Chapter 13
Ripley
Days after the interrogation, I'm still shaking.
Not visibly—I've learned to hide that, to push the tremors down deep where no one can see them.
But inside, I'm a mess.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that room.
The gray walls. The metal table. Chief Varro sitting across from me, asking the same questions over and over, his voice soft and reasonable while his eyes promised destruction.
Where were you the night Cain died?
Did you know what Leviathan was planning?
Did you help him?
I answered truthfully. I was at the clubhouse. I didn't know anything. I didn't help.
But the truth didn't matter.
Varro wasn't looking for truth.
He was looking for cracks. Weaknesses. Ways to break me open and use whatever spilled out against Levi.
I didn't break. Not completely. But I came close.
And now I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"We need to talk about Varro."
Leviathan's voice cuts through my thoughts. We're in his office—our unofficial war room—with Zenon, Klutch, and Behemoth gathered around the desk.
Papers are spread across every surface: police reports, photographs, pages of handwritten notes.
"He's not going to stop," Leviathan continues. "The questioning was just the first move. He's building a case."
"Against Ripley?" Zenon asks.
"Against both of us. But she's the weak link, in his mind. Someone he can pressure, manipulate, turn against me." Levi's jaw tightens. "He's wrong about that. But he's going to keep trying."
"So what do we do?" Behemoth's voice is a low rumble.
"We get ahead of him." He pulls a folder from the stack, sliding it across the desk.
"This is everything we've gathered on Cain's abuse.
Incident reports from neighbors who called in noise complaints.
A statement from a bartender who saw him drag Ripley out of a bar by her hair.
Photos of injuries she sustained over the past three years. "
I flinch at that last part.
I didn't know they'd been gathering photos. Didn't know anyone had documented the evidence I'd tried so hard to hide.
"We also have hospital records," He continues, and my head snaps up.
"What?"
He meets my eyes, his expression gentle despite the hardness in his voice. "You went to the ER twice. Once for a broken wrist, once for bruised ribs. Both times, you told them you fell."
I remember.
The broken wrist was eighteen months ago—Cain threw me into a doorframe because I forgot to pick up his dry cleaning.
The ribs were earlier, maybe two years back. I don't even remember what I did wrong that time.
"The records show the injuries were inconsistent with falls," Levi says. "The doctors noted it, even if they didn't push. It's documented evidence of abuse."
"How did you get those?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended. "They're supposed to be private."
"We have friends in useful places." Zenon's voice is matter-of-fact. "Friends who understand that sometimes rules need to bend for the right reasons."
I should be upset.
Should be angry that they accessed my medical records without permission.
But all I feel is a strange sense of relief.
The proof exists. The evidence of what Cain did to me isn't just my word against a dead man's memory.
It's real. It's documented. It can't be denied.
"If Varro tries to paint you as an accomplice," Levi says, "we paint you as a victim. The real story. Three years of abuse, culminating in an attack so severe you had to flee for your life."
"And then what?" Klutch asks. "We release this to the press? Make a public statement?"
"If we have to. But hopefully, it won't come to that.
" Levi's eyes are cold. Calculating. "Varro's smart.
He knows that if this goes to trial, all of it comes out.
His son's violent history. The abuse. The fact that Cain was stripped of his patch for assaulting his girlfriend. That's not a story he wants told."
"So we use it as leverage," Zenon says slowly. "Threaten to expose Cain if Varro doesn't back off."
"Exactly."
The room is quiet as everyone processes the plan. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it—the idea of my trauma being used as a weapon. It feels strange. Uncomfortable. But also, in a twisted way, empowering.
For three years, Cain's abuse was my secret shame. Something I hid, minimized, denied. Now it's becoming something else entirely.
Proof. Protection. Power.
"There's something else," I say. My voice is steadier now. "Something I haven't told you."
All eyes turn to me.
"The last time Cain hurt me—the night I came here—he said something. About his father." I take a breath, pulling the memory from the dark place where I'd buried it. "He said his father knew. About what he did to me. And that his father had... helped. Covered things up."
Levi's expression sharpens. "What kind of things?"
