Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
This will work.
The shittiest, most isolated place within a dozen square miles.
Gravel crunches under the van’s tires as I pull into the skeletal remains. Once a textile factory, it’s now a health hazard.
Broken windows gape like missing teeth. Rust blooms across metal beams. The loading dock sags under decades of neglect.
Perfect for covering up violence.
I kill the engine and turn to Rosalie. She’s already unbuckling her seat belt, face set with that determined expression. But a flicker of worry tightens her forehead when she meets my gaze.
“This is going to get ugly,” I warn, needing her to understand what she’s walking into. “What I have to do to get answers—it probably won’t be clean. Definitely not pretty.”
“I know.” Her fingers find mine, squeezing once. “Someone wants me dead, Justice. Whoever it is, they’re good enough that your team is worried.”
Worried? I’m a world away from worried. My alarms are at threat level ten.
“I can’t leave you unguarded. It wouldn’t be safe. So I need you close.”
Regret crushes my throat.
The breath she draws is uneven too, making me hate this even more.
Her fingers brush my cheek. “We need to know who. We need to know how to help Beast and Camile. We do this together.”
The ache in my chest spreads, roots digging deeper.
This woman.
How is she so strong?
She’s ready to walk into hell at my side.
“It’s going to change how you see me,” I tell her, my insides shredding into a million bloody pieces. Terrified, I nod.
She’s going to walk away and never look back when all this is over.
“It will.” She admits but doesn’t look away.
I force a swallow, trying to figure out what to say, but she stops me by lifting a hand. “It’ll just show me more of who you are.”
The monster.
I don’t think she understands what that means. But there’s no time to argue.
“We need to move. The longer we’re here the more chance of unwanted attention.”
Parson’s trussed up in the back, zip-tied and breathing shallowly around the rag I wanted to suffocate him with.
He squirms and bleats as I drag him by his underarms into the shell of the former factory.
Cold. I’m so fucking cold inside when it comes to the man. Detached from his humanity. Just another problem to solve, another obstacle to overcome.
But Rosalie is a different story.
I’d sell my last possession and my soul to keep her away from this building.
“Careful, watch where you walk,” I remind her as we navigate decades of decay.
Rosalie follows, picking her way along, bear spray in hand. Trailing me until I find a support column near the center of the space.
It’s reinforced steel and still solid despite the rot everywhere else. I drop Parson at the base of it. A groan escaping as he scans the space, wide-eyed.
“There.” I point to a stack of pallets twenty feet away. “Sit there. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
Rosalie nods, retreating to the spot without argument. She settles onto the wood, bear spray across her knees, eyes locked on me.
Not on Parson.
On me.
Like she’s studying my reactions, cataloging what she sees. What I’m about to become.
I pull out another long zip tie, securing Parson to the column. His eyes open wide, confusion giving way to panic as he processes where he is. Who he’s with.
“What—” He shouts into the rag, yanks against the restraints, the plastic biting into his wrists. He gasps for air when I jerk the rag out.
“Next time I’ll shove it all the way down.”
Fury reddens his face as he tries to speak and catch his breath at the same time. “You can’t do this. I’m the—”
“Man who put a hit on her.” I crouch in front of him, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Now we’re going to have a conversation. How it goes depends entirely on you.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Is this fucker serious? He needs a goddamned mercenary rescue mission right now and he’s asking for a suit?
I almost laugh, but I’m ready to rip his throat out for just breathing her name.
“Sure. I’ll call one right after you tell me who you hired to kill Dr. Baxter.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wrong answer.
I grab his collar, slamming him back against the column hard enough to rattle his teeth, and shake rust free from above. “Let’s try this again. Who. Did. You. Hire.”
“Go to hell.”
My boot connects with his ribs, a controlled strike that’ll leave bruises but no permanent damage. He gasps, doubling over as much as the restraints allow.
“I can do this all night,” I tell him. “But you can’t.”
“You’re... military,” he wheezes. “You have... rules...”
“Not anymore. And the only rule I follow now is protecting what’s mine.”
I straighten, rolling my shoulders, flexing my knuckles. “So unless you want to find out exactly how creative I can get, start talking.”
Silence.
