Chapter Eight
TOREN
“So young,” she says with fake sympathy dripping like poison from her tongue. “Four lives lost.”
I tear my gaze from the photos of my dead friends and scowl up at this smug bitch.
Grief is like glitter. At the start it's everywhere, on your hands, clothes, in your hair and across every corner of your life.
You try to clean it and wash it away so you can get a sense of order back.
But then, one day, you move something or pass by a cafe and there it is again.
A tiny sparkle that catches the light and reminds you of what you've lost.
It doesn't go away completely. You learn to live with it, to carry it gently like I am now.
“What the fuck do you really want?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
A devious look enters her eyes, cold, calculating, predatory, and I can see exactly who she is beneath the badge and the suit.
She's a heartless monster.
She doesn't care about anyone. Not Kellan. Not the people who've died. Not justice.
All she cares about is closing cases and basking in the glory of taking down her targets. This woman is all about her career, her reputation, her victories.
Not once has she offered condolences for Kellan, the man she used as a pawn and discarded the moment he stopped being useful. His life meant nothing to her. His safety even less.
Xaden may be a killer. May be ruthless, brutal and terrifying.
But he's not shallow like her.
He doesn't hide behind lies and false righteousness. He doesn't pretend to be something he's not.
This bitch? She wears her badge like armor while doing things just as evil as any criminal she hunts.
“I want you to help me bring down your family and your boyfriend's.”
The casual way she says it, like she's asking me to pass the salt, makes rage simmer in my veins.
“And if I don't?”
The fucker John chuckles and I shoot him a scathing look that wipes the amusement right off his face.
“You think you know who I am.” The bitch stands and brushes invisible wrinkles from her suit jacket with practiced superiority. “I know everything, Miss Kellar.”
I scoff, the sound harsh and mocking.
“You can act like an entitled brat and try to best me, but you'll fail like many before you.” She pauses, her smile turning vicious. “Just ask your friend Vivian.”
At the mention of Vivian's name, every muscle in my body tenses but I don't let it show. Don't give her the satisfaction.
“I always get what I want,” she finishes, her voice dripping with smug certainty.
I push to my feet, ignoring the way my legs shake, and stand directly in front of her. We're matched in height. She tries to stare me down, tries to make me flinch.
It's useless.
I've faced off against Xaden Devlin and survived. This bureaucrat in designer heels doesn't intimidate me.
I look her up and down, slowly, deliberately, and allow my unimpressed expression to settle over my features like a mask.
I want this bitch to know she's on my list now.
“When you look at me, you see some poor girl who got her heart broken. Lost her friends. Had her world turned upside down.” A smirk ghosts over my lips. “What you don't see is the girl that was handed a shitty stick and still came out on top. So you see, Deputy Director. You. Don't. Know. Me.”
The smug smile vanishes from her hideous face.
“You tried to use Kellan. Forced him into a corner and profited from his misery. You even tried to wrangle Cas into your bullshit.”
Her eyes widen slightly, shocked that I knew about Caspian.
Good. Let her wonder what else I know.
“Here's a little secret for you,” I lean in closer, my voice dropping to something dangerous. “I read all the files Kellan gave me. But what you didn't know is that he had one on you, Deputy Director Fiona Williams.”
Outrage explodes across her face like a grenade detonating.
John scrambles to his feet, preparing to intervene, but something tells me he won't. He's too terrified of his boss to actually stand up to her.
I smile, taunting the bitch further.
She strikes out and slaps me across the face.
The crack echoes through the room. Pain explodes across my cheek, sharp and hot.
I slowly turn back to face her, fighting every instinct to hold my stinging skin. I won't give her the satisfaction.
“Director!” John shouts, but she ignores him completely.
She pushes into me until we're chest to chest, invading my space, trying to intimidate me with proximity.
“You'll give me those files,” she hisses.
“Make me,” I spit back through gritted teeth.
“I have agents raiding your dorm room right now.”
A laugh bursts from me, harsh, bitter, completely devoid of humor.
“Here's the thing, you say you know everything about me?
Then you should know I have friends who've taught me things.” I meet her furious gaze without flinching.
“I would never keep those files on me or in my room.
Plus, I know you're bluffing because Kellan would have told you I don't live on campus anymore.”
Her jaw clenches so hard I can hear her teeth grinding.
