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thirty

Liam came to with a sharp inhale, a gasp that cut through the thick, suffocating darkness. White-hot pain lanced through his skull, sharp and immediate, like a live wire sparking behind his eyes. His vision blurred at the edges, swimming between flickering light and shadow. The scent of mildew and rust curled in his nostrils, damp and cloying. Cold metal bit into his wrists.

Cuffed. Trapped. Fucked.

He forced his breath to even out, shoving past the disorientation. His body still felt sluggish, like his brain was half a step behind the rest of him. But the last thing he remembered surged back into place?—

Brody.

The pieces snapped together with brutal clarity. Dropping Daphne at HQ. The gut feeling he couldn’t explain, the certainty that had sent him straight to the café to warn Cade and Davey.

And Brody—waiting for him.

The pain in his head.

A vague memory of gunfire.

And then... nothing.

A few feet away, Brody stood, arms crossed, watching him with a casual detachment that set Liam’s teeth on edge. Too calm. Too at ease for someone who had just betrayed everyone.

Liam swallowed against the nausea rolling through him, blinking hard to clear his vision. His head throbbed, but something else was wrong. His ears?—

Silence.

No breathing. No footsteps. No quiet hum of the city vibrating around him. Just an eerie, static-filled void where sound should be. The wrongness of it sent a cold spike of adrenaline through him. His implant—fucked.

But then?—

“…ghost station.”

The words cut through the static, distant but there, muffled like he was hearing them from the other side of thick glass. The smaller noises—shifts in Brody’s stance, the click of his boot against concrete—were missing. Gone. But voices, louder sounds, those still bled through the distortion, warping at the edges.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his expression neutral. He couldn’t let Brody see how much he couldn’t hear.

“Did you know the city’s got plenty of these?” Brody’s voice echoed through the vast emptiness, bouncing off the tiles, its cadence sharper than the words themselves. “‘Course you did. You grew up here. You and all of your fucking cousins probably used them like your own personal playground.”

Liam watched him pace, hands in his pockets, posture lazy but calculated. He should have heard the subtle shifts in weight, the scrape of fabric against fabric as Brody moved—but there was nothing. Just the vacuum, swallowing everything that wasn’t sharp enough to punch through the interference.

Brody scoffed. “There are so fucking many of you Wildes—” He broke off. Looked up. “Huh. Think that’s them coming for you?” he asked, eyes tracking something Liam couldn’t hear.

Liam didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Let the words settle. Then he fired back, low and steady?—

“I think it’s Sullivan coming for you .”

The flinch was small, but Liam saw it. A hesitation—just a fraction too long. “You leave my brother’s name out of your mouth. He’s not involved.”

“You involved him when you betrayed us.”

Brody’s expression tightened, something raw flashing across his face before he snapped, “He’s not one of you!” The words came out sharp, clipped—too fast and too certain. Like he needed them to be true. “He’ll see reason soon enough.”

But the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers curled just a little too tightly at his sides—Liam wasn’t sure which of them Brody was trying to convince more.

“Then you don’t know your twin at all.” He flexed his fingers against the cuffs, testing. Too tight. Circulation cut off, fingers numb. Fuck. “Sullivan doesn’t follow. He never has. And he will absolutely not see your reasoning for turning traitor, no matter what it is.”

Brody’s jaw flexed, a muscle jumping near his temple.

“So you can spin it however you want. Tell yourself you’re playing the long game. That you had no choice. But when this is over?” Liam held his gaze, let his voice go quiet, deliberate. “Sully’s never gonna see you as anything other than exactly what you are.”

For the first time, Brody’s smirk slipped completely. He exhaled, short and sharp, nostrils flaring. Resentment, frustration—raw anger—flashed across his face before he locked it down again.

Liam let the silence stretch. It was the only weapon available to him, and he was going to wield it to his full advantage. Luckily, he and silence were old friends.

He waited. Watched. Made Brody stew in it.

Then, when it was heavy enough, when it pressed just the right way?—

“Why?” Quiet. Steel-edged. A scalpel of a question.

