Chapter 28
SILAS
Two weeks. That's how long it takes to dismantle a monster's empire from the inside out.
“Morrison's already started cleaning house,” Teddy says, spreading FBI surveillance photos across the meeting trailer's table. “She fired three staff members yesterday, all with connections to shell companies we flagged.”
I lean back in my chair, satisfaction curling in my chest. Dr. Rebecca Morrison turned out to be everything we hoped for and more.
A Sanctum survivor who clawed her way to a doctorate in child psychology, she'd been working legitimate foundations for years, waiting for a chance to make real change.
When Teddy approached her through official FBI channels, she didn't just agree to help—she volunteered to burn Malachi's operation down from within.
“The beauty of it,” Elias says, “is that Malachi can't touch her without exposing himself. She's too credentialed, too visible.”
“Too clean,” Cole adds with a grin. “Unlike the rest of us degenerates.”
Logan snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
“He is,” Rowe shoots back. “We all saw what you did to that Prophet in Dallas.”
“Boys,” Marek interrupts, tapping his tarot deck against the table. “Focus. The cards have been restless all morning.”
I glance at our fortune teller, noting the tension in his shoulders. Marek's instincts have kept us alive more than once. “What kind of restless?”
“Change coming. Upheaval.” He sets down the deck without shuffling. “Something we haven't planned for.”
Teddy frowns, his federal agent instincts kicking in. “Morrison said Malachi's been increasingly erratic. Calling emergency board meetings, checking on kids personally instead of delegating. Maybe he knows something's wrong.”
“Good,” Jonah rumbles. “Let him sweat.”
“The foundation's secure,” I say, bringing us back on track. “Morrison's in position, the legitimate programs will survive, and we've exposed enough of Malachi's financial crimes that he's under investigation by three different agencies.”
“Which means,” Elias says with dark satisfaction, “it's time for the personal touch.”
We've been planning this moment for sixteen years. The kidnapping. The reckoning. Making Malachi pay for every child he broke, every life he destroyed.
“Location?” I ask.
“His house,” Teddy says, pulling up floor plans on his laptop. “Bethany's visiting her sister in Kansas City this week. Cancer treatment's on Tuesdays and Fridays. He'll be weak Thursday morning.”
“Perfect.” Elias stands, pacing the small space. “We take him Thursday. Three days to prepare.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Nova:
Getting cotton candy with Jules. Back soon. Love you.
The corners of my mouth lift. She's been lighter these past two weeks, more relaxed. Having another woman around helps—Jules and Nova have developed an easy friendship, full of sarcastic commentary and shared eye rolls at our dramatic planning sessions.
“Torture methods?” Cole asks, because subtlety isn't his strong suit.
“We make him feel everything he made us feel,” I say. “Fear. Helplessness. The knowledge that no one's coming to save him.”
“The children's room,” Marek says quietly. “We recreate it.”
Silence falls. The children's room was where Malachi took us for private sessions. Where he broke us down piece by piece before building us back up in his image.
“Yes,” Elias says finally. “He'll understand then. What it was like.”
Teddy shifts uncomfortably. Even after everything we've shared, some details of our past still shock him. “How long do we—”
A crash from outside cuts him off. Shouting. A woman's scream.
Nova.
I'm on my feet and out the door before conscious thought kicks in. The carnival's afternoon crowd mills around, cotton candy and popcorn forgotten as they crane their necks toward the commotion.
Behind the Tilt-a-Whirl, I see her.
Nova's backed against a wall, her flowing dress hiked up around her waist by thick, grubby hands. A man with greasy hair and stained clothes presses against her, one hand groping between her legs while the other covers her mouth.
I see red.
Pure, blinding rage floods my system as I recognize him from the research photos. Roman Miller. Her husband. The man who tortured her for twelve years.
I don't remember crossing the distance. Don't remember my fist connecting with his skull. But suddenly I'm on him, driving my knuckles into his face with satisfying cracks.
“Get the fuck off her!”
Roman staggers back, blood streaming from his nose. “What the hell—she's my wife!”
“Not anymore.” I hit him again, this time in the gut. He doubles over, wheezing.
“Silas!” Teddy's beside Nova, hands hovering as she slides down the trailer wall, sobbing. Her dress is torn, makeup smeared, eyes wild with terror.
“Baby,” I drop to my knees beside her, Roman forgotten for the moment. “I'm here. You're safe.”
She can't stop shaking. Can't catch her breath. Her hands clutch at my shirt like I might disappear.