“You will regret making an enemy out of me,” she promises, her voice low and venomous.
I harden my features, matching her scowl with one of my own.
“No. You will regret making me your enemy.” The words come out deadly calm. “I have nothing left to lose. You saw that in those photos you shoved in my face. I'm nothing if not resourceful, and believe me, I'll make my father and brother look like amateurs compared to what I have planned for you.”
Something shifts inside me as I say it.
Not the words themselves, I mean every syllable but the sound of them in my own voice.
The particular quality of the certainty behind them.
I have been saying versions of this since I walked back into Somerset and not once have I fully believed it.
I have been performing bravery while carrying hope like a hidden wound, waiting for something to fix itself, waiting for Xaden to see me, waiting for Masen to explain, waiting for some version of the world I grew up in to reassemble around me.
Standing here in this interrogation room with Fiona Williams in my face and four dead friends on the table between us and my body running on nothing but adrenaline and dehydration, I am done waiting.
I am done carrying hope.
Not the fight. The hope that someone else is going to resolve it.
I look at this woman, this powerful, corrupt, utterly self-serving woman who picked up a badge and used it to settle personal scores across a decade and I understand for the first time with total clarity that the only person standing between me and losing everything is me.
I want to win.
Not survive. Not endure. Not get through.
Win.
The cartel. The truth. Fiona paying for what she's done. And Xaden, Xaden looking at me without the war between us, just once, and seeing exactly who is standing in front of him.
All of it. I want all of it.
And I am done waiting for permission to go after it.
“See you soon, Fiona,” I say quietly.
Then I turn my back on her and walk.
My stomach is cramping violently from hunger. My throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper. My entire body aches with exhaustion and dehydration.
I don't know how long I've been locked in this room. Hours? Days?
They're trying to break me. Forcing someone to go without food and water, locking them in a bare room with nothing, it's a classic interrogation tactic.
Except I lived in a cage just like this one for an entire year.
If Walter House didn't break me, this place sure as fuck won't.
I jolt awake when someone shakes me, my head snapping up as I struggle to focus my blurry vision.
“Tatum?” I croak out, my voice barely recognizable.
She purses her lips, trying to hide the worry in her eyes but failing miserably.
“Come on,” she mutters, grabbing my arm and helping me to my feet.
The world spins violently. I sway, my vision tunneling to black at the edges as nausea rolls through me in waves.
“Omen,” I hear Tate say urgently.
Suddenly I'm being lifted off my feet and cradled against a solid chest. The movement makes my stomach lurch and I swallow repeatedly, fighting the bile creeping up my throat.
“He's alive, Tor.” Omen's quiet voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Carnage is alive.”
The relief that floods through me is so intense it's almost painful. The nausea ebbs slightly and I close my eyes, resting my head against Omen's chest as tears leak from beneath my lashes.
He's alive. He's okay.
“Stop right there!”
Fiona's shrill voice has my eyes snapping open. Omen comes to an abrupt stop and I push weakly against his chest.
He looks down at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him carefully place me on my feet.
I turn to face that bitch, using every ounce of strength I have left to stay upright. Omen stands at my side with his arm wrapped around my waist, to anyone watching we'd look like lovers, but the reality is he's holding me up because he knows I'll collapse without his support.
Tate is on my other side, glaring daggers at Fiona.
“She is in our custody—"
“Is she under arrest?” Tate snaps, cutting her off with the precision of someone who knows exactly how to play this game.
I look around us, fighting not to cringe at the audience we've attracted. Dozens of agents stand watching, waiting for orders from their boss.
Fiona's jaw clenches, teeth grinding together.
That silence is all the answer we need.
“See you soon, Fiona,” I snarl, then force myself to turn and walk away with my head held high.
Each step is agony. My vision blurs. My legs feel like they're made of water.
The second we're outside, my knees buckle.
Omen catches me before I hit the concrete, scooping me up like I weigh nothing.
“I'll drive,” Tate says, her voice sounding distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.
I'm losing the battle to stay conscious and I'm too exhausted to fight it anymore.
“Alex is gonna want to see her,” I hear Omen say.
Then darkness swallows me whole, and I finally surrender to the exhaustion that's been clawing at me for what feels like forever.
My last thought before everything goes black:
I survived.
Again.
And when I wake up, I'm going to win.