Chapter 23 #3
If I ever had free rein of that place—with the Knight name behind me and my mercenary reputation ahead of me—I’d rip every rotting root out of that concrete jungle.
The clubs, the auction floors, the corrupted rings of power.
All of it. It’d be satisfying work. Cleansing. Violent. My type of playground.
Still, I say nothing. But across the fire, Stan lets out a low whistle. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” He grins wide. “Can’t blame you. You’d rule that place.”
I arch a brow.
He jabs a thumb toward me. “You’re a merc with Knight and Song-Smith blood, and a murder resume that could be its own horror movie. What would you do if someone handed you the keys to Sin City, huh?”
Again, I don’t answer.
He laughs. “Yup, you’d paint the town red. And I don’t mean with mom’s wine.”
He takes a dramatic bite of charred meat he picks right off the spit, still somehow chewing as if he’s in a five-star restaurant.
“Seriously though,” Stan continues, mouth full. “Damon getting married? I must’ve missed an entire season of family drama while I was off being mommy’s favorite errand sniper.”
“You didn’t miss much,” I say dryly. “One day, he’s the golden boy with no personal life. Next day, he’s married to Kayla Knight.”
Stan drops the meat from his hand. “In one day?!”
“Keep up.”
“I thought Damon would die before settling down. Isn’t he the one who turned down literally hundreds of insane proposals, like being in open marriages or being the trophy husband of some rich bitch?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
Stan throws his hands up. “Unbelievable! I’d die for offers like that. But leave it to Damon to do something like this. What happened? Did someone mix up a blood contract with a wedding license?”
“She’s surprisingly into him,” I say, stabbing a piece of meat and tossing it onto a tin plate. “And he’s different around her. She flipped a switch in him.”
“Yeah,” Stan mutters, grabbing the plate. “That’s what love does to people. Or witchcraft. Or both.” He glances at me over the fire. “You think Clo had a hand in it?”
I pause, letting the silence answer first. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Stan waits, chewing pensively.
“She needed Damon off the board,” I explain. “Needed someone as calculating as him distracted. Kayla’s a wildfire. He’s not built to resist that kind of heat.”
Stan leans back, chewing slowly. “So Clo gets her power back while Damon’s on a honeymoon with his head in the clouds. Or her legs, I guess.”
“And off comms,” I add. “Which is exactly how Clo wanted it.”
Stan shakes his head, that dramatic grin back on his face. “We’ve got one brother on his honeymoon with a human flamethrower, another pretending he’s not the most dangerous man alive, and me—half-dead and living on a couch that’s now most definitely cum-stained.”
I have to close my eyes and force myself to breathe after hearing so much of his nonsense at once. “You forgot the part where you tattooed Elle’s initial on your chest.”
“It’s called a romantic gesture, you jerk. Look it up, why don’t ya?”
I scoff, slowly opening my eyes to see him still grinning and wiping his mouth. The empty tin plate in his hand clatters on the grass.
He stretches out beside the fire, staring up at the smoke curling toward the stars. “Y’know, we might be the most messed up family this side of the world.”
I carve off one more cut of meat, toss the blade aside, and say flatly, “That’s the most accurate thing you’ve ever said.”
The fire’s burned low by the time my phone vibrates against the tin plate next to me.
I swipe to answer and hit speaker without a word. Stan glances over, brow raised. I tilt my chin toward the phone. “Stay quiet.”
“What a warm welcome,” comes the wry, familiar voice on the other end. “Miss me, rookie?”
“Keep it professional,” I say.
Stan leans in. “Rookie? I need that story.”
“Who’s that?” my contact says. “You know I don’t like extras on the line.”
“You know him,” I say dryly. “The sniper muscle.”
The contact laughs. “Didn’t that idiot shoot the wrong target?”
Stan flips the bird at the phone. “That was once. And he was being shifty.”
“You shot his foot, sniper muscle.”
“Shifty foot!”
“Focus,” I snap. “What do you have on Clo?”
The line goes quiet for a second before my contact sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“Be more specific.”
“She’s smarter this time. Way more careful. Everything’s split into compartmentalized silos for finances, suppliers, and communications. And get this—she’s integrating biometric surveillance. I’m talking facial scans and DNA-locked doors.”
Stan whistles low. “Damn. That’s…insane.”
“She’s not alone,” the voice continues. “Looks like she’s getting help from someone with Darkhaven black market tech.”
I exchange a look with Stan. The pieces fall into place fast. “She’s working with Naomi,” I say out loud.
“Yeah, Naomi Knight,” my contact confirms. “Clo’s hosting what Naomi usually hosts herself. Ever heard of the annual Knight ‘charity’ gala?”
