Page 50 of Make Them Bleed (Pretty Deadly Things #1)

Arrow

I wake to motion and diesel. My wrists burn. Plastic bites into my skin. There’s a hood over my head and a zip tie cutting circulation at my thumbs. Someone’s shoulder is jammed against mine.

“Juno,” I say, in a low voice. “I’m here.”

She answers through fabric. “Arrow?”

“I’ve got you.” I test the restraints. Ankles tied, hands behind the chair. Chair is metal, bolted down. Floor hum says van. The air says river.

The ride stops. Doors slide. Boots on metal. Hands on my arms. We’re hauled out and walked fifteen steps. The air snaps colder, and rope knocks against a mast. Water slaps the hull. We’re at the marina.

“Steps,” a man orders. His accent is local. He guides my toe to a step and we go up, then down, then through a doorway that changes the sound in my ears. Has to be a cabin.

They sit me in another crew chair. Juno is set next to me. I hear the scrape of her boots. I lean toward the sound.

“Breathe with me,” I tell her. “In for five. Out for five.”

She does it. I do it with her. My pulse stops roaring.

The hood comes off. Light stings. We’re in the main salon of a yacht—white leather, lacquered table bolted to the deck, galley to port. Through the window, I catch the slip number: D4 . The name on the stern reads LAUREL NINE .

Juno blinks against the light. Her wrists are zip-tied in front, ankles to chair legs. Her face is pale, jaw locked. She looks at me first, then scans the room.

Three men. Two wear boat jackets and carry themselves like hired muscle. One of them I recognize from Stonehouse. The third wears a navy blazer and a smile I know from a hundred boring family dinners.

Bob.

For a second my brain refuses to make the pieces fit. Then it does, and the click is loud in my head.

Etta Hoy steps in behind him, coat open, hair neat, expression like an accountant. She closes the hatch behind her and gives us a polite nod, as if we’ve arrived for a meeting she scheduled.

Juno’s voice is calm in a way I don’t like. She’s looking at Bob. “You.”

Bob spreads his hands, like a pastor starting the part where he asks for money. “Kiddo,” he says. “I told your mother we were making things right.”

“Don’t,” Juno snaps. “Don’t call me kiddo.”

He winces, then schools his face. “Okay. Juno.”

I shift my chair a half inch closer to hers.

One of the muscle guys notices and plants a hand on the chair back.

I stop. I take inventory. Zip ties are heavy-duty.

No give. My belt has a micro ceramic blade in the lining (a gift from Dean I never thought I’d ever need.) If I can get my hands to my hip, I can cut. Not yet.

Etta crosses to the table and sets down a leather folder. “Let’s be efficient,” she says. “Time is not our friend.”

“Whose fault is that?” Juno asks, eyes on Bob.

Bob exhales. “I never wanted any of this to touch you,” he says. “Or your mother. Or Arby. I wanted—” He stops, looks at Etta. She gives a tiny nod. He goes on. “I wanted discretion. That’s all.”

“Discretion?” Juno repeats. “You hired a hit squad because you wanted discretion?”

“Careful,” Etta says mildly.

Juno turns on her. “You were with him at Club Greed.”

Etta doesn’t flinch. “I was.”

“This is insane,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Untie her. You don’t fix discretion by kidnapping two people in broad daylight.”

“Sun’s behind the clouds,” the muscle says, like that helps.

Bob runs a hand over his face. “Arby found out about me and Etta,” he says. “She saw us. She confronted me.”

Juno’s throat works. “When?”

“Three months ago,” he says. “She came to my office. She said she’d keep quiet if I came clean to your mother and if I stopped pushing certain contracts.” He gives Etta another look. “It wasn’t just… personal. There were approvals. Nereus. Pass-throughs we use for… things.”

Etta lifts a brow. “You wanted flexibility in procurement. Nereus provides flexibility. It’s not illegal to hire a consultant.”

“It is when you hide it,” Juno bites out.

Bob ignores the jab, focused on telling his version before he loses the chance. “Arby said she was going to do an episode. Not about me by name. About the rot. About the way money moves. And she refused the HOLO-BURST deal. Said it was poison. Said she’d tell Juno to tell listeners to boycott.”

“And?” I press. “You could’ve resigned. You could’ve told Karen the truth. You could’ve stopped.”

He looks small for the first time. “I panicked. Etta introduced me to someone who… handles problems.”

Etta’s face stays blank. “I introduced you to a man who understands how to manage optics,” she says. “Coleman manages optics.”

The name is a hammer in the room.

“We asked for a scare,” Bob says quickly. “On my mother’s grave. We asked for a scare. Make her back off. Put the fear into her. I never said—” He can’t finish it.

“You’re sick,” Juno says, voice flat.

Bob shakes his head hard. “I didn’t know.” He swallows. “They told me it would be a live stunt. Embarrass her. She’d stop.”

