Chapter Two #2
“Now I need you to return the favor. Make this one talk.”
His voice is steady. “Say the word.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Dash already dug into his past, ripped up everything he tried to bury. But I want to hear it from his mouth.”
Declan’s knuckles pop, one by one. That feral little grin spreading across his face tells me he’s ready to play. “Any limits?”
I smirk, proud as hell. “Whatever goes. Just don’t kill him. Not until he sings.”
I turn back to the squirming bastard on the floor, his face slick with sweat and fear. I crouch low, grip his chin, make him look at me.
“Congratulations,” I murmur. “Your miserable little life just got spared. Temporarily. So if I were you, I’d cooperate, because Declan? He’s got a real talent for breaking people without ever spilling a drop of blood.”
I pat his cheek, mocking, slow, then rise to my full height and start to walk away.
And then he snaps. “You can do whatever you want to me, I'll take my secrets to the fucking grave!” he roars, and the little snake lunges .
He tackles me hard, wild and sloppy, fists crashing into my face.
“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Your days are numbered! I’ll go down as the one who took out Wyck fucking Vaughn! ”
Ballsy.
He’s fast. I’ll give him that. But he forgot one important detail, I’m faster.
His hand flies behind his back, grabbing for something. A blade, a vial, maybe a button meant to call backup. He forgot who he was dealing with.
In a blink, my hands are on his throat. I squeeze.
Hard.
Until I hear the crack that ends the game.
Just like that… Dead.
His secrets rot with him.
I sigh. “Well… there goes my lead.”
Could I have held back? Sure. Did I want to? Not fucking really.
I shove his limp body off me and roll my shoulder like I just took out the trash.
“Declan,” I mutter, brushing soot off my jacket, “take his head. Put it on ice, might still have use for it. The rest of him? In the pit.”
“Yes, sir,” he nods, already reaching for me to pull me back to my feet.
I take his hand, stand, and let the adrenaline settle into my bones like it always does after a kill. There’s a high in the violence, a clarity. But it fades faster now.
Because as I brush ash off my clothes, one thought rises above the rest, my Little Fox.
The way she looked last time I saw her. The sound of her laugh. The way her breath caught when I pressed her against the door and told her she was mine.
And not hours ago, my father had the audacity to drop her name. Said he needed her. Said she was part of some sick plan.
Fuck that.
I’ve been too wrapped up in her. I know it. I’ve let my obsession bleed into my strategy, let her softness slow the blade I’m holding at my father’s throat. But I can’t stop.
Because she’s not a distraction. She’s the reason I need to win.
I won’t put her at risk. I won’t fail my Devils. And I won’t stop until my father is dead and rotting beneath the empire he built.
Still… Killing always puts me in a good mood.
And seeing her again?
That’ll be the fucking icing on my cake.
I’m itching again. And only one woman can scratch that.
Sitting in traffic feels like waiting for a vein to bleed out.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel, sharp and restless. The people on the other side of the road move like ants, oblivious. Blissfully unaware that hell could swallow them whole and they’d never see it coming.
I blink slowly. Then: “Siri, call Karter.”
The Bluetooth clicks.
“Hello?” His voice oozes through the speakers, low and lazy, like he’s just rolled out of someone’s bed. Probably has.
But I’m not in the mood for his charming bullshit. Not when it concerns her .
“I need her address,” I snap. “Now.”
Silence.
Not static. Not hesitation. Calculation.
“Karter,” I growl, voice tight enough to slit a throat, “I’m not in the mood to fuck around. I need to see her.”
He exhales, long, drawn out, like I’ve interrupted something important. “What happened? Where are you?”
“I just left the warehouse. The initiates handled their task like wolves tasting blood for the first time. Kill or be killed. Most chose correctly.”
“Why were you there?” he asks, a little edge slipping into his tone. “Didn’t Dash already lock that shit down?”
A grin creeps across my face. He doesn’t know yet. And I get to be the one to tell him.
“Yeah, Dash had it under control. Until he didn’t.”
I stretch my neck side to side, watching the cars inch forward. “He left to chase a lead. I pulled up while the cleanup crew was still working. Thought I’d do a sweep.”
“You find something?” Karter’s voice sharpens.
“Oh, you could say that.” I lean back against the headrest, letting the moment stretch. “Remember Kellan ?”
“Name’s familiar,” he says. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Fucking hell.
“He’s been with our crew since his sophomore year. Cleaning up blood and body parts like a good little Devil. Went missing two months ago… and we didn’t even notice.”
Silence again. But this time, it’s boiling.
