Chapter Thirty-Three
Wyck
Our night reeked of blood and vengeance. The kind of night that stains your soul and makes the devil proud.
After Gerald Carmichael’s brains painted the inside of that marble foyer, we didn’t stop to celebrate. No drinks. No smoke. Just another name on the list.
Hudson Antonelli.
My father’s longtime shadow. His fixer. His fucking puppetmaster when it came to tying loose ends no one else could stomach. The man knew every buried body and which knife belonged to which betrayal.
He was next.
“Who’s got Hudson’s location?” I ask, voice low, eyes straight ahead.
He used to spend every waking moment up my father's ass, whispering like a serpent, twisting facts into strategy. But even snakes need a hole to crawl back into. Everyone has a place they think is safe.
“Me,” Dash says without hesitation.
Of course.
Dash doesn’t lose trails. Doesn’t forget faces. You could change your name, burn your prints, erase yourself from every fucking government system, and Dash would still find you by scent alone.
“Load it. GPS. Bluetooth. Let’s go.”
“Already done,” he says, tapping the screen as the car’s speakers come alive with directions to Hudson’s last known address.
The engine growls. Tires spin. And we ride into the dark like hounds with a scent of blood in our lungs.
No one speaks. There’s no need.
We all know the rules tonight.
Hudson either sides with us, or we bury him in the same grave my father should’ve rotted in.
Either way, his name gets crossed off the list by sunrise. We don’t leave without blood under our nails.
Not anymore.
Not after what they did.
The GPS leads us deep into the forested outskirts of Cliffside, no street lights, no neighbors, no fucking witnesses. Just a sprawling estate buried behind a surge of trees and an electric fence.
Hudson Antonelli’s safe haven.
Dash’s voice cuts through the silence. “Six Dobermans roam the perimeter. Three German Shepherds patrol the inside. He’s not alone.”
I don’t ask how he knows. Dash doesn’t guess. He hunts.
“Who’s inside?”
“Wife. Two kids. Two bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards die,” I say without hesitation. “The kids stay breathing. The wife’s life... depends on how cooperative Hudson is.”
“Dash, you got the floorplan?” Karter asks.
Dash grins. Of course he does.
He pulls out his phone and flashes the layout, infrared. Detailed. Labeled. Every exit. Every blind spot. Even the panic room.
We study the screen like wolves circling prey.
“Wells, you handle the guards. Karter, get the kids out of harm’s way. Dash and I are taking Hudson. Onyx, grab the wife. She’s filth dressed in pearls, don’t go soft.”
Everyone nods.
I point to a small room near the front of the house. “Meet here. The office. Easy in. Clean out.”
“Uh, how are we handling the dogs?” Karter asks.
“Handled,” Wells mutters, already texting. “Done.”
I glance his way. “Who?”
“Declan.”
Karter chuckles. “Sniper-on-demand. Must be nice.”
It is. That’s what sets us apart.
The Devils don’t send warnings. We send shadows.
I scan their faces. “Everyone knows their part?” They nod. “Masks on.”
“Fuck yeah,” Dash grins as we slip them on. One by one.
Except Karter.
He smirks. “You know I don’t wear masks.” I shoot him a look. “Except for her.”
He doesn’t respond, but the flicker in his eyes says it all.
“Let’s finish this fast,” I mutter. “I want to get back to our girl. In one piece.”
“Hell yeah,” we say in unison.
A soft buzz in my earpiece.
“Dogs are out,” Dash confirms. “Bodyguards are next.”
We move.
Silent. Ruthless. Fluid like fucking smoke.
Inside, the house erupts, glass shatters, a scream echoes, then, “You think you can storm my house and put a bullet in Hanson?” one of the guards roars.
Wells laughs. Laughs. The kind of sound that promises violence. “Yeah, actually. I do. Bet you die before your next breath.”
Bang.
Body drops.
“Told you.”
He vanishes, hunting the next one.
“I’ll get the kids,” Karter says, heading upstairs.
Onyx’s silhouette rounds the opposite corner.
Moments pass.
Then footsteps echo from the stairs.
Dash is back. Behind him walks a tall brunette, chin tilted, lips curled in disdain.
Lexi Antonelli. “Touch me again and I’ll have your heads on pikes,” she spits.
Onyx doesn’t flinch. “You think anyone in this house is on your side?”
He shoves her down the last few steps.
She lands with a gasp but recovers fast, her smile bitter. “You’ll never find him.”
“You’re under the impression we don’t already know,” I sneer.
That’s when Karter appears. Dragging a man behind him by the collar like he’s garbage.
Hudson.
Bloody. Bruised. Panicked.
“He tried to vanish behind a secret wall in his bedroom,” Karter says, tossing him at our feet. “Too bad his custom panic room wasn’t on the blueprint.”
“That’s because I added it later,” Hudson spits. “For moments like this.”
“Funny,” Karter leans in close, voice venom-slick. “You’ll never guess who gave up your little hideaway.”
