Chapter Fifteen
Emerson
We’d all agreed on one thing—no matter what came next, whether it was revenge, justice, or that warped space where the two bleed together, Kimber would be kept far from it.
She’s already lost too much. She deserves mornings like this: sunlight pouring through the windows, uninhibited laughter filling rooms that once felt haunted, and a home that finally holds more warmth than ghosts.
The TV hums with some old animated movie—the kind we all grew up on, the kind that doesn’t ask anything of you except to laugh.
Kimber laughs so hard she snorts, full and unfiltered, and the sound hits me square in the chest. It pulls a genuine smile out of me before I can stop it, not the practiced kind I wear out of habit, but one that actually feels like mine.
Berkley is curled cross-legged beside her on the couch, a blanket draped over both of them, her hair a soft, tangled halo that says she didn’t bother fighting sleep this morning.
She flicks a piece of popcorn at Kimber, misses on purpose, and earns herself a sharp scolding in that bossy, dead-serious little-girl tone that makes Ronan and Rowan nearly choke on their coffee trying not to laugh.
For a handful of stolen minutes, everything is easy. The world beyond these walls disappears—no blood, no fire, no fathers pulling strings from the dark. Just the warmth of the room, the sound of laughter, and the quiet miracle of all of us being here together.
She laughs now—really laughs—and the sound lands in my chest like something sacred, something fragile enough to protect at all costs.
But even that light casts shadows. She’s been through hell, deeper and darker than any of us, deeper than she’s ever said out loud.
The truth of it—the truth of what she and Reign endured—lives in my memory like a burn that never cools.
The video shattered whatever illusions I had left.
Seeing what those bastards took from them, how thoroughly they tried to erase them, was worse than any nightmare I’d ever built in my head.
It made her silence make sense. Her fury. Her fire.
I glance at Berk now, at the soft line of her smile as she brushes popcorn off Kimber’s lap, and I wonder how she still manages to shine at all.
There’s a part of me that wants to wrap her up, keep her far from the violence waiting for us.
But she’s never been the type to hide behind anyone.
She’s our storm, our spark. And when the time comes to strike again, I know she’ll lead us through the darkness, no matter how much it costs her.
For now, though, she’s laughing with my sister, and I let the sound settle in my chest. It’s fragile and fleeting, but it’s real—and after all that we’ve lost, that’s enough to keep me going.
The movie’s just ending when my phone buzzes on the coffee table, shattering the fragile calm we’ve built this morning. The sound alone is enough to stiffen every muscle in my body. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Bryce. Again.
Ronan mutters a curse from where he’s sprawled on the couch. “Just ignore him,” he says, though his jaw tightens. “He’ll get the message, eventually.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, thumbing the decline button for what feels like the hundredth time this week. The satisfaction lasts all of two seconds before another notification flashes. A text. One photo.
The air in my lungs turns to ice. My mother.
She’s bound to a chair, wrists tied with what looks like electrical cord.
There’s a rag jammed between her teeth, her mascara smeared down her face like bruises.
And the gun—Jesus, the gun—pressed against her temple, silver and cold.
My hand trembles just enough to make the image blur on the screen.
“Em?” Berk’s voice comes out low, cautious. She’s reading me the way she always does, and when I look up, she’s already on her feet, the laughter from earlier erased.
I don’t have to say a word. I turn the screen toward her, toward the guys. Ronan’s face goes blank—the quiet before a storm. Rowan swears softly under his breath, running a hand through his hair, the tension already winding through his frame. For a moment, no one breathes.
“Kimber,” I say finally, forcing my voice to stay calm.
“Sweetheart, can you pick up the popcorn and take it to the kitchen for me? We’ll be there in a minute.
” She gathers the bowls and scurries off toward the kitchen, pretending not to see the way Berk sinks into a chair, hands trembling on her knees.
Ronan’s the first to speak once Kimber’s safely out of earshot. “He’s escalating,” he says, his voice hard as steel. “It’s been too long. Bryce knows we’re part of the destruction now—and he knows we’re not on his side anymore.”
Rowan leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the screen I still hold in my hand. “That’s not leverage,” he says quietly. “That’s desperation.”
