Chapter Seven #3
Berk drifts past us, serene as a death angel, and drags a wooden dining chair from the corner. She places it in the center of the room, tapping the seat with one elegant finger, the gesture gentle but loaded with promise.
“Sit down,” she says.
We haul him upright. His pants fall further, whimpering through his teeth as we shove him into the chair and zip-tie his wrists behind his back, legs bound tight to the chair legs. Tape tears through the air and slaps across his mouth before he can spit another word.
The porn is still playing, a desperate moan echoing around the small living room like some twisted soundtrack.
Berk walks over and switches the TV off with a single downward flick of her finger.
Silence becomes a weapon.
She steps into the dim light, hands on her hips, head tilting as if she’s studying a strange bug she might dissect later.
His gaze tries to climb her legs again out of instinct—and Ronan steps forward with a low growl that sounds like violence wearing skin.
“Eyes down,” Ronan warns.
Jory obeys so quickly his neck nearly snaps.
Only when he’s shaking and breathing quick little rabbit breaths does Berk speak again, voice coated in honey and knives.
“Since we have your full attention,” she murmurs, leaning in just enough for her shadow to swallow him whole, “let’s begin.”
Jory doesn’t blink or breathe. Doesn’t dare twitch.
Good.
He should be scared.
Berk moves first.
Of course she does.
She glides up to Jory’s face, crouching until she’s eye-level with him. Even tied to a chair, bleeding and pale, the bastard can’t look away from her. She gives him a bright, sunny smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey. Hi there.” Her voice is sweet enough to rot teeth. The kind that should warn any smart man to run. Jory just shakes harder, sweat dripping straight off his nose.
Behind her, Rowan and Ronan snort at the same time.
I stay where I am in the corner, arms crossed, watching.
Studying. Waiting. Berk makes everything look effortless, but I’m cataloging each twitch of Jory’s muscles, already predicting when he’s going to try something stupid.
Not that he could, since he’s tied down.
She brushes nonexistent lint off his shoulder, all gentle and polite. “You look nervous,” she whispers. “Is it because we caught you mid-stroke? Bad luck for you. Grand entertainment for us.”
Ronan coughs, covering a laugh. Rowan makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. I just let my jaw clench tighter. I’m still thanking the universe Berk took the back entrance and didn’t see this rat with his dick in his hand, even though it’s still hanging out now.
Berk circles him like a slow, lazy predator. “Now that we’ve recovered from the… visual assault,” she says, “let’s chat. We have questions. You’re going to answer.”
Ronan rips the tape from Jory’s mouth, and the guy yelps like a kicked dog. The sound echoes off the cheap wallpaper. Jory’s eyes swing between all four of us—no comfort in any direction.
Berk crouches again, elbows on her knees as if she’s settled in for a conversation over coffee.
“First question,” she says. “How does a drop boy like you end up paid by men like Dean and Bryce?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers.
I see Berk’s smile widen, and I brace.
Rowan moves first, cracking Jory across the jaw hard enough to bounce his skull off the chair back.
Blood sprays. Jory wheezes.
“Try again,” Berk murmurs.
“They—they pay me,” he blurts. “I don’t meet them or ask questions. I swear.”
Berk’s boot slides between his legs, forcing his gaze up.
He looks right at her chest before he can stop himself.
And that’s when I move. I’m on him in a blink, my hand fisting in his hair, jerking his face away so hard he whines.
“Try looking at her again,” I growl in his ear, low and cold, “and I’ll break every bone in your face one by one.”
His gaze drops to the floor as if his life depends on it.
Smart move—because it does.
Berk takes out a knife—one of her favorites, slim and wicked—and twirls it between her fingers. Jory’s breathing goes shallow.
“Where’s Kimber?” She asks.
He shakes so violently that the chair legs scrape. “I don’t—I don’t know any Kimber. I swear.”
Ronan leans over him, voice a snarl. “Wrong fucking answer.”
I take a step back, letting Berk decide.
She doesn’t disappoint.
She slides the blade straight into his thigh. Clean. Precise. No hesitation. Jory screams into the room, the sound cracking at the edges.
Ronan slaps a hand over his mouth before he wakes the neighbors.
“You scream again and we cut off the reason you were touching yourself earlier,” Ronan warns.
Jory sobs behind Ronan’s palm.
Berk twists the knife once, enough to spike adrenaline through him but not enough to do actual damage. The sound that leaves him is almost inhuman.
“That was for wasting my time,” she says calmly. “Lie again and I’ll carve the truth out of you.”
He’s shaking so badly I can see it from across the room.
