Page 43 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

Valerie

S moke still curls from the rooftops, rising into the deepening twilight like the ghost of the battle we just fought.

The square is a patchwork of chaos—overturned benches, singed flags, shattered glass.

The scent of gunpower and blood is thick in the cooling air.

Sirens wail faintly in the distance, making their way to Steele to help.

There are bodies, many of them just injured, but a few.

. .unmoving. Their people. I don’t know if any of ours have gone down. Not yet.

I stand tall at the foot of the bronze Frederick E. Savage statue, forcing the man who wants to talk to walk down a street lined with our people, their weapons at the ready. If he wants to talk, then we’ll talk, but it won’t be easy for him.

My arm is bleeding again where my bullet graze wound had torn open somehow.

I have a split lip and a bruise feels like it’s forming on my temple where I’d ran into someone who hadn’t seen me coming.

I’m covered in the grime and dirt of the battle, my shirt torn in places where I’d caught it on bits of metal on the barricades.

A fire burns in my chest that can’t be soothed with simple words or apologies.

Whatever this man says, it better be good.

The livestream is still going, some of the cameras toppled over and streaming sideways. Around us, a few people work to right them, trying to catch as much as possible. The world has seen enough to make their decisions at this point, but it’s the least we can do.

Apparently, the 27 Foundation has seen enough as well, if they’re sending this man to come speak to me.

The line of sleek black SUVs that were looming at the edge of town have gone still at this point.

The firefight had stopped abruptly when the man’s white SUV had appeared, and it feels like we’re all holding a breath mid-battle.

This isn’t how war works, though I suppose the leaders having a conversation is common.

Still, none of us trust it, and none of us put our guns away.

The man approaching is immaculate. The closer he gets, the more details I can see.

His dove-gray suit is as expensive as I thought from a distance, and the closer he gets, I can tell it’s been perfectly dry-cleaned.

There isn’t a crease out of place, not even where his arms and knees bend.

His shoes are polished to a mirror sheen despite the dust and debris he has to walk through.

His graying hair is swept back with military precision, the kind of haircut that tells me this man has been trained with a rifle.

There’s no blood on him. He doesn’t sweat.

He’s just cold calculation and unsettling calm.

He walks toward us with the kind of measured confidence that doesn’t need to raise its voice to command a room. . . or a battlefield.

I don’t flinch when he stops fifteen feet in front of me.

“Ms. Decatur,” he greets, his voice smooth as oil. “May we speak?”

I narrow my eyes. My body aches right now, evidence of the fight. My ears are ringing from the explosions and gunfire. My shotgun hangs loosely at my side. I’m not pointing it at him now, but it’s loaded, and I can fire at a moment’s notice. I don’t trust this man. I don’t trust any of them.

“She’s not yours to summon,” Knox growls from beside me, his finger twitching over the trigger of his gun. He doesn’t have the same qualms I do. His gun is pointed directly at this man’s chest. If he so much as moves towards me, I won’t have to shoot him. Knox will.

I touch his wrist, my hand steady. “It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

“You’re bleeding,” Wolf murmurs quietly.

I don’t look away from the stranger. “Then let him see what I’m willin’ to spill.”

I take a few measured steps forward, closing the distance so we’re only about ten feet from each other. The move is more symbolic than necessary, two generals stepping up to discuss the war. It also shows I’m not afraid of him.

“Impressive showing,” he says, glancing around at the people watching him like a hawk. He’s surrounded and yet entirely at ease. “Steele surprised us.”

“That was the point,” I answer, watching him carefully.

“And the names you dropped on your livestream?” He arches a brow. “A bold move. Some of them were still active, useful even. They’ll have to be disposed of. Naturally.”

I can tell the comment is an attempt to make me feel bad, a way to measure just how big my heart is.

It’s damn big, but I don’t have pity for people willing to hurt other people.

They chose the risky pathway, to work under a nefarious shadow organization.

That was bound to come bite them in the ass.

If they were smart, they’d have run the moment I dropped their name, actors or not.

“Useful for destroying lives maybe,” I say, not addressing his comment about disposing of them.

His expression barely shifts. It’s just a fractional narrowing of his eyes that I notice. “Collateral,” he says.

“They were people.”

“They were parts in a machine,” he corrects. “You chose to grind the machine to a halt.”

“No,” I say, taking a step closer, my voice fierce despite the weariness filling my body. “I chose to show the world the machine existed .”

A silence falls between us, thick and humming.

“You didn’t come here just to compliment me,” I say, watching him for any signs of action. There’s none.

He inclines his head. “No. I came to extend an offer.”

The words are like a slap in the face. I blink, uncertain if I’d heard right. “An offer?”

“You’ve proven your reach, your influence, and your following. You’re not the first we’ve considered recruiting, just the most volatile.”

My lips curl. “You think after everything you’ve done, I’ll work with you?”

“We think,” he replies, “that your message resonated far louder than we expected. You’ve destabilized a delicate balance. And frankly, a contained mouth is more useful than a loud one.”

“So now I’m a mouthpiece?”

His lips quirk up. “You’re a brand, an icon.

You move the masses. With the Foundation at your back, you’d never have to fight this hard again.

