Chapter 12 #3
"Beard?"
"Yeah. Yeah, he had a beard. Not the full thing, just scruffy. Like he hadn't shaved in a few days."
I file that. The beard is new. He's changing his appearance, which means he knows the police have his picture, and he's still thinking clearly enough to adapt.
I stand up. The chair legs scrape against the floor and all three of them flinch.
Matthew moves to my side without me asking. We've been doing this long enough that the choreography is automatic.
"Here's what happens next," I say. "You're going to sit here. You're not going to move. You're not going to speak. Caiden is going to stay with you, and if any of you gives him a reason to be unhappy about that, I won't be here to moderate the conversation."
Caiden hasn't said a word since we came inside. He's leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, and his expression hasn't changed once. That's the expression that makes people behave.
I look at Matthew. "Safe room."
He nods.
The hallway is quiet. The night-light under Charlie's door is still glowing. I stop at the safe room panel and press the intercom.
"Morgan."
Her voice replies back immediately. Tight. Controlled. "Trenton."
"We're clear. All three contained. Harris wasn't here."
Silence on her end. I wait.
"Where is he?"
"We're working on that. We have a lead. Matthew's feeding it to Greyson now."
Another pause. I can hear her breathing through the speaker, slow and deliberate, the way she breathes when she's managing herself.
"Charlie's asking for you," she says. Her voice shifts on the last word, not quite a crack, but close.
The kind of close that means she's been holding it together for a little girl in a dark room while the world tried to come through her door, and now that the world has been stopped, holding it together is starting to cost her.
"I'm coming in," I say.
I press the latch, and the panel opens.
Morgan is sitting on the cot with Charlie curled against her side, one arm around the girl's shoulders, the other hand pressed flat against Charlie's back like she's been holding her heart in place through her palm.
Charlie's unicorn is crushed between them.
Charlie's face is dry but her eyes are enormous, the whites showing all the way around the blue.
She looks at me, then looks at Matthew behind me.
"Mr. Trent," she says. Very small. Very careful.
"Yeah, kiddo." I cross the room and drop to a crouch in front of her. My knees protest. I ignore them. "I'm here."
"Did you get them?"
"We got them."
She nods. The nod is too controlled for a four-year-old. It's the nod of someone who has learned that showing fear is dangerous and is now in a room full of people who have told her it's safe to be afraid and doesn't quite believe it yet.
"Was it my daddy?"
The question hangs in the small safe room like a weight. I watch Morgan's face as she processes it, sees the fear still raw in Charlie's eyes.
"It wasn't him, sweetheart," I say before Morgan can answer. "Just some men he paid to cause trouble."
Morgan meets my eyes over Charlie's head. We both know the truth, that this was a test. Harris sent these men to see how we'd react, to find our weaknesses before he makes his real move.
"Can I stay in here a little longer?" Charlie whispers, her small fingers still clutching Princess Sparklehoof.
"Of course," Morgan says, brushing hair from Charlie's forehead. "We'll stay as long as you need."
I check my phone. A text from Greyson: 10 minutes out with Mason and Zach. Stay put.
"We need to secure the house," I tell Morgan quietly. "Greyson's coming with backup.
She nods, her arm tightening around Charlie. "Do whatever you need. We'll be here."
In the hallway, I relay the information to Matthew. "They're sending three of ours. We'll need to clear those men out before the authorities arrive."
Matthew's jaw tightens. "If Harris is watching, he'll see us moving them."
"Then let him watch," I say, something cold settling in my chest. "Let him see what happens to people who threaten what's ours."
We return to the kitchen where Caiden still stands guard over the three intruders. Their faces have gone slack with resignation now, the fight drained from them as they've had time to contemplate their situation.
"We've got company coming," I announce, keeping my voice neutral. "When they arrive, you'll be escorted out quietly. Make any noise, give any reason for my friends to be unhappy, and you'll regret it."
The youngest one, the one Matthew caught, looks like he might throw up. "Are you going to kill us?"
"No," Matthew says, his voice deadly calm. "But Harris might, when he finds out you failed."
Headlights sweep across the front windows. I move to peer through the blinds, confirming it's Greyson's truck followed by Mason's. Two vehicles, just as promised.
"They're here," I tell Matthew. "Let's move."
