Chapter 2 #3
I thought she understood me.
The werewolf finally stood, dick on full display as his lips curved up. He looked me up and down, then lifted both hands in a lazy shrug.
“Hey, don’t blame me,” he said, smirking. “Your girl felt a pull. Wanted to see if we were mates.” He twisted the knife in my gut, and he knew it. “Not my fault.”
Something inside me broke.
A thick, rich liquid fell to the floor underneath my clenched fists.
I barely felt it. The pain was distant, useless, nothing more than a spark tossed into gasoline.
The fury didn’t recede. Instead, it swelled, filling every hollow place until there was nothing left of me but heat and pressure and red.
I stopped fighting it.
The world narrowed to the wolf. One blink. One step. I was on him.
My hand locked around his throat, fingers closing, twisting. There was a sharp crack, too clean, too easy. His body went slack, head hanging to the side before Valentina’s scream even finished tearing out of her.
It wasn't enough. I needed more pain, more blood, more death to fill this hole in my soul.
Fire roared through my veins, loud enough to drown out everything else. Someone had to pay for this. Had to burn.
I drove my fist into his chest. Bone gave way with a crack. Fingers digging into his wet center, I grabbed at the only thing that would make this final.
Blood hit the floor in thick splashes as I ripped free what was still beating, hot and slick in my hand. I crushed it without hesitation, fragments slipping through my fingers.
I let go, and the dead body collapsed at my feet.
Behind me, Valentina’s sobs broke into words, over and over, like a prayer she thought might save her.
“I just wanted to see if he was my mate.”
I stared down at my shoes, soaked dark, my pants heavy with crimson blood. My hands trembled now—not with regret, but with how little it had done to quiet the storm.
Not enough.
Footsteps crossed the threshold, and I looked up.
Fitz stood there, face carefully blank—too blank. It took half a second for me to see it. The shadow at the corner of his mouth. The satisfaction he didn’t bother hiding fast enough.
He knew. He’d walked me right into this.
The realization hit harder than the kill. He’d wanted this. Wanted me off balance, humiliated, reckless. Anything to shift the ground under my feet so he could wriggle free of what he owed.
The heat inside me detonated. Air ripped from my lungs as my vision flared white.
No.
That kind of disrespect didn’t get to breathe. The sound that tore out of me wasn’t human.
I was on him before he could step back. Surprise flashed across his face just long enough for me to grab him and hurl him through the wall. Plaster and wood exploded outward as he crashed through a few rooms.
I didn’t slow.
Making my way though the Fitz-shaped holes, I hauled him up by the collar and dragged him back, his boots scraping uselessly across the floor.
“Let go!” he screamed. “You fucking idiot!”
My fist met his face. His body went limp, crumpling bonelessly. He’d wake soon—supes always did—but I didn’t need long.
I hauled him through the club, past stunned faces, past Rack’s frozen stare, and dropped him to his knees just as his eyes fluttered open.
The music cut. Every man in the room stood. Weapons shifted. Bodies tensed.
Fitz groaned, trying to pull away. I wrenched his arms behind him and leaned in close, my voice low enough that only he could hear it as my fingers slipped into my pocket.
“You took something from me,” I said softly. “So I’m taking everything from you.”
He stilled, eyes flicked around the room. His men, his club, his throne of rot and noise, and the truth landed too late.
“No—don’t—”
I threw the metal balls in opposite directions.
The first hit the floor and erupted instantly.
Hellfire acid sprayed outward, coating bodies, faces, skin. Screams tore through the room as flesh sloughed away, regeneration failing, pain absolute. The sound washed over me like a balm.
Fitz watched with wide eyes, then the second one detonated five seconds later. The blast ripped through the back wall and ceiling, fire and debris roaring upward.
Fitz’s scream cut sharp and high. “My building! My club!” I stood there, holding him down, and watched it burn.
Screams tore through the room, filling every inch of space around me, but they slid off my back like rain. I let Fitz go and stared down at my hands.
Only one was red, and that felt wrong. In complete.
“Calix?”
Rack’s voice cut clean through the noise. Calm. Steady. A question without words.
I barked out a laugh that didn’t sound like mine. “Guess you were right,” I said, eyes still on my hands. “But this works out. Two birds and all that.” I glanced up, lips curling. “We don’t keep tenants who don’t pay.” And we don’t keep girls that fuck me over.
Before he could answer, I was moving.
I crashed into Fitz, driving him to the floor, fists falling in a blur. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed hot and thick across my face. I tasted it without thinking, copper and heat. Something old and starving tore loose inside my chest.
