Page 193 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

Lexi storms out of the room clutching papers like they’re the only solid thing in a world that’s gone liquid and unpredictable. I can see her from my position on the balcony above—the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her hands shake despite her attempt at control.

Koa says something to her, his voice too low for me to catch from up here, but whatever it is makes her stop for half a second before she keeps moving.

Atticus nudges me with his elbow, sharp and insistent. It’s time.

We spent the last fifteen minutes silently eliminating Gilbert’s men—every guard stationed around the perimeter, every lookout positioned at the exits. The Reapers decided to join after all, Noah sending a team when I explained what was actually at stake. Bodies are cooling in the shadows, neutralized with the kind of efficiency that comes from years of training.

Now it’s just us and Gilbert and whatever the fuck happens next.

We’re crouched on the balcony above the office where Lexi just was, hidden in the darkness of the rafters. Through the slats in the floor, I can see Gilbert moving inside the room, can see Axel standing against the wall looking like he wants to disappear.

Gilbert’s voice drifts up, cold and decisive. “We kill her.”

My blood turns to ice.

Axel snaps, “No.”

“She knows too much. She’s a liability now.” Gilbert’s tone is steady like she’s just another pawn to dispose of. “Clean break. No loose ends.”

Something flutters to the ground—papers.

Atticus nods at me. That’s our cue.

He moves first, fast and fluid, swinging off the balcony railing like it’s second nature. His boots hit the door with enough force to splinter the wood, the lock giving way as it crashes open. The sound echoes through the warehouse.

I’m right behind him, gun already drawn and aimed. My hands are steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system, despite the rage making everything sharp and clear.

Atticus is larger than Gilbert, using that size advantage immediately. He grabs the older man by the neck with one hand and physically throws him across the room. Gilbert hits the far wall hard enough to crack plaster, stumbling but staying on his feet.

Axel tries to run, scrambling for the door, but I swing my gun toward him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

He freezes.

I turn the gun back on Gilbert, who’s straightening his jacket like he wasn’t just thrown across the room.

“Put your hands up!”

Gilbert raises his hands slowly, but there’s no fear in his eyes. Just calculation.

“You want to end my bloodline,” I continue, stepping closer. My finger hovers over the trigger, muscle memory making it easy. “But we’re not going down that easy.”

I’m about to press it—about to finish this—when Gilbert laughs. Actually laughs, the sound rich and mocking.

He stands up straighter, dusting himself off. “You don’t know what you’re up against, boy.”

Then he moves.

Faster than a man his age should be able to move, faster than I expect. He bulldozes into me, his shoulder connecting with my chest, driving me backward. The impact knocks the wind out of my lungs and the gun flies from my hands, skittering across the floor.

Before I can recover, his fist connects with my gut. Pain explodes through my abdomen, doubling me over.

“Let’s settle this the old-fashioned way, shall we?” Gilbert’s voice is almost cheerful as he pulls back for another punch.

But Atticus is there, ripping him off me with both hands, spinning him around. His fists connect with Gilbert’s face—once, twice, three times. Blood sprays from Gilbert’s nose, his lip splitting.

Atticus holds him back, arms locked around his chest, giving me time to recover.