Page 25 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

V ictoria's footsteps echoed on the cracked concrete as she followed Justin deeper into the warehouse.

The place was dimly lit, casting shadows across rows of trucks, sedans, and sports cars lined up as if they were part of some underground showroom.

Some looked brand new, others vintage, but all carried the air of being hidden away for purposes far from legitimate.

Is this a stash house? she wondered, glancing at the dusty covers thrown haphazardly over some of the cars. Something about this place screamed shady deals, like a forgotten chapter out of a crime novel.

Finally, Justin stopped in front of a beat-up wooden crate, turning to face her. He looked a little worn out himself, eyes shadowed, tension hanging in his shoulders. Victoria crossed her arms, determination and curiosity battling inside her.

“Alright, Justin. Spill.” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t hide her frustration. “I need you to start from the beginning. How did you get involved with the Lockes? And what the hell is really going on?”

Justin exhaled, his hands raking through his hair as he took a hesitant step toward her. “Vic, you have to believe me, I didn’t know what happened to you. One day you were just… gone. No trace, no explanation.” His voice was raw, edged with something like guilt. “I looked for you. For months.”

Vic.

Her chest tightened at the sound of it. No one had called her that in years. Not since she left. Not since she became Grace Scarlett instead of Victoria Grace.

She forced herself to ignore the way it made her feel, like a ghost of the girl she used to be had just been called back to life.

“I had to,” she said flatly.

Justin shook his head like he was trying to make sense of it. “And all this time, I thought…” He cut himself off, jaw flexing before he let out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here, and this? This is bad, Vic.”

She crossed her arms, keeping her expression guarded. “So explain it to me. Why the hell are you tangled up in this mess?”

His lips pressed into a tight line. “Because I thought I was going to break the case of a lifetime.”

Justin let out a slow breath. “I was fresh out of the academy, still green. I found a file buried in the archives,an old case that got swept under the rug. It had names, stash house locations, and something about an underground fighting circuit called the Grand Reaping. It didn’t make sense why no one was acting on it, so I started digging, asking questions.

” His throat bobbed. “Turns out, I found a dirty judge on Locke’s payroll.

I went to my supervisor, he took the file and said he would look into it. ”

Realization flickered in her chest. “Cops.”

Justin nodded grimly. “Some of the force is clean. But the ones who aren’t? They work for the Lockes. Before I knew it, I had two choices, either keep my mouth shut or go under.”

“And you got close to Cassian Locke,” she murmured.

Justin’s gaze hardened. “Too close.”

A shadow passed over his face, and for the first time, she saw something in him that hadn’t been there before. Weariness . A man who had played his part too well, for too long.

“I’m in deeper than I ever planned,” he admitted, his voice tight. “And now you’re here, and they know you’re here. You’re being watched, Vic.”

“How much deeper?” She asked, her chest tight.

Justin’s eyes darkened. “I went to the judge to ask about the files, and that’s when things went south.

He was dead… and I saw who murdered him.

” His breath hitched. “Cassian found out what I was doing, and he cornered me. Gave me a choice. Either I work for him, keep my eyes open for anything against him, or I become a target myself,” he pauses, swallowing hard.

“He used the judge’s death as leverage, made it clear how far his reach went.

There was no other way out. I had to take the deal. ”

His jaw clenched, his gaze going distant. “It wasn’t about power or money then. It was survival.”

A long, tense pause followed as his words sank in.

“Now?” He leaned in, voice low, pained. “Now I’m stuck. I know too much, and if I try to back out? I’m dead, they’ll make sure of it, but I’ve been feeding information to someone. I’m still a cop.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

Justin’s throat worked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he held her gaze.

Victoria narrowed her eyes. “Do you know who’s following me?”

A beat. A hesitation so slight most people wouldn’t have caught it. But she did. The shift in his stance, the tightening of his fingers.

“No,” he said, too quickly.

A slow, cold realization curled in her stomach. Liar.

“Right.” She let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. “Because that was so convincing.”

Something flickered across his face. Regret, frustration, maybe both. “Then let me prove it.”