My fangs snapped out.
I threw my head back, sank them into his neck, and tore into him like an animal.
He fought at first, hands clawing, body bucking, but it didn’t last. Strength bled out of him with every gulp I took, the world narrowing to the rush, the burn, the flood. I drank hard and fast until his struggles faded into nothing.
Growls rippled through the few survivors as they tried to circle around me.
I slowly lifted my head. Their eyes glowed. Rage. Fear. Vengeance.
I smiled.
Yes. This. More of this. Because if I stopped—if I let the quiet in—I’d—
I shook my head hard and rose, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Blood smeared, turning my clean hand red, and I turned to Rack.
“Call Riot,” I said flatly. “We’ll need clean-up after I’m done.”
Then I turned back to the broken and burning room, where a few wolves eyed me to see if they could find a weakness. They didn't know that they’d already exploited my weakness, and now I had nothing left to lose.
I bolted around the room, using my speed against them. Everything from that point on was a blur of fangs, claws, and falling bodies. I tore through them like a storm, leaving nothing but silence and ruin in my wake.
I became the monster of the Syndicate.
One that was never to be fucked with again.
***
I sat on the curb with my back against scorched brick, a bottle of Hellfire lifted to my mouth. The burn went down rough and fast. Good. I swallowed again before the numbness could slip away.
I wasn’t ready for anything else.
Footsteps approached, unhurried, familiar. Someone dropped down beside me, concrete scraping under fabric. Smoke and lilies cut through the stench of blood and ash, settling in my lungs like a memory I didn’t ask for.
“When I sent you,” Ezra said, her even voice carrying the slightest humorous edge. “I thought you’d knock a few heads together. Not erase an entire gang.”
I tipped the bottle up and drank until my throat protested.
“Job’s done.”
She hummed, eyes on the Strip glowing in the distance. “Yeah. Now, I’ve got a demolition and rebuild I didn’t budget for.”
Of course that was her first thought. Even now, she was counting costs, already rewiring the future around the wreckage. That was Ezra, seeing three moves ahead while everything burned.
“Where’s Riot?” I asked.
Ezra’s breath left her slower and heavier than it should’ve been, and I turned to look at her.
She was leaning back on her palms, jaw darkening with a bruise that bloomed ugly against her skin. Blood streaked her sleeves. Her wrists, too red, too swollen.
My hand closed around one without thinking. She sucked in a sharp breath, and I stilled.
Broken. Both of them. Already healing, sure—but still. Ezra didn’t get hurt. Ever.
“What the fu—”
“Riot’s handling another job,” she cut in. “Rack called me.” A pause. “More than once.”
I ran my thumb lightly over her wrist, then dropped it like I’d been burned. Guilt flared, sharp and useless. I buried it before it could surface.
“You gonna tell me what happened?”
The question landed softly, but it still knocked the air out of me.
For a second, all I could see was her face when she screamed my name, her body naked except for the sheet wrapped around her.
Her eyes had pleaded with me, but I was too far gone to stop.
I needed the blood and bones to fill that growing hole inside me. The one she’d caused.
I stared at the bottle in my hand, took another long, deep swig until its warmth hit my belly, making me feel slightly less dead inside. The words tumbled out of me, fast and jagged, like they’d been clawing for the exit, and I told her everything.
What I heard. What I saw. The moment the phone rang. The sound of Val’s voice from the other side of that door. The way the rage swallowed everything after. How there wasn’t a thought in my head that wasn’t red.
Ezra didn’t interrupt. Didn’t look at me. Just listened, every word hitting and staying.
Rack emerged from the building just as I finished, nodding once to both of us. The Devil clan was on-site, and he had helped manage the clean-up while I wallowed. He was a good fucking second.
Ezra pushed herself to her feet, brushing her hands down her blood-spattered pants. She turned to me and set her hand on my shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to make me look up.
Her eyes were steady. Unshaken.
“Don’t worry, brother,” she said. “I’ll handle this.” A squeeze. A promise. “Everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
For the first time that night, I believed someone else could carry the weight.
Her hand left my shoulder, but whatever she’d pressed there stayed. Warm. Steady. I couldn’t have named it if I tried. My head was swimming, the Hellfire sloshing heavy in my veins, but it took the edge off just enough to keep me upright.
What didn’t ease was the look in her eyes.
