Chapter Sixteen
Emerson
Our target is twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes between us and whatever nightmare Berk walked into alone. Twenty minutes between me and my sister. Twenty minutes between me and the woman I love more than my own damn life.
Guilt crawls up my spine, the familiar kind, the kind that has eaten at me from the second Kimber was taken.
I keep replaying it in my head: the ugly truth I never wanted to face.
If it came down to a choice, if someone forced my hand, if the world demanded a sacrifice…
I knew I would crumble. I knew I would break.
I would stand in the middle and fail both of them.
How the hell does someone choose between their sister and their soulmate? You don’t. Not if you’re human. And maybe that’s the biggest point of all.
Berk knew that. She knew we would destroy ourselves trying to make the call, so she made it for us.
A decision carved out of pain, loyalty, and that unshakable part of her that refuses to let anyone else suffer what she did.
She would walk into hell barefoot if it meant keeping Kimber from facing even a shadow of what happened in that video.
I want to worship her for that. I want to drag her into my arms and bury my face in her neck and tell her she is everything. But I also want to shake her until her fucking teeth chatter for doing this alone. For taking the choice from us. For choosing death if it means sparing Kimber.
My heart is splitting open. And judging by the looks on my brothers’ faces, I’m not the only one drowning in that impossible duality.
Their eyes flicker between rage and love, fury and fear.
Kiss or kill. Hold her or tie her to the fucking bed until she understands she never gets to do something like this again.
A low growl tears out of me before I can choke it back. It rips right from my chest, raw and frustrated.
Ronan laughs under his breath, gripping my shoulder hard enough to ground me. “I know the feeling, brother. She’ll be punished for this.”
The spark in his eyes is wicked, dark, and exactly what I need to see. It promises that punishment will involve every one of us, and none of it will be gentle.
Rowan catches the look and his mouth curves into a lethal smirk. It pulls one from me in return—sharp, vicious. Because we might be terrified. We might be furious. We might be fractured in ways that will never fully heal.
But we’re coming for her.
And when we get her back—alive, breathing—she will never walk into a fire alone again.
Luckily, Berk didn’t take the van when she left. If she had, we’d be sprinting down the highway like lunatics or calling an Uber to a hostage exchange. The thought alone almost makes me laugh, except nothing about this morning is remotely funny.
We move quickly, muscle memory and dread guiding our hands as we strap into what Ronan loves to call the good china. Our best weapons, our cleanest blades, our most reliable gear. Tools we saved for this exact moment, the final chapter none of us ever thought we’d actually reach.
Once we’re loaded into the van, Ronan snaps the portable tracking unit into place. Wires click, screen glows, and he’s instantly synced to the war room system. Even out here, miles from home, he can track Berk and Dean in real time. If either of them moves, we’ll know.
The silence stretches between us until Ronan finally cuts through it, voice low but certain. “This is it. Years of planning. Years of hunting. It all ends today.”
A chill slides through me, settling deep in my bones. “It’s strange,” I breathe. “We’ve lived in survival mode for so long, I don’t know what the world feels like without it. If we make it through this… I don’t know if peace will feel real anymore.”
Rowan shifts in the back, checking the slide of his gun, counting magazines by touch. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
Ronan drives like he’s trying to bend the laws of physics, and honestly, none of us complain. The sooner we get there, the sooner this nightmare can end. It takes less than twenty minutes before the pier comes into view, the rusted warehouses casting long shadows in the sunlight.
Ronan slows just enough to talk. “We’re going in blind. I’m pulling up the blueprints before we move in. We’ll go over them quickly, but I hate this. I hate not having eyes inside. I hate knowing Berk and Kimber are in there with these sons of bitches while we’re sitting here planning.”
I nod, picking up where he leaves off. “Dean will have more men than Bryce ever did. He took the larger cut, the better weapons, the heavier protection. We should expect double—maybe more. With only three of us, brute force won’t work. We have to be smart.”
They grunt in agreement, though it’s more frustration than acceptance. They know I’m right. We all do.
Ronan parks half a mile away, killing the engine. The world goes still for a moment, only the distant echo of water slapping the docks.
“By aerial view, there’s only one entry point,” he says while tapping the screen. “If we drive any closer, they’ll hear or see us before we’re out of the van. We’ll need to finish our approach on foot.”
I let out a rough groan, impatience coiling tight beneath my ribs, but I lift a hand to stop Ronan before he can start lecturing. “I know. I get it. I’m not arguing. I just…” My voice dips, rawer than I mean it to be. “I want her back. Both of them.”
His expression softens—just barely. A brief flicker of understanding passes through his eyes. “I know.”
