17. Silas
Silas
The front door slams behind me as Hale leaves for school with CJ. I had talked to the principal after Hale got home last night, but I pulled CJ in to go over a strict protection detail for Hale while he’s on campus.
My knuckles are still white, and my fists haven’t fully unclenched since Hale arrived back from school covered in bruises. The sight of those dark marks across his jaw and arms is, as Jack put it, the exact signature of Ray’s brutal brand of instruction.
And it’s the match dropped into a pool of gas that has been leaking inside me for days.
Ray and Dale didn’t just touch Hale. They laid a claim to him. They were weaponising a kid who has already survived hell, turning him into a pawn just so they can sink their claws back into Jack.
Upstairs, Jack is curled in our bed, hollow-eyed and exhausted after the last week. He finally fell asleep after hours of pleading with me to let him go back to Ray and his dad. He thinks he will keep us safe by offering himself back to his father. Like fuck that’s going to happen.
I was able to talk him down, and he agreed not to leave my side.
But, I don’t believe he won’t try to leave. But for the meantime, Jack is locked safely behind our doors, but I know men like Ray and Dale don’t pack up and leave just because they caught a glimpse of what they can’t have.
They camp out. They wait.
I turn around, my jaw locked so hard my teeth ache. Mack and Callan are standing in my kitchen, both of them kitted out in black, looking menacing as hell. Exactly what I need.
I hold their gazes. Their faces are hard and grim. They saw Hale leave, and they heard every broken, terrifying word about Ray’s training.
I didn’t even have to ask them to come.
“Let’s go,” I say. My voice is a low, gravelly rasp that carries the weight of a loaded gun.
We don’t talk on the drive through town. The interior of the truck is filled with a silence heavy and thick with the scent of gun oil, leather, and my own suppressed fury.
My left shoulder still aches beneath my jacket, the sling tossed onto the bed where Jack slept.
My stitches pull tight, a dull, pulsing reminder of the ambush just over a week ago.
Mack still walks with a limp, having chucked his crutch on the couch the second we walked out.
The sharp look Callan gave him told me everything about their dynamic.
My physical pain is nothing compared to the white-hot rage screaming through my nervous system.
Ray thinks he can play god.
He thinks he can reach into my home, break my people, and terrorise my boy.
He is about to find out what happens when a cornered animal stops running and starts tearing flesh.
* * *
We pull up to the motel at the edge of the industrial district where I tracked Ray and Dale. I know that they could afford a five star hotel if they wanted to. I also know they thought hiding in a mid-tier, anonymous shithole would keep them off my radar.
That’s where they screwed up, they underestimated me.
They covered their tracks well, but not well enough. It took me five minutes to find them, and now it’s time to collect.
I climb out of the truck. Callan helps Mack out, and we stand looking up at the building. It’s cheap, the flickering neon sign buzzing overhead, the kind of place where the carpet reeks of damp and bad decisions, the exact kind of rotting hole parasites crawl out of.
“Rook,” Mack says, a heavy hand landing on my shoulder.
His dark eyes are sharp, calculating, reading the dangerous, lethal edge in my posture.
“We walk in with you to their floor. Callan stays by the elevators to keep everything clear and cut off any exits. But you let us manage everything else. If you murder him in a public corridor, the fallout will bury you, and you’ll never see your boy outside of prison bars.
” He fixes me with a hard stare. “Keep it controlled.”
“Controlled time ran out the second he laid a finger on Hale and threatened my boy,” I snap, shrugging his hand off.
Callan sighs while checking his sidearm with quiet, deadly efficiency. “I’ve got the elevator bank and the stairwell. Nobody comes up and nobody goes down unless we say so. Keep your head clear, Silas.”
I ignore him, my eyes cold, matching the drizzle around us as we move like ghosts across the empty car park. Our boots splash through oil-slicked puddles. The air smells like exhaust fumes and wet asphalt.
“Let’s go meet the rat. Mack, you’re on point.”
I’ve already killed what little security cameras they had, and inside isn’t much better. The reception area is empty, no security, no one manning the desk.
Perfect.
We take the stairs, our boots ringing hollow against concrete until we reach the fourth floor. The hallway is narrow, lit by buzzing fluorescent tubes, some flickering with an irritating, frantic hum.
Room 404.
Callan moves to stand by the elevator. Mack follows me closely, staying four doors back to cover my blind spot.
I don’t bother knocking, I’m beyond being polite.
I step up and drive the heel of my boot straight into the cheap wood beside the doorknob. The lock shatters with a sharp crack, the door flying inward and slamming violently against the drywall.
Inside, the room reeks of stale coffee, sweat, and cheap bourbon.
Dale reacts first, his massive frame surging up from the armchair like a guard dog let off the chain. His blank eyes widen for a fraction of a second before hardening into pure violence. But he holds his ground, waiting for a cue.
Interesting.
Ray sits calmly at the small laminate desk, nursing a glass of amber liquid. He doesn’t flinch. He sets the glass down deliberately, a thin, patronising smirk spreading across his lips as he looks up at me.