She stared at him, heart hammering because despite everything, despite the past, the secrecy, the lies …A part of her still wanted to believe him.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

But she wouldn’t let that sway her. Not when the stakes were this high.

Victoria straightened her spine, the cool bite of determination washing over her. “Okay,” she said, voice sharp. “I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

Justin hesitated, eyes flickering like he was considering his options.

“There are no wrong answers,” she added. “Only lies. And if you lie to me, I will know.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he gave a slow nod.

Here goes , she thought.

She didn’t wait for his response. “What’s the Grand Reaping?”

Justin inhaled sharply, his gaze darting toward the door, as if making sure no one was lurking outside. Then, he exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking.

“Vic, I?—”

She stiffened. Vic. “I don’t trust you,” she said flatly. “Not yet.”

His expression hardened, but something wounded flickered behind his eyes, like her doubt hit a nerve.

“Don’t make me ask again, Justin. What’s the Grand Reaping ?”

When he spoke, his voice was lower.

“It’s not just an underground fight ring,” he said, his voice low.

“It’s a test of loyalty. A way to settle debts.

” His gaze darkened. “Each family, each operation, puts forth their best fighters. It’s a bracket system.

They fight to the death until only one remains.

If a fighter taps out…” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

Her mind raced, drawing the only possible conclusion…death.

She listened, unblinking.

“But that’s just the distraction,” Justin continued.

“The fights keep the crowd’s attention while the real business happens behind closed doors.

Drug trades, trafficking deals, contracts being negotiated.

” He shook his head. “It’s not just about bloodshed in the ring, Vic.

It’s about power. Every fight, every deal, every death …

it all feeds back into the Lockes’ empire. ”

She had suspected it was bad. She hadn’t realized it was this bad.

“And Tristan?” she asked, stomach twisting. She wasn’t sure why his name was the first that left her lips, but she needed to know.

Justin’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“He’s Cassian’s best fighter—and his heir.

The most lethal of them all. The empire will be passed down to him because he’s the oldest. Tyson is next best, just as dangerous but more focused on the business.

He’s in charge of the books, contracts and anything that keeps the empire running,” he exhaled sharply.

“They don’t just fight in the Grand Reaping.

They control it.” “And you?” she asked, her voice like steel, fingers curling.

“Where do you fit into all this? I don’t see the tattoos. ”

Justin’s head snapped toward her, his expression torn between disbelief and suspicion, like she’d just punched him in the gut with her words.

She crossed her arms. “I know they get tattoos to show ranks. My father wrote about it, he had everything pinned on an evidence board in his office. He just never explained it to me.”

“These tattoos…” Justin’s voice dropped to a whisper, thick with regret, like speaking it aloud made the truth heavier.

“They’re not just marks. They’re a binding contract.

When you wear them, you swear allegiance…

to everything. The Lockes. The deals. The blood.

” He swallowed, his gaze distant. “Once you’ve got one, there’s no leaving. Not without consequences.”

Her pulse quickened, her gaze never leaving him. “No shit. Explain.”

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck like it hurt to even talk about it.

“The ink marks your place in the Reapers,” he muttered.

His eyes were shadowed now, as if the weight of the tattoos bore down on him even in the silence.

“The bodyguards wear the most visible tattoos. A black serpent coiled around a dagger, its fangs bared, ready to strike. The dagger’s hilt is engraved with an ‘L’. ”

Her pulse jumped, but she masked it. “Tristan and Tyson don’t have that tattoo.”

Justin’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening.

“No, they don’t. But the tally marks beside the dagger that matter most.” He shook his head, like even mentioning it disgusted him.

“One means fresh blood. New recruits, still proving themselves. Two means they’ve seen the violence up close, done the work.

But three or more?” His voice dropped, a hard edge to it.

“That’s leadership. Killers. The ones who handle the dirtiest jobs without hesitation. ”

He swallowed hard. “And then there’s Cassian’s personal guards. They bear the scythe, usually on the left forearm.” He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to blow the weight of the words out of his lungs, then pulled up his sleeve to reveal his bare skin. “Those men are ruthless.”

Her stomach twisted. “How are they picked for their section?”