I glance at Rosalie. She’s pale, but she hasn’t looked away. Hasn’t flinched. Just sits there watching, fingers tight around the spray can.
Something twists in my gut. A yawning sensation hits my chest. I’m a monster.
She shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t see this side of me—the part that knows exactly how to break a man, how to inflict pain without mercy.
But I need the intel. And I can’t leave her unprotected. The ultimate catch-22.
I turn back to Parson. “Last chance.”
“Westerly will kill me if I talk.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” I pull my knife, the blade catching what little light filters through the broken windows. “And I promise, my way will be slower.”
His eyes widen, tracking the knife as I flip it in my hand. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?”
I press the tip to his thigh, not breaking skin, but pressing hard enough he feels the tip through his fancy dress pants. “Five seconds. Then I start cutting.”
“Wait—”
“Five.”
“I don’t—”
“Four.”
“Okay! Okay!” Sweat beads on his forehead, running down his temples. His legs are shaking so hard his shoes are tapping the concrete. “I’ll talk.”
I don’t move the knife. “Start with the hit. Who’d you hire?”
“I didn’t hire anyone. Maybe Westerly handled it directly.” The words tumble out fast, tripping over each other.
“All I know is that he’s some specialist. Ex-military, I think. Westerly keeps that information compartmentalized. I just know the order was given.”
“When?”
“Two days ago. Right after she disappeared with his research.”
Rosalie makes a small, rough sound. “Technically he took my research.”
She’s right. But before her, Allison Westerly owned that sample. So it’s not his at all.
“What’s in the sample?” I ask.
He’s shaking violently, drool seeping out of his mouth.
“I don’t know the specifics. Some kind of rare substance. Westerly’s wanted to extract it for months, since that girl he raised discovered it. He’s got some big plans for it. But the site’s on protected land.”
“He wants it before anyone else, this is all about greed,” Rosalie says, her voice clear and piercing through the dim light.
She’s looking at me. “I know what it is. I’m the only one.”
This news hits me like a two-by-four across the face.
“If it goes public, he loses billions,” I grate out.
Goddamned greed is the reason he wants to kill Rosalie, and do God knows what to Allison, and is holding Beast.
Venom lacing my words, I stalk around him. “So he wants to get rid of anyone who knows what he’s after.”
“It’s just business,” Parson says, like that makes it okay. Like Rosalie’s life is a line item on a balance sheet.
Rage floods my system, hot and vicious. The knife twitches in my hold. I want to carve him apart, piece by piece, until he understands exactly what he’s saying.
But I force it down. Channel it.
“The specialist,” I say, voice colder than the steel in my hand. “Give me a name.”
“I told you, I don’t know—maybe um... Milton Reece or something?”
I press harder, the knife breaking skin. Blood wells, dark against his pants.
“Jesus! Stop!” He’s hyperventilating now, eyes wild. “There’s a file. In Westerly’s corporate office, at the headquarters. That’s all I know. I swear. He goes by some moniker—Crusher... Bone Crusher something.”
Bone Crusher. Fucking hell. Acid climbs up my throat.
Someone known as the Bone Crusher is hunting for the woman I love.
“Where exactly in his corporate office?” I snap, but we know he’s already moved his personal files at home to some undisclosed location.
“Safe. Behind the painting of the coastline. Code is... is his daughter’s birthday.”
This is a safe we didn’t know about.
I pull the knife back, wiping it on his sleeve. “What else?”
“That’s everything. I swear. I don’t know anything else.”
I study him, reading his tells. The rapid breathing. The dilated pupils. The tremors in his hands.
He’s giving me the truth. So far.
“Good.” I stand, sheathing the knife. “Now tell me about the island.”
His face goes blank. “W-what island?”
“The one Westerly’s using for his operations. The one where he’s holding someone we care about.”
“I don’t—”
There’s a flicker of something in his expression.
Detecting lying is an art, and I’m done fucking around. I’ll beat it out of him or kill him trying.
I grab his throat, squeezing just enough to make his vision blur. “I’m out of patience. Talk.”
When I release him seconds later, he sucks in air, coughing.
“Okay! Okay! Private island. Off the coast of Oregon. Westerly uses it for... experiments. He keeps people there. Things he can’t do on the mainland but he does for his business.”