“They pay me more.” The answer was flat, unapologetic. But something shifted beneath the surface. A flicker of justification. Like he thought the numbers alone made it make sense. Like he had to believe they did.

Liam gave a low, humorless laugh. Shook his head. “You’re gonna die for a paycheck.”

The smirk barely held. Just a fraction too tight. “You think this is just about money?”

“Isn’t it?”

His jaw flexed. A flicker of something there—anger? Doubt? Resentment?

“I got here first,” he muttered, more to himself than to Liam. His gaze flicked aside, as if remembering. “Elliot brought me in. I got Sully a job. Me. And somehow, I ended up the afterthought.”

Liam stilled. “Sullivan.” Not a question. A statement. “This is all about Sully?”

The laugh that followed was sharp, bitter. Not even a denial.

“I was the one here first. I put in the time. And somehow, he became the one you all trusted. The one who fucking mattered. You sent him overseas, into battles, and you regulated me to the glorified babysitting jobs.”

Liam didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Let him keep talking. Brody was on a roll now, pacing and agitated.

“Sullivan has rules. A code. He pretends that makes him better than me.” A scoff. “But tell me, Liam—what’s the difference between us, really? He kills for the job. I just stopped pretending I needed a reason.”

There it was.

Not just money. Bitterness. Resentment. Maybe something even deeper than that.

Liam couldn’t stop the laugh of disbelief. “All this is because you couldn’t stand being second to your own twin?”

The pause was just a beat too long.

Which meant Liam was right.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brody muttered and stopped pacing. Again, he seemed to be listening to something.

Liam felt it this time. A faint vibration beneath his boots, the kind he might have ignored if his implant wasn’t fried.

A train? Or something else?

“Sounds like I need to shift to Plan C.” He tapped his ear.

Liam went still. Shit. How had he missed the earpiece? Brody was in contact with someone else, someone who was feeding him information.

Atlas Frost?

Another Praetorian operative?

Brody exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was resetting. His smirk returned, but this time, it was sharper. “Your cousins have found us and they’re armed for war. So…” He grabbed a duffle bag and dragged it over. “I am sorry for this, Liam. Believe it or not, I did like you.”

Liam kept his expression blank, but his pulse kicked hard. “Plan C?”

“Yeah, Plan A was to frame Cade. I figured with his and Davey’s history, it was a done deal, but Davey had to be all fucking noble and go hear him out. Plan B was to frame you, which I’ve been laying the groundwork for, just in case. I even mentioned my suspicions about you to Cade a few months ago. Just an offhand comment, a gentle push in your direction. It was brilliant. Should’ve worked, but after that whole thing with Elliot?—”

“You poisoned Elliot. Your best friend.”

Brody shrugged. “And I hate my twin brother. So what?”

The words hung between them.

“Yeah, okay, fine. If you want to point fingers, I poisoned him. It was meant only for Benji. Not my fault Elliot ate a slice.”

“That’s fucking cold.”

Brody’s smirk faltered—not in guilt, but in genuine confusion.

“Cold?” His brows drew together, his head tilting slightly, as if he were struggling to translate a foreign language. “Benji was a threat. Elliot was collateral damage. That happens in war.”

His tone was so flat, so eerily reasonable, it made Liam’s skin crawl.

“Why is it cold when I do it, but not when someone like Davey—a SEAL—does it under a flag?”

Jesus. He wasn’t playing dumb. He really didn’t get it.

Silence stretched between them.

Brody blinked, waiting like he expected an answer. When none came, he sighed. “Is that why you got suspicious of me?”

Liam didn’t respond. Couldn’t. There was no way to explain the difference to someone whose moral compass was that broken.

Finally Brody shrugged it off. “Well, no matter what tipped you off, I knew you couldn’t have you hanging around. So I followed you to the office, waited until you dropped Daphne off, and grabbed you. Took a few shots at Davey and Cade at the cafe to make it look like your doing?—”

He snorted. “ I wouldn’t have missed.”

“Even with your own cousins in the crosshairs?” Brody gave a low whistle that he couldn’t hear. “And you say I’m cold? Even I know that’s sub-zero, man.”