“Keep going,” Karter says tightly.
“Dash found out why. Colt Carmichael , Gerald Carmichael’s son, has been impersonating him. Wearing his skin. Working inside our walls. Right under our fucking noses.”
“ Motherfucker. ” Karter growls. “How the hell did we miss that?”
“Because we’ve been too comfortable. Too focused on parties, politics, and pussy while the cracks widened under our feet.”
My jaw clenches. I can feel it pulsing.
“We keep saying the moles are gone. But I’m not so sure anymore. This… this was a fucking warning shot. One we damn near missed.”
He breathes deep. “We need tighter control. Background checks. Surveillance. Every single person tied to our name needs to bleed for us or be removed.”
“For once,” I mutter, “we’re in agreement.”
“Chicks,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“We need chicks for this job. Smart ones. Cold ones. The kind that won’t flinch at blood or lies. We don’t have time to babysit, and men talk too much.”
I pause. It’s a solid idea. And rare, coming from him.
“You got someone in mind?”
“I just might,” he answers. I can hear the grin in his voice. Smug bastard.
“Karter, don’t play with me,” I bite. “My father’s circling. He’s looking for her. And you’re stalling.”
“I’ll drop the location,” he says, finally. “You can decide for yourself if she’s a good fit.”
A ping hits my phone. Message received.
“Don’t make me wait,” I say, and kill the call.
Traffic begins to crawl forward.
I open the message. Karter’s name flashes across my screen. I tap the link, GPS coordinates pop up like a loaded gun.
I plug them into my nav system. Let the truck do the driving.
But my mind’s already there . Tracking every move. Playing every outcome.
And if he’s wrong about this? If she’s not where he says? If my father finds her first?
Then I’m not just burning the mole network to the ground.
I’m leveling the entire fucking city.
I’m crawling out of my skin.
The drive feels eternal, even with the GPS whispering directions in my ear like a siren trying to calm a storm.
But there’s no calming me, not with this kind of hunger gnawing at my insides. I need to see her. Touch her. Hear that bratty little mouth spit fire again so I can shut it with my own.
The neighborhood isn’t far from the city, but it’s quiet. Too clean. Too calm.
It reminds me of everything we’re not.Which makes me want to ruin it.
I pass a few houses that look like magazine covers, neat lawns, manicured bushes, that plastic perfection. It makes me think of the fortress we built. Out in the woods. Behind gates and layers of secrets. Where people don’t wander in.
Where we bury the ones who try.
When I pull up to the house, it’s cozy, two stories, cream siding, and a porch swing. Not her style. Not mine either.
Still, I check the pin Karter dropped. It matches. He wasn’t lying. For once.
I don’t remember getting out of the truck. One second I’m parked. The next, I’m walking up the driveway with too much on my mind and blood pounding in my cock from the thought of seeing her.
By the time I’m at the door, I’m seconds away from tearing it off the hinges. But I don’t have to.
It swings open before I can knock.
And there she is.
My Little Fox.
Eyes red. Cheeks streaked. Lips trembling.
And still the most dangerous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
For a moment, she doesn’t see me. Then her gaze lifts and locks . The second our eyes meet, something inside me snaps into place, and something else threatens to come unhinged.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps, voice low, rough. Half a growl, half a dare.
It hits me straight in the cock. I actually have to close my eyes for a second, or I’ll fucking take her right here on this goddamn porch.
When I open them again, I see it… She’s unraveling. And I want to help. But first, I want to watch .
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping in, pulling her flush against me like I have every right to. My hands move across her waist, hips, ribs, searching for bruises. “Are you hurt?”
She swats at me. “What makes you think something happened?”
“You’re crying.”
“And you’re twitching like you’re ready to bite my throat out.”
I smile. “Because I know you, Athens. And you’re not fine.”
She tries to step back.
I grip tighter. “Don’t. You better start talking or-”
“Or what?” Her voice dips low. Taunting. “Gonna punish me, Wyck?”
Her lips part, and I know exactly how that mouth feels when it's moaning my name.
I exhale sharply through my nose, jaw tight. “Not now. But when I do…” I lean in, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “You’ll beg for it.”
Her knees actually soften. But just as I’m about to drag her inside and make her forget her name, her voice drops again.
“I don’t want to get into it right now. Can you just… get me out of here?”
I blink. That’s not a command. That’s a plea.
And before I can answer, the front door opens again.
“Athens, baby, don’t leave. Not like this. Not before you hear everything.”
The voice belongs to an older woman, refined, soft-spoken, and somehow invasive .