” His eyes fall to where Lennox stands with a pistol in his hand, his men around him, his pretty hair only a little out of place.

“You’d never have to lower yourself to work with criminals like that.

” His gaze focuses back on me. “Imagine all the power you harness focused and streamlined. You’d have the reach to remake the world. ”

I shake my head slowly. “This was never about fame.”

His brow ticks upward, mildly intrigued. “No? It’s always about fame and riches.”

“No. It’s about freedom.” My voice cracks on the word, fierce and raw.

“Mine. The people I love. The fans you tried to scare into silence. The ones who bleed in back alleys so someone else can keep their illusion of control. Every smalltown singer, actor, producer who had great talent that you squished in the name of power. It’s about their freedom. It isn’t about fame.”

He studies me for a long moment. “Hate is an asset, Ms. Decatur. It motivates you and you’re certainly. . .motivated. I thought you might be interested in this deal.”

“Then you underestimated me again,” I goad, tipping up my chin.

Another small silence and then he laughs softly. “Everyone has a price,” he finally declares. “You’re not immune to the game. You’ve just been playing it from the wrong board.”

“I’m not for sale.”

His nostrils flare and I can tell I’m starting to get to him. “Everyone is.”

“Then you don’t know much about the Green River Basin,” I point out. “This ain’t Hollywood. There are things more important than money and power.”

The man’s smile fades. He finally glances behind me, taking in the angry faces, the people who would happily shoot him if I command it. We may be battered, but we’re still standing. He can’t take that away from us.

“This wouldn’t be a surrender,” he tries again. “It’s adaptation. We can work in the light if that’s where you force us. The Foundation was never about secrecy. It’s about control. Control remains viable.”

“Not here,” I growl.

There’s another pause before a familiar voice cuts through the thick air. “She gave you her answer.”

Wolf. He steps forward to stand beside me, his bruises dark, his breath uneven in a way that tells me his ribs are bothering him. Despite that, his jaw is set with steel. “I’d be really careful about how you push.”

The Foundation man’s gaze flicks to him. “I should’ve known you’ve be involved. You took a liking to Ms. Decatur from the beginning.”

Wolf grins. “You should’ve known I’d choose her.”

Gray suit stares at Wolf. “This is the last bridge you’d be burning. She comes in, we’ll forgive. Otherwise, you’re no use to us.”

Wolf straightens and glances at me. “Allow me to strike the match then.”

Wolf’s voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t have to. The words are a blade sharpened by loyalty, by obsession, by something that evolved beyond infatuation. We’ve bled for each other, and we’ll bleed again.

“Very well,” the man says, turning his attention back to me. “Here’s my offer. You, Valerie Decatur are off-limits. Steele, Wyoming is sovereign. That’s the agreement. For now.”

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

“You keep your fire contained to this soil. Step beyond, and we’ll be waiting.”

“I won’t promise that. I won’t be placed in a cage when I have wings.” My words are angry, but they’re also defiant. I won’t be making any deals with this man, even if he thinks this is a deal in the making.

He smiles. “That’s the offer. Do with it what you will. Once you step outside of this basin, everything is fair game.”

“So you’ll be watching me?”

He chuckles softly. “We always have. We’ll be watching even closer now.” He tips his chin to me. “Have a good night, Ms. Decatur.”

He turns and walks back toward the line of SUVs without another word.

He doesn’t bark orders. He doesn’t signal retreat.

But it seems like that’s the instructions anyway.

We all watch him walk away and I have half a mind to shoot him in the back, but doing so would accomplish nothing.

He may be a higher up in the Foundation, but there’s no one way to stamp them out.

If I killed him, he’d just be replaced by another, like a hydra regrowing its heads.

Toppling an organization like the 27 Foundation takes time and commitment, both of which we haven’t had much ability to utilize yet in the middle of survival.

So even though it’s tempting to tell everyone to leave them with one last impression of us, I don’t.

I just watch him walk away, get in his mockingly white SUV, and lead all the black SUVs away.

They disappear into the dark like shadows melting back into the sky, but that white one stands out all the way out to the main road, until it turns a corner and we can’t see it anymore.

The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It’s heavy, loaded, like a warning. I stand in the quiet, my pulse loud in my ears, almost drowning out the ringing. My arm is throbbing. My lip stings. My head is threatening to split wide open with the headache pushing at my forehead.

“That’s it?” I say, half to myself, half to everyone else.

“It’s not a win,” Wolf reminds me. “It’s a temporary ceasefire.”

Gilden comes up behind me, resting a dirt-smeared hand on my shoulder. “Then we build something better in the pause.”

Knox shakes his head, his eyes watching the road, his muscles tight. “I don’t trust them. We just painted a target on Steele,” he says. “This was only round one.”

I turn my eyes up to the bronze bull rider again, forever suspended mid-flight. I don’t pretend to know anything about the Savage legacy, but I can’t help but think the statue represents something more than just freedom.

It’s defiance.

“Then we get stronger,” I say. “Smarter. We survive at all costs. That’s what we do.”

Somewhere inside, something new flickers. A resolve that hasn’t been forged with fame, but in blood. We will not be threatened. We will not have our wings clipped.

And I, Valerie Decatur, will not be caged. . .