“Well, look what the stray dog sent,” Ray drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d show your face, Silas. Though I expected you’d be too busy cleaning up the blood your little boyfriend left behind.”
The rage hits me like a freight train, turning every drop of blood in my body to liquid fire.
Before Ray can blink, I cross the small room in two massive strides, wrap my hand around his throat, and haul him out of his chair. I slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap framed print clean off its hook.
“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” I growl, my face inches from his, my voice vibrating with a lethal, terrifying promise.
“You ever go near Jack or Hale again, you ever look at them, touch them, or speak their names, I won’t just break your bones.
I will flay you piece by piece and feed you to the crows.
You stay the fuck away from my house. You stay away from Hale, and you make sure you stay the fuck away from Jack. They are my people.”
I tighten my grip. Ray’s face flushes, but he doesn’t look scared. That’s what makes my stomach twist with a murderous, feral urge. The fucker just smiles wider, his eyes dead and glittering with sick satisfaction.
“Your people?” Ray laughs, the sound scraping against my patience like sandpaper.
“The boy is a stray, Silas. He was bleeding in the ditch when we found him, and he’ll crawl right back to the gutter where he belongs the second things get hard.
You think playing house in some fortified glass box changes what he is?
You think you can lock up a dog bred for the fight and teach him to sit pretty? ”
Dale takes a heavy step forward, his massive fists curling as he prepares to tear me off of Ray.
“Get your hands off him, boss!” Mack’s voice booms from the doorway, breaking the tension like a gunshot.
Next second, Callan is steam rolling into the room.
He takes in the threat in a second, seeing Dale take the step forward, he doesn’t hesitate.
He hits Dale like a freight train and slams the larger man backward against the bed in a brutal, locking hold that sends lamps and side tables crashing to the floor in a heap of plastic and glass.
Mack plants his back firmly against the shattered doorframe, his sidearm drawn, locked, and pointed straight at the center of the room.
“Silas, pull back! Drop him!” Mack roars. “Don’t ruin your life for this piece of trash!”
My fingers are locked so deep into Ray’s throat that if I just squeeze a little more, my fingers would touch through his flesh.
“You think you own him?” I whisper, baring my teeth, my chest heaving against the Kevlar hidden beneath my jacket. “You think you can break him again?”
Ray’s cold fingers wrap around my wrist; not to fight me off, but to steady himself, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute, chilling malice.
“I don’t have to break him, Silas,” Ray whispers back, his voice smooth as poison.
“He’s already broken. That’s why he came to you, because he needs someone to patch him up before he crawls back home.
You can keep him warm for a week, a month, a year…
but blood calls to blood. Your dove is going to come back to me.
And when he does? You can do fuck all about it. ”
The words drop like lead.
For a fraction of a second, the world stops.
The sound of Callan struggling with Dale, the low hum of the overhead fluorescent light, the cold draft blowing through the shattered door, it all fades into nothingness.
The sheer, suffocating arrogance of the man makes my vision blur red.
I could snap his neck right here on this cheap motel floor, and I wouldn’t lose a single second of sleep over it.
Then Mack’s arm wraps around my torso from behind, physically hauling me backward off Ray with a grunt.
“Let’s go!” Mack barks in my ear as he drags me toward the exit. “Callan! We’re done here! Move!”
Callan shoves Dale back hard and covers our six, backing out through the shattered doorway into the cool, damp air of the hallway. I stagger, my wounded shoulder throbbing a white-hot reminder of my physical limits, but I catch my balance against the wall.
Ray follows us and steps up to the splintered doorframe, adjusting his suit jacket with infuriating, pristine calm.
“Give my regards to Jackie,” Ray calls out, his voice echoing down the concrete corridor as we break into a run toward the metal stairs. “Tell him dinner is always waiting at home.”
The stairs rattle beneath our boots as we fly down three flights, hitting the car park just as the cold rain starts to pour harder, plastering my hair to my forehead.
We pile into the truck, doors slamming shut in unison, and I drop the gear into reverse, burning rubber out of the lot before the motel office even realises their door has been kicked in.
“For fuck’s sake, Silas. What the hell was that?” Mack screams over the roar of the engine.
Callan sits in the passenger seat, his hands tight white-knuckled fists against his knees. “We agreed it was a controlled op. No fucking emotion, and you completely went rogue, Rook. What the actual fuck!”
I ignore them. I don’t care.
It felt too good to have my hands around that fucker’s throat. I was half a second away from ending him, and Ray knew it.
My hands are shaking on the steering wheel, not from fear, but from a terrifying, cold realisation.
Ray isn’t just a threat we can shoot our way out of. He’s a parasite burrowed deep into Jack’s psyche, whispering in his ear every time he closes his eyes.
I stare through the windshield at the wet asphalt ahead, the rain washing the tail-lights of passing cars into long smears of red.
The vow hardens in my chest like diamond.
He can try to take him. But he’s going to have to burn the world down to get past me first.