“Hey, hey.” Jules appears with two cotton candies still in her hands, takes one look at Nova, and drops them both. “What happened?”
“Roman,” Nova gasps. “He found me. He—” She breaks off, fresh sobs wracking her frame.
Teddy's face hardens. “The husband?”
I nod grimly, standing as Roman tries to straighten up. Blood drips from his busted lip, but his eyes burn with familiar cruelty.
“She belongs to me,” Roman snarls. “Twelve years of marriage don't just disappear because the little whore ran away.”
Wrong thing to say.
I grab him by the throat and slam him back against the neighboring trailer. His feet leave the ground as I lift him, my grip cutting off his air supply.
“You touch her again,” I whisper, “and I'll make sure they never find your body.”
“Silas.” Teddy's voice is calm but firm. “Not here. Too many witnesses.”
He's right. Families with children are starting to gather, phones out, recording. I release Roman, who crumples to the ground gasping.
“This isn't over,” Roman wheezes. “She's still legally mine. I'll call the cops, report her kidnapping—”
“Go ahead,” Teddy says mildly, pulling out his FBI badge. “I'm sure they'll be very interested in your outstanding warrants. Domestic violence, stalking, violation of a restraining order...”
Roman's face goes pale. “There's no restraining order.”
“There is now,” Teddy lies smoothly. “Funny how paperwork gets filed when you know the right people.”
I help Nova to her feet, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. She buries her face against my chest, still crying.
“How did you find me?” she whispers.
Roman spits blood. “Wasn't hard. Carnival circuits talk. Someone mentioned a redhead escape artist who looked like my runaway wife.” His smile turns cruel. “Thought I'd come collect what's mine.”
“She's not yours,” Jules says fiercely. “She never was.”
“Marriage certificate says different.”
“Divorce papers will say different,” Teddy interjects. “Along with the charges for sexual assault I just witnessed.”
Roman's confidence falters. He looks between Teddy's badge, my murderous expression, and Jules's protective stance over Nova.
“This isn't finished,” he mutters, backing away. “I know where you are now. I'll be back.”
“No,” I say quietly. “You won't.”
There's a certainty in my voice that makes him pause. A promise. A threat.
Roman looks at Nova one last time, then disappears into the crowd.
I gather Nova closer, feeling her heartbeat against my ribs. “He's gone, baby. I've got you.”
“He touched me,” she whispers brokenly. “Just like before. I thought—I thought I was strong now.”
“You are strong.” Teddy moves to her other side, creating a protective barrier. “This doesn't change that.”
Jules nods fiercely. “One surprise attack doesn't erase everything you've overcome.”
But I can see it in Nova's eyes—the doubt creeping back in. The fear she'd finally started to release. Roman's presence has shattered her hard-won peace, dragged her back to that helpless girl who had nowhere to run.
“Look at me,” I command gently, tilting her chin up. “You're not alone this time. You have us. You have me.”
Her eyes search mine. “What if he comes back? What if he—”
“He won't.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “I promise you, Nova. He will never touch you again.”
Because Roman Miller just signed his death warrant. And unlike Malachi, who gets the slow torture he deserves, Roman's end will be swift and final.
Some monsters don't deserve elaborate revenge.
They just deserve to die.
I catch Teddy's eye and jerk my head toward Nova. He understands immediately and moves closer to her.
“I've got her,” Teddy says quietly, his hand finding Nova's shoulder. “Jules, let's get her cleaned up.”
Nova's still shaking, tear tracks cutting through her makeup, but she nods. Jules wraps an arm around her waist, murmuring reassurances as they guide her toward our trailer.
“Where are you going?” Nova asks, turning back to look at me.
“To make sure he leaves.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily. “I'll be right back, baby.”
Her eyes search mine for a heartbeat too long, but Teddy distracts her with gentle questions about whether she's hurt anywhere else. By the time they disappear into the trailer, I'm already moving.
Roman's shambling through the carnival crowd like the piece of shit he is, checking over his shoulder every few steps. Smart of him to be paranoid. Not smart enough to matter.
I keep my distance, weaving between families and teenagers, using the noise and chaos as cover. He's heading for the parking lot—probably figures he can get to his car and disappear back into whatever hole he crawled out of.
Wrong.
The lot's half-empty now, most of the afternoon crowd filtering home before the evening show. Roman's walking faster, keys already in his hand as he approaches a beat-up sedan that's seen better decades.
I wait until he's fumbling with the door handle before I move.
“Roman.”
He spins around, eyes going wide when he sees me approaching. “Stay back! I'll call the cops—”
“No, you won't.”