Ezra had already moved on. I could see it in the way her gaze sharpened, distant and intent, like she was already counting steps and names. Someone out there still owed her. Someone she’d decided would pay.
She turned to Rack. “Take him home. Stay with him. He’ll need you.”
Rack answered with a single nod. His eyes burned with something fierce and unbreakable, the kind of loyalty that sat deep and quiet. It twisted something ugly in my chest. I’d always treated him like the brother I never had. Ezra treated him like a weapon she respected.
With me, he hovered. With her, he stood.
And yeah—maybe she was in a league of her own.
Still.
He was my second.
Rack crossed to me anyway, grin cutting through the tension as he pulled another bottle from his jacket like a peace offering. All sins forgiven. He slid an arm under mine, steady and sure, hauling me to my feet like he’d done it a hundred times before.
We turned toward the car.
“Ezra,” I called out weakly, almost like an afterthought.
Ezra paused at the crumbling doorway, half in shadow, half in light. She looked back.
My mouth opened. Closed. The words jammed up somewhere between my chest and my throat.
I saw it in my head. Valentina’s midnight eyes dimming underneath Ezra’s ire, the life draining out of them hard and fast, which made my lungs lock up.
“Don’t…” I tried again, this time with more force. “Don’t kill her.”
The shame burned almost as hot as the hurt. Valentina had betrayed me. Betrayed the Syndicate. Made a fool of me in front of everyone that mattered.
She should pay for it.
But the thought of her dying because of me, of that weight sitting on my chest forever, was too much.
I’d loved her. In my own way. As much as I could… but it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. She wanted her damn fucking mate, not me.
Ezra’s eyes darkened. She already knew what she wanted to do.
“Please,” I heard myself say. My voice cracked. “Please, E. For me.”
She studied me for a long second. Then she blinked, once, twice, like she was filing something away.
“I won’t kill her,” she said finally. “You have my word.” Her gaze slid back to the building. “But she’s done. She doesn’t step foot in a Syndicate base city again. Ever.”
It wasn’t mercy, but it was the best I was going to get.
I nodded. “Agreed.”
***
The days that followed blurred together in a haze of alcohol and obligation.
We pulled our parents out of one mess, proving—yet again—that we were worth the weight of the names we were taking. Showed everyone who was running this shit now.
Sat through a family dinner that stretched on forever. Smiles. Toasts. Laughter. All of it felt distant, like I was watching through thick glass.
I drank through most of it.
Everyone else looked relaxed, happy even. I kept my spine straight and my face neutral, like nothing inside me was split open and leaking out with every step I took. Every so often, Ezra would pinch my arm under the table or cut me a sharp look. I’d correct myself. Sit taller. Breathe.
She handled our parents. Fielded their questions. Steered conversations away from me when my silence grew too heavy. She’d told me she’d take care of it, and she did.
So when she suggested mate-blocker tattoos, I didn’t hesitate.
Why not? I wasn’t finding my mate, anyway.
This way, it wouldn’t look like something was wrong with me. It would look like fate had simply passed me by.
All I remembered clearly was the hard chair and the smell of ink and old magic. An elderly mage waited with her tools, eyes sharp despite the lines in her face.
“What design?” she asked in broken English.
I scanned the board on the wall, rows of quick-draw symbols and stock pieces. My gaze snagged on the first thing it landed on.
“That one.” I pointed. A single rose. “But make it thorny. As many thorns as you can fit. Like no one would want to touch it.”
She studied me for a moment, but it felt… right. Pretty from a distance. Painful up close. Better left alone. Just like me.
I slapped my neck once and leaned back. “Here. Make sure everyone can see it.”
The woman glanced at Ezra. “Blocator de mate, da?”
Ezra nodded.
There was something in her eyes then—quiet, almost sad—but the mage only turned back to me and murmured, “Nu-?i face griji. Va fi invizibil.”
I frowned. “What’d she say?”
“Invisible,” Ezra replied. “Once the magic sets, no one will see it.”
My breath left me in a humorless laugh. “Then how will she know I’ve moved on?”
Ezra spoke softly to our sisters before stepping closer and leaning in, her voice low against my ear. “She’s gone, Cal. Dead to us. Grieve if you need to—but leave her where she belongs. In the past.”
The machine buzzed to life.
Pain flared down my neck, sharp and grounding. I focused on Ezra’s eyes, steady, certain, unyielding, and let the sting anchor me there.
She was right.
I didn’t need her. I didn’t need anyone beyond the family standing around me.
And I sure as hell didn’t need a mate.
Not now. Not ever.