Hudson glares.
“Your kids,” Karter smirks. “Two cookies and a cup of milk was all it took. They said, and I quote, ‘Daddy’s mean. Mommy’s mean. They hide when they do bad things.’ ”
Hudson’s face drains. Lexi snarls. I crouch beside him, grip his jaw, force him to look at me.
“You’ve got one chance to walk out of here breathing. One.”
Dash chambers a round behind me.
“And we’re not patient men.”
“What are you talking about?” Hanson’s voice trembles, but he’s trying hard to keep it steady.
Karter smirks, circling him like a vulture. “Why are you shaking? Nervous we’ll crack open all your dirty little secrets?”
“I don’t have secrets,” Hanson mutters.
Liar.
I watch a bead of sweat crawl down his temple like it’s trying to escape the lie before he finishes speaking.
Karter’s tone turns venomous. “In the short time I spent with those kids upstairs, they handed over your filth on a silver fucking platter. We were gonna offer you a choice, side with us or rot with Bash. But after what they told us? There’s no decision left to make.”
“Tell us,” I say flatly.
Karter’s lip curls in disgust. “He kills kids. Lexi handpicks them. She’s his blood-slick match made in hell.”
“No, no, that’s not true.” Hanson stammers, his denial weak and paper-thin.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I murmur. “But if I had to take a wild guess, I’d say the kids don’t have a reason to lie. You, on the other hand…”
“I vote we side with the kids,” Wells says from the shadows. “Always hated this fuck. Even if they’re lying, I still say we kill him and send what’s left to Bash in a shoebox.”
That gets Hanson’s attention.
His eyes snap to me. “Your father? Wyck, is that you?”
I remove my mask, slow and deliberate. “You already knew that.”
Something shifts behind his eyes, fear gives way to fury. He sneers. “Of course I knew. How could I not? Every move tonight... Your father orchestrated it. You think you’re in control? You’re dancing to his fucking tune.”
“Is that right?” I tilt my head. “And why would he do that?”
“To get to her. Your Little Fox.” He smirks. “Where is she now?”
The second he utters her name, something inside me snaps.
“You really think you’re holding the leash?” I step closer. “You’re just another dying animal trying to bluff its way out of the slaughterhouse. But there’s one fatal flaw in your little monologue.”
He blinks, swallows hard.
“Go on,” I coax. “Ask me what it is.”
He hesitates. Then: “What’s the flaw?”
I close the space between us, now eye to eye. His forehead glistens like meat under a butcher’s lamp.
“I can hear your heartbeat, Hanson. Every spike when you lie. Every skip when you think you’re clever.” I draw my blade. “And you’re trembling again.”
I grab a fistful of his hair and wrench his head back, forcing his eyes to mine.
“Those kids aren’t yours,” I hiss.
The blade kisses his throat and slides clean. He laughs, at first. Then the red pours. His laughter dies before he does.
I crouch beside the body, lick the blood from my blade, and whisper, “Your secrets die with you. Just not fast enough.”
Lexi screams like a banshee, breaking from Onyx’s grip and flinging herself over her husband’s corpse. “You bastards! You’ll pay for this!”
Karter doesn’t even flinch. “Bring the kids. It’s time she hears her eulogy from the ones she fucked over.”
She’s a sobbing mess now, snot, mascara, regret. All of it smeared across her pretty face like war paint.
“Look at it this way, sweetheart,” Wells drawls, voice thick with amusement, “at least you’ll be joining your husband in hell. Real soon.”
“I can be useful!” she pleads. “Money, men, anything.”
“So do we,” I mutter.
“I have pussy.”
That stops us.
Then silence. Then laughter. Low. Cruel.
“No thanks,” I spit. “We don’t trade gold for garbage.”
The door opens behind me. Karter returns with two teens, shadows in their own story. The girl’s eyes are wide but hard. The boy’s, haunted.
“Tell them,” I say gently. “Tell us the truth.”
The boy steps forward. “They stole us. Killed our real parents and buried them in a field near our house.”
The girl speaks next. “She cut off my mom’s head. Said she was too pretty to live. Said she’d do the same to me. Said… he looked at me like food.”
“Are you going to kill her?” the girl asks, turning to me. Her voice is soft. “Can I help?”
I stare at her. This girl is steel forged in fire.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Fourteen. Maybe fifteen. I don’t remember anymore.”
She’s seen more than most Devils. “You both should kill her,” I decide.
Lexi screams.
“They’re lying! I never!”
“Dash?” I call.
Dash is already at her computer, fingers dancing over keys. “Found it. Her and Hanson were part of a paid network. Dozens of names. They’ve killed for Bash. For your fathers. For mine. Eliminated families who refused to play nice.”
“What’s your last name?” I ask.
“Cartwright,” the twins say in unison.
My gut twists.
Dash keeps reading. “There’s a file. The Fallen. It lists families marked for death. Those who defied oaths. Who didn’t answer when called.”