“They’ll kill me,” he chokes. “If I talk, they’ll kill me.”
Berk slides the blade out and wipes it on his shirt. “What do you think we’re gonna do if you don’t talk?”
He breaks.
“I don’t know the girl,” he gasps. “But I know Dean and Bryce. They pay me. Drops. Packages. That’s it. I don’t meet them or ask questions.”
“What about Horizon Logistics—the shell company?” I ask from my place behind Berk. My voice sounds nothing like it normally does. It’s quiet. Deadly.
Jory swallows. “Money comes from there every couple of weeks. I don’t know who runs it.”
“Your contact?” Rowan presses.
“I don’t have one,” Jory insists. “They message me. A time. A place. Sometimes a PO box with the package already inside. I grab it. I drop it off.”
“When’s the next one?” Ronan asks.
“I don’t know,” he whimpers. “Nothing since the dock the other day. I swear that’s everything. Please.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. He’s panting. Bleeding. Crying.
Berk slides her knife back into her boot and stands. The sound is soft, final. Ronan steps beside me. Rowan moves to her other side.
Jory finally understands the shift.
He’s told us everything he can.
And that means he has nothing left to bargain with.
The begging begins messy. Half words, wet sounds, spit flying because his busted lip can’t form any words properly. He keeps trying to look at Berk like she’s his salvation, and every time he does Ronan cracks him across the face with the butt of his gun.
“Eyes down,” Ronan snarls. “Or I take one of them.”
The guy jerks his gaze to the floor immediately.
We already planned to kill him once he talked, so I’m not invested in his comfort. But then Berk leans into me, fingers brushing my arm as lightly as a warning fluttering through my veins. Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Keep him busy.”
I nod once, no questions asked. She moves toward his phone on the table, pulling another device from her pocket like a magician producing a blade.
I catch the slight tilt of her wrist, the way her fingers dance across screens.
She is already cloning the phone before Jory realizes she’s even touched it.
He’s blubbering, “Please, man, please, I didn’t mean any of it, they forced me, I swear, I swear.”
I let him ramble. Let him drown himself with pathetic promises while Berk sweeps his entire digital life into her pocket.
Once she’s done, she turns back toward him and softens her face. Not real softness. Calculated softness. A gentle expression that makes monsters confess and cowards fall apart.
She crouches in front of him. “Hey,” she murmurs.
He nods fast, like a bobblehead on crack.
“I believe you,” she says sweetly.
Ronan snorts behind her. Rowan mutters something like “unbelievable” under his breath.
Jory clings to her words like they’re a parachute. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I swear I’ll do better. I swear.”
She pretends to think about it, tapping another blade lightly against her thigh. “I think you deserve a second chance.”
Rowan mutters again. “Bullshit.”
She ignores him. “But you have to be smart about it, Jory. So smart. No more stupid choices. No more drop-offs for men who don’t care if you live or die.”
He nods frantically. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll do better. I swear. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”
She tilts her head, tapping the tape on his hands, slicing it just enough to give him movement. “If you step out of line,” she says softly. “If you lie again. If you so much as breathe in the wrong direction. I’ll know.”
He gulps. “I won’t. I promise.”
“And if I have to come back,” she adds, leaning close enough to brush her breath across his cheek. “I won’t finish you off the way you’re hoping, sweetheart.”
He shudders. Fully terrified. Fully convinced he has a lifeline.
Idiot.
We file out of the house with matching predatory grins. All of us except Berk. Her shoulders are tense; her mouth tight.
Ronan notices first. “What’s wrong, Pix?”
She slides her knives from the sheath in her boot and studies the gleaming blades with a glare sharp enough to cut bone. “Only one got dirty,” she says. “The other four are jealous.”
Ronan barks a laugh, probably scaring the neighbors if they’re awake. He leans against her with a wicked grin. “Don’t worry. Someone’s going to bleed like a stuck pig soon.”
Her expression shifts immediately. Her smile sharpens into something feral and beautiful. “Promise?”
“Promise,” he growls, eyes flicking to mine. “We’ll make sure you get to use all your knives.”
I shake my head, amused and turned on in equal measure. “The criminals around here should send out a prayer.”
Rowan snorts and pulls onto the main road. “A prayer won’t save them.”
Berk settles between us, tucking her knife case on her lap like a child hugging a favorite toy. Ronan catches her chin and kisses her forehead. I reach over and slide my hand onto hers.
She threads her fingers through mine and whispers, “He’ll lead us somewhere.”
I squeeze her hand. “He will. And we’ll be ready.”