Chapter 27 - Cyrus
CYRUS
Keira pushes eggs around her plate, her usual appetite nowhere to be found. She hasn’t been the same since that message arrived. The dark circles under her eyes tell me she barely slept, even with us flanking her all night.
Ace catches my eye across the table with that subtle nod we’ve perfected over decades. It’s time.
“Keira.” My voice comes out gentler than usual. “We found them.”
Her fork clatters against the plate. Her eyes snap up, wide and vulnerable.
“Both of them?” Her voice is barely audible.
“William Patterson is dead,” Ace says. “Heart attack. Two years ago, in a nursing home.”
A complicated series of emotions crosses Keira’s face—relief, disappointment, and a flash of darkness I can’t quite name. Her fingers tremble around her water glass.
“And Richard?” she asks, the name catching in her throat.
I clench my jaw against the surge of rage. “Alive. Living in Boise. Married again.”
“With two stepdaughters,” Ace adds. “Thirteen and sixteen.”
Keira’s face drains of color. She presses a palm against her mouth, her breathing shallow. “No,” she whispers. “Not again. He can’t—”
I reach across the table, taking her free hand in mine. “He won’t. Not for much longer.”
Ace leans forward. “We’ve gathered sufficient intelligence. Everything is prepared. We can handle it,” he says carefully, his eyes never leaving Keira’s face. “You never have to think about them again.”
I squeeze her hand, drawing her attention to me. “Or you can be part of it,” I add. “Your choice.”
Her eyes dart between us, confusion giving way to understanding. She knows what we’re offering—justice, vengeance, closure. Whatever she wants to call it.
“You mean...”
“We mean whatever you need,” I say. “Watch, participate, stay home. Your choice. We just need to know what you want.”
I watch a fierceness ignite in Keira’s eyes. Her fingers stop trembling. Her spine straightens.
“What do you want?” I repeat, giving her space to process.
She stares at her hands for a long moment, then lifts her gaze to meet mine.
“My first instinct is to say no.” Her voice is soft. “Let you both handle the darkness. Keep my hands clean.”
Ace shifts in his chair, and I recognize the look in his eyes—he’s already planning how to shield her from this.
But Keira isn’t finished. “Then I think about those girls. Thirteen and sixteen.” Her jaw tightens. “The basement. The camera.”
The rage inside me burns hotter. I’ve killed dozens of men, but this will be different. Personal. Much like our handlers. I’ll make it slower than usual.
“I want to see his face,” she whispers, and the conviction in her voice surprises me. “I want him to know I survived and came back to make him pay.”
Pride blooms in my chest—unexpected, powerful. This woman we claimed as prey has survived horrors we never knew, and still stands unbroken.
“Are you sure?” Ace asks, his usual calculation replaced with genuine concern.
Keira nods. “I don’t want to be protected from this. I want to be part of it.” She looks between us. “I need to be.”
I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. “Then that’s what happens.”
“We do this together,” Ace agrees, something dangerously gentle in his eyes. “All three of us.”
“When do we leave?” Keira asks.
I exchange a look with Ace. This isn’t just about killing anymore. It’s about justice for the woman we’ve claimed—the woman who’s claimed us right back.
“Tonight,” I tell her, squeezing her hand. “We leave tonight.”
I watch Keira’s face closely, seeing determination replace the fear in her eyes. She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Maybe even stronger than we realized.
“You want in? All in?” I ask, a smile spreading across my face. “Want to help me pick out the tools we’ll use?”
Ace’s head snaps toward me, his warning glare intense enough to burn.
I know that look—it’s the one that says I’ve gone too far, pushed too much.
He’s worried, I can tell. Not about the killing—we’ve done that countless times—but about Keira seeing exactly what we’re capable of.
It’s one thing to tell someone you’re an assassin, another to let them watch you select the instruments of someone’s slow, painful death.
Ace thinks it’ll change how she sees us. He’s afraid she’ll finally realize what monsters we truly are.
Maybe she should.
“Cyrus,” Ace says, his voice carrying that dangerous edge, but I keep my eyes on Keira.
She looks between us, reading the tension with that uncanny perception she has. Then she stands, smoothing her hands down her leggings like she’s preparing for a performance.
“Yes,” she says. “I want to see everything.”
Ace’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. He knows better than to try to shield her from her own choices.
“The tools, the planning, all of it,” Keira continues. “If we’re doing this, I don’t want to be handled with kid gloves. Not for this.”
I reach out my hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. The same hand that’s ended dozens of lives, and she grips it like it’s her lifeline.
“Lead the way,” she says.
I glance at Ace, seeing resignation replace his warning. He nods once, conceding.
I lead Keira through our penthouse to the office, where we never let anyone else enter. Her hand feels small in mine, but her grip is firm. Ace trails behind us, his footsteps nearly silent on the hardwood floors.
“You two have an office?” Keira asks, her voice steadier. “I thought that door was just storage.”
I smirk, glancing back at Ace. “We need somewhere to keep our work separate.”
The office looks normal enough—sleek desk, two leather chairs, bookshelves lining the walls. Nothing that would raise suspicion if someone managed to get this far into our home.
“Here,” I say, stopping at the bookshelf against the far wall. “Watch.”
I reach for an economics textbook—one of those dense tomes no one would ever actually pull down to read—and tug it halfway out. There’s a soft click, and I push the entire left section of the bookshelf inward, revealing a narrow passage.
“What the—” Keira’s eyes widen.
I gesture for her to enter first, my hand at the small of her back. “After you.”