“So you didn’t know about it a minute ago?” My knife zings when I jerk it out of the holder, drawing it across his Achilles tendon. Swift. Concise.
His scream is loud enough for anyone on that fucking island to hear.
When it dies down and he’s left shuddering in pain, I stand up. “Lie to me again and I’m cutting off your dick.”
He wheezes, his eyes roll back, and he goes slack against the bindings.
A vicious slap brings him back.
“What kind of experiments?” I yell into his face, bending over his bound, bleeding body.
He blinks, moans, clears his throat. “I really don’t know. He doesn’t tell me. Just that it’s high-level, high-security. Anyone who goes there doesn’t come back unless he says so.”
The blood in my veins speeds, focus sharpening. “Who is he keeping there now?”
“I heard they grabbed someone. A man for collateral.”
He’s got fucking tears in his eyes now, and I want to grind them off his face on the concrete.
Who does he think he is to get to cry when Rosalie’s life is on the line and Beast is doing everything to bring Westerly’s corruption to an end?
“That’s all I know. I swear on my life,” he whimpers, staring at the pool of blood growing around his destroyed ankle.
“Once a liar, always a liar,” I say coldly.
Not a bone in my body remorseful for hurting him. “This is not over.”
I need to know everything. And I will. Beast is on that island. And whatever Westerly’s doing there, it’s bad enough to warrant permanent silence for anyone who sees it.
When I step back, I pull out my phone. “Rosalie, we’re done here.”
She stands, legs visibly shaking but holding steady. She doesn’t look at Parson. Just at me.
“What do we do with him?” she asks quietly.
“Marshall will send some cleaners to collect him. We leave him here until they arrive.”
She whispers, “And if Westerly’s men find him first?”
“They won’t.” I’m already texting, coordinating with Marshall.
Rosalie nods, but she’s still watching me. Still cataloging. Processing.
I pocket my phone and move on tense legs toward her, stopping a few feet away. Close enough to touch, but I don’t. Can’t.
Because now she’s seen it. Knows what I’m capable of. What I’ve done in the name of protecting people.
What I’d do again without hesitation if it meant keeping her safe.
“You okay?” I ask, knowing it’s a stupid question. She might say she is, but down deep, this woman is traumatized all to hell.
“Are you?” she counters.
I don’t know how to answer that.
She closes the distance between us, one hand lifting to my chest. Right over my heart. “You did what you had to do.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“Doesn’t make it wrong either.” Her eyes search mine. “You protected me. Got information that might save Beast. That’s what matters.”
“You shouldn’t have seen that,” I tell her roughly. “Shouldn’t have to see what I am.”
“What you are,” she says firmly, “is the man who saved my life. Multiple times. The man who’d walk up to the devil to keep me safe. The man I love.”
The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath, making my vision blur.
“I mean it.” She presses closer, fingers curling into my vest.
That simple movement nearly sends me to the floor, wailing.
“Nothing changes how I feel. It can’t.”
I want to believe her. Want to pull her close and never let go.
But I’ve seen this before—the aftermath when wives realize what they’ve married.
The slow realization of what loving someone like me really means is destroying them.
“You say that now,” I reply, low, destroyed. “But later—”
“I’ll show you you’re wrong.” She tilts her head back, forcing me to meet her gaze. “Stop trying to push me away. It won’t work.”
My phone buzzes, shattering the moment.
“I need to take this.”
Marshall’s name flashes on the screen. I answer, keeping my eyes on Rosalie. “Yeah.”
“We’ve got an update from the island. Beast is alive. But we’ve got a problem. Did you get anything out of this guy?”
“Very little. He’s not privy to the info on the island. I have a name for the assassin. A call sign, code name, something. Bone Crusher.”
Just saying that name almost makes me vomit.
Marshall grunts. “Well, we just intercepted a radio communication that Westerly’s planning to execute Beast in twelve hours.”
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
“Listen,” Marshall says. “You only focus on the assassin. Copy?”
There’s a war inside me. Beast is one of my best friends. He’s family. But I can’t waste a single second getting Rosalie safe. There’s no time.
“Go get him,” I rasp. “I’m locked in here, and I will eliminate the threat.”