"I don't know exactly. Cain was drunk, rambling. But he said something about a complaint. Someone who tried to report him, and his father made it go away." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "I didn't think much of it at the time. I was too scared, too focused on surviving. But now..."
"Now it's leverage," Zenon finishes. "If Varro helped cover up his son's abuse, that's misconduct. Maybe even obstruction of justice."
"We need to find that complaint," Levi says. "Figure out who filed it and what happened to it."
"I'll start digging," Klutch offers. "I've got contacts in the department. People who might know something."
"Do it quietly. We don't want Varro knowing we're onto him until we're ready to move."
The meeting breaks up, the brothers filing out with their assignments.
I stay where I am, staring at the papers spread across the desk.
The evidence of my own suffering, laid out in black and white.
"Hey." Levi's hand covers mine. "You okay?"
"I don't know." I look up at him, searching for words. "This is all so... surreal. Using what Cain did to me as a weapon. Having my pain become part of some strategy."
"I know it's not easy. But it's necessary." He squeezes my hand. "Varro's not going to stop on his own. We need ammunition."
"What if it's not enough? What if he doesn't care about his son's reputation?"
"Then we find something else. Something he does care about." Levi's voice hardens. "Everyone has a pressure point. We just have to find his."
I nod, trying to believe him. Trying to trust that this plan will work.
But deep down, I'm afraid.
Not of Varro. Not anymore.
I'm afraid of what happens when all of this is over.
When the war is won and the dust settles. Will I still be standing?
Will there be anything left of me that isn't defined by pain and trauma and survival?
I don't know. And the not knowing terrifies me more than anything Varro could do.
The second summons comes a week later.
This time, it's not plainclothes officers with a polite request.
It's a formal subpoena, delivered to the clubhouse by a uniformed cop with a smirk on his face.
"Ms. Tiernan is required to appear for questioning regarding the death of Cain Varro," he recites, clearly enjoying himself. "Failure to appear will result in a warrant for her arrest."
Levi takes the subpoena from his hand without a word.
The cop's smirk falters under the weight of Levi's stare, and he beats a hasty retreat.
"This is it," Levi says after he's gone. "Varro's making his move."
"He's going to try to arrest me." My voice is surprisingly calm. "For Cain's murder."
"He's going to try. But he won't succeed." Levi sets the subpoena on the desk, his jaw tight. "We've got everything we need to destroy him. It's time to use it."
"How?"
"You're going to walk into that interrogation room. You're going to answer his questions. And then you're going to tell him exactly what his son did to you, and exactly what happens if he doesn't back off."
Fear clutches at my chest. "Levi, I can't—"
"You can." He takes my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You're the strongest person I know, Ripley. You survived three years of hell. You can survive one conversation with a bully in a suit."
"What if I freeze? What if I can't—"
"You won't freeze. You know why?" His thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Because you're not that scared girl anymore. You're not the woman who flinched and cowered and believed she was worthless. You've grown. You've healed. And you're ready to fight back."
I want to believe him. Want to believe I'm strong enough to face down the father of the man who tormented me for years.
"Will you be there?" I ask. "Waiting for me?"
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll be right outside that door. The moment you're done, I'll be there."
I take a breath. Then another.
"Okay," I say finally. "Let's do this."
The interrogation room is exactly as I remember it.
Gray walls. Metal table. Two chairs on one side, one on the other. A mirror that's obviously two-way, reflecting my pale face back at me.
I sit in the single chair and wait.
The door opens.
Chief Douglas Varro walks in, followed by a detective I don't recognize.
They take their seats across from me, arranging papers, making me wait.
It's a power play, and we both know it.
"Ms. Tiernan," Varro says finally. "Thank you for coming in."
"I didn't have much choice."
"No. I suppose you didn't." He folds his hands on the table, his expression almost sympathetic. "I want you to understand something. You're not the target here. You're a witness. A victim, even. My interest is in finding out who killed my son, and I believe you can help me do that."
"I've already told you everything I know."
"Have you?" He tilts his head. "Because I've been doing some digging, Ms. Tiernan. And I've found some... interesting things."
He pulls a photograph from his folder. Slides it across the table.
It's me. At the clubhouse, maybe two weeks ago. Levi's arm is around me, and I'm looking up at him with an expression that's impossible to misread.