Page 38 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

"Insulin overdose mimics natural causes," War said, arranging his silverware at perfect right angles to his plate. "Nearly impossible to detect without specific screening. Clean. Efficient."

"Crowbar to the head," River suggested.

"One bullet, well placed," Xion countered.

"Fire," Xavier said quietly.

Tatiana set her wine glass down with a sharp click. "This isn't just about how. It's about when and where." She examined the table, gaze moving from face to face.

Shepherd dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. "Fear has a flavor. True justice requires time to savor it properly. A man like Wright deserves to experience the full spectrum of what he inflicted."

Nikita cleared his throat. "Wright's security detail changes shifts at two. The window is narrow."

Annie refilled water glasses, her silver bob swinging with each precise movement. "The question remains whether to make an example of him or keep it quiet."

Hunter's jaw twitched as the family debated murder between bites of meat and potatoes.

"Wright showed up at the funeral home demanding Tyler's body," Annie said, passing a bowl of mashed potatoes around the table.

"Claiming legal ownership," Yuri corrected. "Like the boy was livestock."

"The consent forms are garbage," Nikita said. “Every judge in the county would throw them out without a bribe.”

"Wright only wants the body because it contains evidence," Shepherd said, eyes narrowing. "Tyler's tissue samples would reveal exactly what drug combinations Wright was testing."

War set his fork down. "He'll be back tomorrow with a court order, one way or another."

A heavy silence fell over the table.

My mind raced through options, discarding each one as quickly as it formed.

Legal challenges would take too long. Hiding the body would only delay the inevitable.

The image of Tyler on my table flashed through my mind—his tattoo, his binder, his dignity stripped away by a system that never saw him as human.

I wouldn't let Wright violate him again. Not while I still breathed.

"Then we have only one option," I said, meeting each family member's eyes in turn. "We cremate Tyler's body before Wright can get his hands on it."

Annie nodded sharply. "Do it tonight."

River glanced at Yuri. "I can handle the cremation. Nothing in the logs."

"I'll oversee the process," Yuri agreed, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "The certificates can be backdated."

"The county held him for weeks before transferring him to us," River added. "Any required waiting periods have already passed. We're clear on the technical requirements."

"Wright will know what we did," War pointed out, eyes narrowing.

"Good," Annie said, her voice hardening to steel. "Let him know we protect our own. Even in death."

Nikita's lips curled into a smile. "He can't prove anything without the body. And he can't claim damages over research materials he technically shouldn't have been collecting in the first place."

Eli straightened in his chair. "What about his threats to deport Misha?"

Hunter's fingers interlaced with mine.

Xander's hand landed on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

I nodded, pressing my knee against his in silent thanks.

"Wright's threats are exactly why we're having this discussion," Nikita said from the head of the table.

Unlike the rest of us in casual clothes, he wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most cars, pocket square matching his silver tie.

"He's escalating because of your unauthorized clinic break-in.

The question now is how we handle the consequences. "

The accusation in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. I straightened my spine, refusing to look guilty. They'd voted me down, treated me like I was too damaged to think clearly. Hunter and I had done what needed to be done.

"If we hadn't taken those files, we wouldn't know about the twenty-three deaths," I countered, chin lifting. "All connected to his trials. All disposable people he thought no one would miss."

War sighed. "This is exactly why we should have proceeded through proper channels. Wright is escalating because you two went rogue."

Hunter's knee pressed harder against mine. The tension in the room thickened.

Nikita frowned at the dining room window. "We’re being watched. Wright’s people, I think."

River's jaw tightened. "How long have they been watching us?"

"Long enough," Nikita replied, rising.

The doorbell rang.

Yuri stood. "I'll get it."

The family tensed, bodies shifting subtly into readiness. War's hand slipped beneath the table. Xander angled his chair toward the doorway. River's fingers closed around the steak knife beside his plate.

Raised voices drifted from the front hall. Male voices, professional tones with an edge of authority. Then Yuri's deeper rumble, barely contained anger beneath his words.

"The fuck is this?" War muttered, half-rising from his chair.

Three men in tailored suits swept into the dining room behind Yuri. The intruders carried leather portfolios and stood with shoulders squared, chins lifted. Their suits screamed money, but their eyes screamed mercenary.