“Stop breathing,” Juno says.

He stares at the floor.

Etta opens the leather folder and slides two papers out. “We are off-schedule,” she says. “Mr. Coleman is dealing with fallout from… recent events.” She means Merritt and Devin and doesn’t say their names. “Until he arrives, we will perform triage.”

“Here’s your triage,” I say. “Chloe Huxley knows you grabbed Juno today. She’s on her way.”

Etta’s mouth twitches. “Detective Huxley knows no such thing.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Juno says almost like a shout.

Etta’s eyes flatten. “I liked you better when you colored.”

Juno leans forward despite the zip ties. “You paid Devin through Nereus. You rewarded him for taking a deal you wanted Arby to take. When she refused, you arranged for the Five to silence her.”

“Not exactly,” Etta says. “The sponsor paid through Nereus. I structured the deal. Arby’s refusal created a gap. Filling the gap was not my line item.”

Bob looks sick. “Stop parsing,” he mutters at Etta.

I catch Juno’s eye. She’s scared. She’s also steady. I keep my words for her.

“We’re not dying on this boat,” I tell her.

She nods once. “Okay.”

Etta taps the folder. “We have two problems,” she says. “One: Merritt Voss. Two: Devin Pike. Both were sloppy. One was unfortunate. The other was stupid.” She doesn’t look at Juno when she says unfortunate . That omission is deliberate.

Bob looks at me. “You need to stop. Both of you. You need to stop the podcast episodes. Stop the meetings. Go quiet. We can make this go away?—”

“Like you made Arby go away?” Juno says.

He flinches.

Etta holds up a hand. “This is not working. Mr. Finn, you’re in security. You understand leverage.” She meets my gaze. “If you care about her, you will convince her to stop.”

“I care about her,” I say. “That’s why I’m not helping you.”

One of the muscle guys shifts, obviously bored with our convo.

The boat rocks as a small wake slaps the hull.

I breathe, count the seconds the surge gives me, test the chair legs for play.

The aft leg has a millimeter I can work with.

The ceramic blade waits under my belt. I need ten seconds and a distraction.

Footsteps echo on the dock. Voices. Etta tilts her head, listening. “He’s here.”

The hatch opens. Stanley Coleman ducks into the cabin like he’s stepping into a meeting he’s already decided the outcome of. Onyx ring. Black watch. Same suit. He smells like money and a store that doesn’t have a sale section.

He assesses in one sweep. Me. Juno. Bob. Etta. The room.

“Quickly,” he says, like we’re wasting his afternoon. “What do they know?”

“Enough,” Etta says.

“Too much,” Bob mutters.

Juno looks him in the eye. “I know you finger-gunned a man like you were in middle school.”

He smiles at that. “I do love an inside joke.”

I speak before Juno says something that earns a backhand. “You’re late. The city’s moving faster than you are.”

He ignores me. He looks at Etta. “Is she recorded?”

“No,” Etta says. “We swept her when we brought her in.”

Coleman steps closer. He studies Juno like a purist studies a forgery. “You look like her,” he says. “Not as loud. Sharper.”

“Untie me,” Juno says. “Say that again.”

He laughs. He turns to Bob. “We told you to keep your home tidy,” he says, irritated. “Now we’re cleaning your kitchen and your street.”

Bob bristles. “I pay you.”

“A discount,” Coleman says. “You pay for discretion. You got greedy.”

Etta cuts in. “Enough. It’s daylight. We’re at the dock. The detective’s husband runs the club across the lot. We solve this without bodies or we take this to the river after dark.”

Juno goes still at river . I squeeze the chair arm with my bound fingers until pain sharpens my head.

Coleman considers. He taps his ring against the table once, twice. “Offer them a step down,” he says finally. “Buy time. Then decide whether a more final answer is required.”

Bob looks at Juno. “Walk away,” he says. “Please. I will resign. I will tell your mother. I will… fix what I can. Just stop. You don’t know these men.”

“Oh, I know them,” Juno says. “And I know my sister is dead because you were a coward who wanted to keep having your cake and eating it too.”

Silence. It hits the walls and sits there.

Coleman’s smile drops for the first time. He nods to the muscle. “Gag him,” he says, jerking his chin at me. “She can speak. He cannot.”

The muscle guy steps in. I twist, bring my knee up, crack his thigh hard enough to stun him. He swears. The other moves. I rock my chair back on that millimeter of play and slam the rear leg into the man’s shin. He stumbles. I’m ready to fight more when a fist connects with my jaw. Stars pop.

“Stop,” Coleman snaps.

Etta raps the table with her knuckles. “Enough. We are not punching on my deck. We are not making noise. This is sloppy.”

Coleman adjusts his cuff, obviously annoyed. “Tidy up then.”