Berk lifts her head, and there’s something lethal in her expression—no fear, no hesitation, just cold fury. “Then we hit back,” she says, voice like cut glass. “We don’t give him time to think he has power. We end this before he tries to use her against us.”
I nod slowly, my throat tight, the rage blooming hot under my skin. The photo’s still on my screen, my mother’s eyes wide with terror. Whatever Bryce thinks this is—a warning, a leash—it’s the last mistake he’s ever going to make.
Because this isn’t fear he’s planted. It’s resolve, and we’re done playing nice.
But as much as I want to tell myself I don’t care that she made her bed and can rot in it, the truth crawls up my throat, anyway.
I don’t want my mother dead. She’s done enough damage, sure—years of drinking, pills, choosing every poison she could find over her own kids—but that doesn’t erase the woman she used to be.
When we were little, before our lives went to hell, she was warm.
Funny, even. She used to braid Kimber’s hair and sing off-key while she made pancakes.
Back before the accident that took Berk’s and the twins’ moms, before the grief turned her into someone unrecognizable.
I stare at the photo again, at the terrified version of her bound and gagged, and all the memories I’ve buried start clawing their way out. Kimber still loves her. She clings to the fragments that I can’t anymore, the pieces of a mother who used to try. I can’t take that from her.
“You need to call him,” Berk says, her voice calm but edged with steel.
She stands just behind me, close enough that I can feel her warmth at my back, grounding me.
“The phones are trace-proof. I took care of it. Use the visual filter, keep the background hidden. I don’t want him seeing where we are… I don’t want him staining this place.”
Her tone is practical, almost cold, but I know what’s behind it. She doesn’t want him tainting this place—the one small corner of the world that finally feels like ours.
I glance at her, really look at her, and for a second, I forget to breathe.
She’s calm in the face of this, focused in a way I wish I could be.
Her eyes are on the phone, her mind already three steps ahead, calculating.
She’s not just trying to protect me—she’s protecting Kimber too. Protecting all of us.
I nod slowly, my stomach twisting. “Alright,” I say, exhaling hard. “Let’s see what the bastard wants.”
Ronan steps closer, crossing his arms, his expression carved from stone. “You sure you want to play it this way, Em?”
“No,” I answer truthfully, thumb hovering over the screen. “But if I don’t, he’ll think he’s winning.”
Berk gives me a look then—one that holds quiet fire and faith. “He’s not,” she says sternly.
Her words ground me, and for the first time since the message came through, I feel something steady under my feet. I take one more breath, hit the call button, and wait for Bryce to answer.
Because no matter what game he thinks he’s playing, he’s about to learn that we don’t bluff. Not anymore.
The call connects quickly, and Bryce’s face fills the screen—hair wild, eyes rimmed red, a frantic fatigue that used to hide behind executive suits.
I can tell he’s on edge before he speaks.
He snarls straight into the camera, eyes locking onto me like a viper.
“You took something from me,” he spits. “Give me Kimber back and I’ll let your mother live. ”
My throat goes dry. Kimber is not bargaining material. Not now. Not ever. My voice comes out cold. “She’s not coming back.”
He swears under his breath; the words spilling out in a jagged mix of panic and rage.
“What the fuck is this?” he mutters. “Since when do you little shits have balls?” His grip tightens, the gun pressing harder to my mother’s temple as his voice drops, turning inward, almost reflective.
“Didn’t think you’d hold it together after that car accident. ”
The contempt in his tone is heavy, ugly—like the last part isn’t meant for us at all, but for her. For the woman he’s using as leverage. The words barely qualify as sentences, just venom dressed up as thought.
Bryce’s voice slides into venom. “You should’ve died too,” he says, jerking the gun so it jabs my mother’s temple. She flinches and makes a tiny sound that turns into a muffled whimper. “You stayed home. You fucking ruined the plan! But we made you into nothing but a whore.”
Something shifts in her eyes then—subtle, but unmistakable.
The fog thins, clearing just enough for a fragile thread of lucidity to snap into place.
She works the gag loose and spits it free, breath hitching once before she steadies herself.
Her gaze locks first on the phone, then flicks to Bryce, sharp and unyielding.
Berk stays carefully out of frame, hidden by design, her presence deliberately kept invisible—we’re not ready to reveal her yet, not like this.