well, maybe Rio was the exception. His rigid rules didn’t just keep me in check—they sharpened me. Turned chaos into precision. Made me better at the one thing I was already deadly at .

“How long until we get to take them out?” I asked because I needed to count down the days.

Killian shrugged. “At least two weeks to map it out. Maybe longer.”

“That’s too long,” I snapped. I couldn’t keep still. Started pacing, the lighter in my hand, flame flickering, daring it to burn me. “The minute they think they’re compromised, they’ll scatter.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Killian sounded frustrated. “But rush this, and we end up with two dead men and a network that goes underground. Then, good luck finding them again.”

“This is bullshit,” I snapped.

“Jamie,” Rio said, a warning in his voice.

I looked at Robbie. At the scar ringing his neck, recalling the day he arrived. Then back to Killian, who stared at me as if he knew my decision.

“Fine,” I bit out, snapping the lighter closed like a final word.

“But if anything happens to anyone else while we’re being patient, Suit, it’s on you.

” I instantly regretted moving so close.

Killian was solid and close enough to touch if I wanted.

He didn’t flinch. Just stared, as though he wanted to be challenged.

“I know.”

“But when my team is done, when you want to burn the whole thing down, I can show you exactly where to light the match.”

Show me where to light the match? I wanted to deck him.

Or kiss him. No—definitely deck him. But the more he spoke, the more my fury dimmed enough to see the brutal clarity in his logic.

And hell, that made it worse. Killian’s voice was all smooth control.

But underneath, I caught a glimpse of something darker—danger in a tailored suit, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. What the fuck was he really playing at?

“What about the money Robbie hid?” Rio asked.

Killian leaned forward slightly. Not enough to be obvious, but I caught it—the shift in posture, the focus in his gaze.

He was wearing a mask, and something about that look irritated the hell out of me.

But it also lit something low in my gut.

I couldn’t tell if I wanted to punch that smug expression or pull him closer to see if anything under his armor could burn.

“Already taken out,” he said. “And transferred out to charities.”

“How much did you keep?” I asked,

Killian’s eyes flicked from one of us to the next. “Enough to cover my team,” he finally offered.

“Profiting off other people’s misery.”

Killian met my stare, his silver eyes unflinching, although I swear there was something there—a trace of temper, maybe. “You’ve made up your mind about me already, haven’t you, Pretty?”

The way he called me that made it feel like both a slur and a caress—each syllable edged with something sharp, intimate, dangerous. I couldn’t decide which unsettled me more.

“It’s blood money,” I replied, keeping my voice steady despite the heat crawling up my neck.

Killian’s smile widened, all teeth and no warmth. “Blood money that’s building schools and hospitals instead of sitting in offshore accounts. But please, my pretty pyromaniac murderer, tell me more about the view from your moral high ground.”

I leaned forward to match Killian’s posture. Two could play at being clever. “Must be nice, counselor, to sleep at night knowing your bank account grows every time someone’s life falls apart.”

Killian didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed amused by my anger, which only stoked it further. He loosened his tie—a calculated move, I was sure. Everything about him seemed calculated. I flicked my lighter, let the small flame sear my finger enough to ground me, waiting for him to answer.

“You know what I find fascinating?” he asked, voice low. “How quick people are to judge what they don’t understand.” He reached over and caught my wrist, his thumb pressing my pulse point. I fought the urge to jerk away. “The flame suits you.”

I yanked my hand back. “Don’t touch me.”

Killian leaned back again, studying me. “Your file doesn’t do you justice, Pretty.”

My blood turned to ice. “You have a file on me?” How much did he know? Apart from the obvious, of course, that was all a matter of record. But the sealed Juvie stuff? The hacking?

“I have files on everyone in this room,” Killian said, his eyes locked on mine. “Yours was… fascinating reading.”

“If you’ve got a file,” I replied, my tone flat, “and you still call me a pyromaniac, then you didn’t read it properly.”

Killian’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t interrupt. So I kept going.

“According to my release notes from the asylum, and I quote: Subject Jamie Maddox sets fires to regain control, to silence intrusive thoughts, and sometimes out of desperation or righteous vengeance.” I paused.