We open the front door as Greyson climbs from his truck, Mason and Zach following close behind. Even in the predawn darkness, their faces are hard with purpose.
"Status?" Greyson asks, his voice carrying no farther than us.
"Three inside. Hired help, not Harris.
Greyson nods once, then signals to Mason and Zach. The three of them follow us inside, their boots heavy on the hardwood floor. The atmosphere in the kitchen changes instantly. These men carry a presence that makes our captives shrink further into their chairs.
"Gentlemen," Greyson says, his voice quiet but commanding. "Let's take a walk."
We begin moving them out one by one, hands secured behind their backs. Matthew takes the lead with the youngest, while Zach handles the middle one. I follow with the leader, the one who seemed most comfortable in his role earlier.
We're on the porch, halfway to Greyson's truck, when I see it.
Mason stops abruptly ahead of me, his posture shifting to alert. "What the fuck is that?"
I follow his gaze to the center of our porch. In the glow of the security lights, the sight freezes the blood in my veins.
A deer's head, freshly severed, sits directly in our path. Its dead eyes stare upward, mouth frozen in a grimace. Blood pools beneath it, dark against the pale wood of the porch. And impaled on the deer's antlers is a note, written in what looks like black marker.
My hand goes to my gun as I scan the darkness beyond the yard. Nothing moves in the shadows, but I feel the weight of someone's gaze like a physical pressure.
"What does it say?" Matthew asks, his voice tight with controlled fury.
Zach moves closer, careful not to touch the grotesque display. He reads the note aloud, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.
"'Whore. You've let them sully what should have been mine. The child belongs with her father. You belong with me or no one. Your time is running out.'"
Rage explodes through me, white-hot and all-consuming. Harris was here. While we were dealing with his distraction, he was right here, leaving his sick message.
"He was watching," I say, my voice barely human. "The entire time."
Morgan appears in the doorway, her face pale but determined. "What's going on? I heard—" Her words cut off as she sees the deer's head, then the note. Her hand flies to her mouth.
"Go back inside," I tell her, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
She doesn't move. Instead, she steps onto the porch, her eyes fixed on the grisly scene. "He was here," she whispers. "While we were in there."
Greyson moves between Morgan and the display, his large frame blocking her view. "Inside, Morgan. We'll handle this."
For a moment, I think she'll argue. Then her expression hardens into something I've only seen a few times before, the same fierce determination that carried her through six years without us.
"I want him found," she says, her voice steadier than I expected. "I don't care what it takes."
Matthew puts his hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him."
She nods once, then disappears back inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
"Get them in the truck," Greyson orders, nodding toward our captives. "We need to process them somewhere else."
As Mason and Zach hustle the men into the vehicles, I crouch down to examine the deer head more closely. The cut is clean, a hunter's work, not an amateur's. And the note… the handwriting is precise, controlled.
"He thinks he's in control," I say quietly to Matthew. "This is a show of power."
Matthew stands beside me, his hands clenched at his sides. "We need to move Charlie. Now. If he was this close, he could come back any time."
I nod, already thinking through our options. "Your parents' cabin outside Asheville. It's remote, secure, and Harris wouldn't know about it."
"Agreed." Matthew pulls out his phone. "I'll call my dad and set it up."
While Matthew makes the call, I help Greyson secure the scene. He's already photographing the deer head and the note, documenting everything for both the club and the authorities.
"Techy can analyze the blood," Greyson says, nodding to the dark pool. "See if we can get any DNA."
"I want to be there when we find him," I tell him, my voice low. "I want to look him in the eye."
Greyson meets my gaze, his own eyes dark with understanding. "I know you do. And I know what that means."
It's not a question, and I don't reply. We both know what happens to people who threaten Devil Soul families. Harris crossed a line tonight that can't be uncrossed.
Mason returns from securing the men in the truck. "They're all rattled. Especially the young one. Says he wants to cooperate fully."
"We'll get them to the clubhouse first," Greyson decides. "Interrogate them properly, then hand them over to Ethan once we have everything we need."
The plan is solid, but I can't shake the feeling that we're still one step behind. Harris knew exactly where to strike, how to distract us, and where to leave his message for maximum impact.
"He's not done," I say, voicing the fear that's been building since we found Charlie. "This is just the beginning."