He doesn’t say anything else. No teasing. No sharp edge. None of Ronan’s usual bullshit. He knows we’re all wound too tight, one wrong word away from snapping.
Ronan tilts the screen toward us, the glow lighting the inside of the van as the blueprints load piece by piece. The place is bigger than I expected, sprawled like a steel carcass along the shore. Levels, stairwells, choke points. Rooms that could hide a dozen men. Rooms that could hide our girls.
We lean in until our shoulders touch.
For a long moment, no one speaks. We’re studying. Memorizing. Calculating how many ways we could get in and how many ways we might die getting out.
Ronan breaks the silence first, tapping the structural outline on the screen.
“There’s one confirmed access point on the basement level, and it’s still our best way in.
Large rolling bay door.” His finger traces the perimeter.
“If we’re lucky, it’s unsecured. If we’re not, it’s reinforced and guarded. ”
He shifts the view, bringing up the ground floor. “There are other entrances topside—service doors, loading access—but those put us in the open. Too many sightlines. Too much exposure. Basement keeps us contained, keeps our angles tight. That’s where we breach.”
Rowan snorts quietly. “They’ll have guards. Dean’s paranoid. And with Bryce gone, he’s probably spiraling.”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to focus. “Let’s go over exit points. If we get separated, we need fallback routes.”
Ronan drags his finger along the blueprint, tagging each point.
“Emergency hatch on the west side. Locked from the inside, but easy enough to force if we need a fast exit.” His finger shifts upward.
“If we’re forced topside, there’s two upper-level windows we can rappel out, but it puts us in the open. ”
He pulls back to show the full structure.
“There are other exits on the ground floor—service doors, secondary access points. The basement loading dock is still our breach.” His jaw tightens.
“How we get out depends on how it goes inside. Best case, we leave together.” A grim edge slips into his tone. “With the place burning behind us.”
I nod slowly. “Good. Now… where would he keep them?”
The air thickens.
The van feels too small.
Too quiet.
I trace the rooms with my finger, searching for patterns. “He won’t put Berk in anything too open. He expects her to fight. Kimber…” My voice snags, and I clear it. “He’d hide her somewhere enclosed. Back rooms. Offices. Maybe the storage wing.”
Ronan grunts in agreement. “If they’re smart, they’ll keep Berk on the upper floors. Fewer exits. Harder to make a fast break.” His jaw tightens. “Kimber could be with her as bait—easier to control us if they’re in the same room. Or she’s downstairs.” A beat. “Or worse, already moved.”
Worse.
The word rattles me.
Rowan leans forward, jaw tight, eyes red-rimmed from too much grief and too little sleep. “Do you think they’re together or separate?”
I breathe out slowly. “If Dean wants to control the swap, he’ll separate them. He’ll want leverage. He’ll want fear.”
Ronan mutters low under his breath. “He’s the one getting the fucking fear tonight.”
We continue breaking down the layout until the sun shifts in the sky. It feels wrong that the world keeps turning while ours is about to rupture.
We estimate anywhere from six to twelve men inside. Maybe more. Dean always kept extra muscle close. Enough to feel powerful. Not enough to babysit all the loose ends he’s created.
“Three of us,” Rowan says under his breath. “Against however many bastards he’s got.”
“Three of us,” I correct softly, “and one very pissed-off woman who has already outsmarted all of us.”
That earns the smallest, sharpest smiles from my brothers.
Finally, Ronan closes the screen. “Time’s up. We go now.”
We step out of the van together, boots hitting gravel. The pier air is sharp, smelling of salt and diesel, the afternoon wind biting like teeth. I pull my gear tight across my chest, feeling the weight of every weapon, every magazine, every decision that led us here.
For a moment we just stand there, three men who were raised together, broken together, rebuilt together. A lifetime condensed into one inhale.
Rowan looks between us. His throat works once. Twice. “If one of us doesn’t make it—”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“No,” he insists, voice thick but steady. “We say it. Now. Before we go in.”
Ronan gives a hard nod. “If one of us doesn’t make it, the other two take care of our girls. Kimber. Berk. And each other.”
My chest aches so hard it feels like something is tearing. “No one dies today,” I say, even though we all know that isn’t a promise anyone can make.
But Rowan grips my wrist.
Ronan grips the other.
And for a breath, we’re unbreakable.
“We end him,” Rowan whispers.
“We bring them home,” I add.
“And if the world burns,” Ronan finishes, “then it burns with him in it.”
We release each other at the same time.
And then we move.
Toward the warehouse.
Toward our fate.
Toward the monsters waiting inside.
One mission.
One goal.
One family worth killing for.
And worth dying for—if that’s the price.