“They concluded that I lean closer to arsonist than pyromaniac, but with deeply emotional and compulsive undertones due to insanely heavy childhood abuse. If you’re going to throw labels around, counselor, try using the right ones. ”

“You weren’t in a fucking asylum,” Killian corrected, his voice suddenly sharp. “It was a forensic psychiatric facility.”

“Asylum, facility, whatever,” I smiled. “Are you going to add that correction to my notes?”

“I’m not adding shit to your?—"

“Enough!” Rio shouted. “We’re getting off track. The job?—”

Killian took a step back from me, then he spoke. “The job requires you to back off and trust me. I don’t expect any of you to trust me immediately. But I do expect professionalism because it’s my team that’s going to be exposed if one of you goes off burning shit down.” He was judging me .

“I don’t burn without reason.”

“Your reason being what, exactly?”

“You’ve got my notes, you tell me.”

He huffed. “Is it that little voice in your head that says ‘this looks flammable’?” Killian’s words were sharp, but his tone remained infuriatingly even.

I will kill him.

Rio stepped between us. “Both of you, enough.”

I crossed my arms, my lighter still warm in my palm. “You don’t get this done quick, or you fuck us over, and I promise you’ll be the first thing to burn.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Noted.”

“Lassiter dies screaming, Killian. Don’t stand in the way.”

He shrugged then. “Believe me, I won’t.”

And God help me, I hated how much I was drawn to how he didn’t back down. I recognized a control that mirrored my own, a survival instinct honed razor-sharp. And maybe it should have pissed me off, seeing it reflected in him like that. But instead, it unsettled me.

What would happen if his mask cracked?

I wanted to show him the absolute chaos in me, terrify him, put him in his place.

But somewhere beneath the need to kill the fucker, was a darker thought I hadn’t let myself examine too closely: what if I didn’t kill him?

What if he saw all of me—the sharp edges, the heat, the mess—and didn’t flinch?

I caught myself staring too long, too intently.

Tracking the line of his jaw, the shift in his shoulders, the glint in his pale silver eyes that never quite matched the smile on his lips.

I was disgusted at the twist low in my gut.

I didn’t want to feel lust. Didn’t want to feel anything.

But there it was, curling hot and wrong under my skin.

And hell, I didn’t want to be the kind of fool who got caught watching the flames and wondering how it might feel to step into it.

But I was. And I hated that, too. And if he thought he could lie to our faces with that half-smile and silk voice? Then he didn’t know me at all.

“Later, Pretty,” Killian said, and glanced back once before disappearing through the door. I took a step to follow him, almost called out, but instead, I watched the arrogant, unreadable bastard go and loathed how much space he took up in my head.

And I hated that he hadn’t told me I couldn’t burn down Lassiter and Kessler’s lives. It was as if he didn’t care what I did—or worse, that he approved. That kind of tacit permission? It messed with my head in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack.

The second Killian had gone, and Enzo had taken Robbie upstairs, Rio turned on me as if a switch had flipped.

“You need to let Killian figure things out,” he said, tone low but sharp.

“Sure,” I said, a lie so smooth it didn’t catch in my throat.

Because those files I’d pulled from Mitchell’s place?

I’d already started running encryption and plotting networks.

Killian’s team would receive the files, and I’d already decided to send them some of the files that were already open—I had no idea if Killian’s tech guy was any good.

Lassiter was my focus—it was he who had the most intel I could collate—and I wouldn’t take a direct shot at him, but I could still apply pressure. Let him feel hunted. Let paranoia creep in. It’d be a start if I could make him even a fraction as terrified as Robbie had been. Then, Kessler next.

Rio stepped closer, more serious than I’d seen him since what had happened in Stockton. “I mean it, Jamie. Tell me if you need to burn, and I’ll stand with you. But not with these guys. Not now.”

I didn’t answer at first. The fire was coiled tight under my skin, humming as if it were alive. Triggers were everywhere—stress, memory, shame, injustice. The heat in my chest right now? Prime kindling.

I clasped his hand and pressed it over my heart. He was my brother in all but name. “I promise I won’t touch Kessler and Lassiter until you tell me it’s okay.”

It wasn’t much. But it was all the truth I had to give.