Jesus, this was bad.

Liam yanked on his cuffs, but there was no give at all. He could move his legs, but that wasn’t going to do him any good as long as his arms were trapped around the back of this fucking bench, which was bolted to the concrete floor.

He had to keep Brody talking. It was his only chance. “So why isn’t Plan B working?”

“Because my fucking brother grabbed Atlas Frost without telling me.”

“And Frost knows your identity,” Liam concluded. “You couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t spill it for the right price.”

Brody unzipped the duffle. “I wanted to wait and see if my cover held, if the evidence I’d planted to make you the mole was compelling enough, if Frost kept his mouth shut. Judging by the amount of firepower headed this way, it didn’t and he didn’t. So. Meet Plan C.” He pulled out a tactical vest lined with explosives.

Liam wasn’t surprised, but the sight of it still settled like lead in his stomach. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t do half measures.” Brody crouched in front of him, draping the vest around his shoulders like a man helping a friend into a jacket .

Liam exploded into motion.

He drove his knee up, fast and brutal, aiming for Brody’s face, but Brody twisted at the last second. The blow glanced off his shoulder instead of breaking his nose.

Brody swore, but Liam wasn’t done. He lunged, teeth bared, and sank them deep into Brody’s forearm.

Brody yelled in pain. Real pain.

Liam bit down harder. He tasted blood. Coppery, hot, a victory he didn’t have time to savor.

Brody slammed his elbow into Liam’s jaw. A sharp, bone-jarring impact that rattled his teeth and snapped his head back. Stars burst in his vision, and for a second, everything tilted.

Brody yanked his arm free, blood dripping from the fresh wound. He staggered back, shaking out his arm, eyes wild with something between fury and admiration.

“Jesus, Liam.” Brody wiped at the blood on his forearm with an almost amused shake of his head. “Don’t fight me on this. It won’t change a damn thing.

Liam panted through the pain, the metallic taste still on his tongue. He smirked and felt blood drip down his chin. His or Brody’s was anyone’s guess, but his money was on Brody’s.

Brody let out a breathless laugh, but it wasn’t quite steady now. “Damn shame this had to end like this. You’d have made one hell of a Praetorian.”

Liam braced himself for another fight, even as his vision swam, even with his hands useless behind his back—but Brody was done playing.

He moved fast, too fast.

Liam twisted, trying to throw his weight, kick out, anything?—

But Brody got the vest on him.

Straps snapped into place. Metal buckles locked down. The weight of the explosives settled across his chest like a death sentence.

“I really did like you.” Brody’s voice was almost gentle now, like a man regretting the inevitable. “But WSW won’t leave you behind. Even if they think you’re the mole, they’ll still try to save you. That’s the Wilde family’s biggest weakness. You’re too loyal to each other.”

Liam controlled his breath, forcing himself not to hyperventilate. Slow in, slow out. “Want to know your biggest weakness?”

“I don’t have any.” Brody pulled a small detonator module from the bag and slotted it into the vest’s wiring. The LED screen blinked to life with a countdown. Six minutes.

Six minutes until his team found him.

Six minutes until they had to decide if they could disarm the vest in time.

Six minutes until Brody was gone.

Brody tightened the last strap and patted the vest like it was a job well done. Then he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants, and exhaled. “But before this all kicks off, I really just gotta know. How did you figure it out? Nobody else had any goddamn clue, but you did.”

“You flinched,” Liam said. “After we found Benji dead and Elliot on death’s door, you flinched. I saw genuine regret as the medics carried Elliot out and I knew. That’s your weakness, O’Connell. You’re not as cold as you want to be.”

Brody stared at him for a long moment, before tapping his earpiece, listening. Then he moved.

Liam lunged before he could think better of it, using every ounce of strength he had left, but Brody was already pivoting, already a step ahead. He dodged, grabbed the duffle, and leapt onto the platform edge.

Brody’s smirk returned, but this time, it was almost pitying. “Tough break, Wilde. Looks like you’re out of time.”

Then he was gone.