She hesitates for only a second before stepping through. I flip a switch, and clinical white lights illuminate the room beyond.
Keira freezes, a small gasp escaping her lips.
The room isn’t large, about fifteen by fifteen, but every inch of wall space is utilized.
Assault rifles hang in neat rows on one wall.
A glass case displays handguns of various calibers.
Sniper rifles, disassembled into their components, rest in custom foam cutouts.
Another cabinet holds grenades, flash bombs, and small explosive devices.
A third wall is dedicated entirely to blades—combat knives, throwing knives, serrated hunting knives, all arranged by size and purpose.
“Jesus Christ,” Keira whispers, turning in a slow circle. “This is...” She trails off, reaching toward a wickedly curved blade before pulling her hand back. “You have an entire armory hidden in your apartment.”
I watch Keira carefully, gauging her reaction to our arsenal. Most people would run. She stands taller.
“This cabinet,” I say, leading her to a locked steel case against the far wall, “is what you’re looking for.”
I enter a code on the electronic pad. The lock clicks, and I pull open the door to reveal rows of specialized tools—things that would never be found in a normal workshop.
“These,” I say, lifting a pair of needle-nose pliers with serrated inner edges, “are for extracting fingernails. Makes a man scream like nothing else.” I set them down, picking up a curved blade with a hooked end. “This is designed for cutting through cartilage—ears, nose.”
Keira’s eyes follow my hands, her breathing steady. No panic. No disgust.
“So,” I continue, setting the blade down, “you need to decide how you want this to go. Quick but bloody?” I gesture to the larger blades. “Or slow, with maximum pain?” I point to the collection of smaller, more specialized instruments.
Heat rises in my chest as I explain the options. This part of me, this darkness, has only ever been shared with Ace. Sharing it with Keira feels dangerous. Intimate.
“With the pain route, we focus on sensitive areas—fingernails, genitals, joints. Places with concentrated nerve endings.” My voice drops lower. “He’ll feel everything before he dies.”
I expect her to flinch, to reconsider. Instead, Keira steps closer, her fingertips hovering over a wicked-looking metal instrument.
“What does this do?” she asks, voice steady.
“Skin grafting. Removes layers of skin, one thin sheet at a time.”
She nods, considering. “And this?” She points to what appear to be oversized scissors.
“Bolt cutters. For fingers and toes.”
Her eyes meet mine, something fierce and unflinching there that makes my blood run hot. “I want both,” she says simply.
“Both?”
“Everything. Make him feel the pain first—every bit of it. Let him know exactly why it’s happening.” Her voice hardens. “Then make it bloody. I want him to suffer before he goes.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. This woman continues to surprise me.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.” Her hand closes around one of the smaller blades. “Show me how to use these properly.”
Watching Keira hold that blade with such confidence ignites something primal in me.
My cock hardens painfully against my zipper as her delicate fingers grip the handle with unexpected familiarity.
There’s something intoxicating about this woman who dances with such grace, now selecting instruments of pain with the same careful precision.
“You know,” I say, voice dropping to that register that always makes her shiver, “we could try something else with these before we go.”
Keira’s eyes meet mine, questioning. “What do you mean?”
I step closer, the heat between us building as I take the blade from her hand, letting the flat side caress her forearm. “These don’t have to be just for him. We could play with them. For pleasure.”
Her breathing sharpens. Those beautiful eyes dilate, turning almost black with fear—or desire. I can’t quite tell which.
“You mean...” she trails off, swallowing hard.
“Knife play,” I clarify, dragging the dull edge up her arm, never breaking skin but letting her feel the cool metal. “While I fuck you.”
The door clicks behind us, and Ace steps through, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene.
Ace clears his throat. “You don’t have to let my brother do anything you don’t want, Keira.”
Always the protective one. Always watching my impulses.
“Knife play,” Keira repeats, her voice steadier than I expected. “What does that involve?”
I smile, bringing the blade up to trace along her collarbone, using only the flat edge. “I’d cut you with small, controlled cuts. Nothing deep.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “I’d taste your blood while I’m inside you.”
Her pulse jumps visibly in her throat. “You’d like to taste my blood?”
“Just a taste,” I murmur, leaning down to press my lips against that thrumming pulse point.
I watch as Keira’s breath catches, her teeth dragging across her lower lip. The flush spreading down her neck tells me everything I need to know before she even speaks.
“It’s a bit unhinged,” she admits. “But I can’t deny I’m turned on by the idea.”
I knew from the moment we claimed her in the Hunt that she’d match our darkness perfectly. Prey recognizing predators and choosing to bare her throat anyway.
“Good,” I growl, pressing the flat of the blade against her pulse point. I can feel how rapidly it beats beneath the metal. “Very fucking good.”
I glance over at Ace, still standing by the door. His expression is carefully controlled, but I know my brother too well—I can see the heat in his eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils as he watches Keira respond to the blade.
“What do you say, brother?” I ask, my voice rough with desire. “Want to get in on this?”
The air between us thickens with tension. Ace and I have shared countless women, but never engaged in knife play together—showing her our darkest sides. Keira stands between us, her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she awaits his answer.
Ace’s eyes lock with mine for a long moment before sliding to Keira.
“Yes,” he finally says.
I watch, cock throbbing painfully against my zipper, as Ace unbuttons his pants with deliberate slowness. He frees his dick, already fully hard, and begins stroking it with long, measured pulls.
“Show me what you want to do to her,” he commands, his eyes never leaving the blade in my hand.