“Wait—mom’s hosting a Knight gala?” Stan barks out a laugh. “Last year, she tried to spike the punch with a microdose of Kys and convinced two hedge fund CEOs to arm wrestle over an arms deal.”
“She usually goes?” I ask Stan.
“Every year,” Stan says. “Shows up in something skintight, flirts with a senator to make Dad jealous, wins a silent auction, then disappears with someone rich and dumb to trick them into doing something dumber, just so she can control ‘em.”
“This isn’t some party anymore,” I say. “If Clo’s hosting this one with Naomi, it’s a social stunt and a message.”
My contact hums through the phone. “Power move. The queen’s coming back, proving she’s stronger than ever, with allies on her side.
Damon married into the Knights, and Clo gets access to Naomi’s resources and optics.
They combine forces, throw a big shiny event, and every criminal and kingpin shows up to kiss the ring. ”
“Let me guess,” Stan mutters. “Black tie, silent auction, blood money, and oh, look—a free party favor baggy of Kys on the way out.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you know the date?”
“Nothing confirmed yet,” the contact replies. “But it’s soon. It usually takes place on Halloween night. And I’m hearing buzz about a ‘big reveal’. Something she wants to show off, big, loud, and flashy.”
Stan groans. “What, like a stage performance? Fireworks? A public execution?”
“Or a recapture,” I say slowly, my voice going cold. “Something to make her guests really believe she’s still in charge. Proof that Kys works fucking wonders. Pulls off miracles. Makes puppets of people.”
Stan pales. We both look toward the cabin. Elle.
“Keep your ear to the ground,” I tell the contact. “Anything moves, I want to know first.”
“Got it, rookie.”
I hang up. Stan exhales beside me, dragging a hand through his hair. “God, a gala. They’re gonna serve foie gras dipped in blood. They’d probably show pictures of the cute, chubby ducks when they were alive while they serve their juicy livers to assholes. Those jerks would eat that up.”
I give him a sideways look. “You done?”
“Nope,” he says too damn brightly. “But I am ready to crash a party. You got a tux that brings out my good side?”
“You don’t have a good side.”
“I do in low light.” Stan smiles, chin up. “And, hey, if Clo’s throwing a party to show off how much she’s rebuilt, maybe we show her just how wrong she is.”
I stare into the fire, the heat flickering across my knuckles. “We will,” I say.
The fire pops again, a sharp crack through the stillness, sending a plume of ember-glow into the dark.
Stan settles back against a log, arms crossed behind his head like this is any other night.
Like we didn’t just unravel years of silence between us.
Like we’re not planning to take down our malicious mastermind of a mother.
He’s staring up at the stars again. But I keep my gaze low. The coals are easier to read than Stan’s expression right now. He’s not grinning anymore, looking lost. Maybe because of withdrawals. Maybe because of everything we’ve said and…shared.
Still, I don’t miss the way his eyes cut sideways toward the cabin now and then. It’s rare for him to be anything but noise, so when the silence stretches this long, I know he’s turning something over in his head.
I breathe deep. Taking in the scent of woodsmoke and charred boar, the whisper of cool wind against my skin. This moment grounds me. For the first time in years—maybe ever—I don’t feel like I’m carrying my burdens alone.
I never wanted help. Not from anyone. Especially not from my god-awful family. But Stan… I have to admit he’s not who I thought he was. And maybe that’s why this moment—sitting out here with him, watching the fire die, and plotting against the woman who raised us—isn’t so unbearable.
He knows. Now, he knows. About Kai’s secret.
About Naomi. About me. About the truth of why I ran away.
I said it all out loud. Finally. And the sky didn’t fall.
The world didn’t crack. My chest only loosened.
By a fraction, but it’s enough. I can breathe, knowing everything’s still alright.
And I have a brother by my side, who isn’t the big idiot I always assumed he was.
There’s something strangely liberating about Stan knowing everything—even the ugliest parts of me, even when we want the same woman—and him still offering a hand.
Our family is fucked up. All of this may be beyond repair.
But for once, I’ve got backup. Even if it’s Stan.
Even if it means sharing Elle. The thought scrapes raw inside me.
But I don’t push it away. I don’t lie to myself either.
Stan’s not going anywhere. So I’ll take it.
Take the help. Take the shared weight. Because this time, we have a real shot at bringing Clo down.
The wind rustles the trees, and I let my eyes fall shut. Just for a moment.
“You look like shit, by the way,” Stan mutters so casually I almost think I imagined it. “You need your beauty sleep, Silver.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head lightly, smirking despite myself. “Fucking asshole.”
He chuckles like that’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever paid him. Maybe it is.