The lead man surveyed the table with Arctic eyes. "Preston Whitmore, Meridian Legal Services. We represent several pharmaceutical companies."

Nikita dabbed his mouth with a napkin, unhurried.

His eyes narrowed slightly, the only sign that he recognized the name.

As the family's lawyer, he would know every major player in the legal field.

"Mr. Whitmore. Your reputation precedes you.

Corporate fixer for the pharmaceutical industry, if I recall correctly.

I don't, however, recall inviting you into my home during a family meal. "

Whitmore's eyebrows rose a fraction. "This couldn't wait."

His associates distributed envelopes. Mine read MICHAEL VASILIEV. Hunter's: HUNTER SONG.

I tore open the envelope, pulling out thick stacks of legal documents with "CEASE AND DESIST" stamped in red across the top page.

"The cease and desist language in these documents is unnecessarily broad," Nikita commented, not even opening his envelope. "And the jurisdictional claims are questionable at best. I assume the NDAs contain liquidated damages clauses that would never survive scrutiny in court?"

Whitmore's lips thinned. "Your legal expertise is noted, Mr. Volkov.

However, my clients have authorized me to offer a generous settlement.

" Whitmore nodded to his associates, who produced additional documents.

"Eight figures, plus relocation assistance to any city of your choosing.

Sign the NDAs, return all stolen materials, release the Graham remains to Dr. Wright, and this unpleasantness ends today. "

The threat behind the offer hung in the air. No one reached for their envelopes. No one spoke. Shepherd leaned back in his chair, blue eyes cold as he studied Whitmore.

"And if we don't sign?" he asked finally, pushing his envelope away with one finger.

"Federal prosecution for theft of medical records, corporate espionage, and violation of multiple confidentiality agreements." Whitmore's smile never reached his eyes. "Mr. Vasiliev's immigration status makes his situation particularly precarious. Deportation would be the least of his concerns."

He paused, gaze moving to me. "I understand you have... experience with photography, Mr. Vasiliev. Our researchers uncovered some particularly interesting sessions from the Roche collection. Stunning composition, if disturbing subject matter."

The room tilted. Those photos still existed. I'd believed they were destroyed. My credibility would vanish.

Hunter's hand found mine under the table, squeezing hard enough to bruise. The pain anchored me, pulling me back from the edge of panic. His thumb pressed against my wrist, finding my pulse. One, two, three beats.

"Look at me," Hunter commanded softly. "Just me. Not them."

I focused on his face, on the scar through his eyebrow, on eyes that had seen me at my most vulnerable and chosen to stay anyway.

"They can't have you," he continued. "You're here. You're safe. You're mine."

The possessive declaration wrapped around me like armor. My breathing slowed to match his rhythm. Around the table, the family waited. Not watching with pity or discomfort, but ready to fight. For me. For us.

I wasn't the helpless victim in Roche's photos anymore. I was Misha Vasiliev, surrounded by people who would kill for me. In love with a man who could ground me with a touch.

Wright's lawyers had no idea what they were up against.

"Our investigators have compiled quite a dossier on the Laskin family's... unusual business connections,” Whitmore continued.

“Particularly your association with certain Russian interests, Mr. Volkov.

The FBI's Organized Crime Division finds RICO cases involving funeral homes especially interesting.

Something about the ease of disposing of evidence. "

"Deputy Director Wallace still taking pharma payoffs?" Ash asked from the doorway. "Last I checked, RICO focused on actual organized crime."

Whitmore's eyes narrowed. "And you would know this how?"

"Special Agent Ashley Valentine, retired.

Twelve years with the Organized Crime Task Force, four with ViCAP.

" Ash's smile was all teeth. "Now I handle security consulting for Lucky Losers Inc.

Defense contracting, DoD clearance. We help government agencies identify which threats are real and which are. .. corporate overreach."

Whitmore's confidence faltered. His gaze darted between Ash and Nikita, recalculating his position.

Nikita folded his hands on the table. "Your FBI threats need updating, Mr. Whitmore. As for deportation threats, my contact in Congress would find such attempts at intimidation disconcerting."