Chapter 42 Revan
Revan
The safehouse feels too quiet after everyone leaves. Koa’s taken Axel home. Lexi’s off-grid with Atticus at the other safehouse that I’m trying not to think about. And I’m left here, cleaning up the bullshit after my junkie father like I’ve been doing my entire life.
The phone buzzes on the table. Gilbert’s name flashes across the screen, insistent and demanding. I stare at it for three rings, jaw clenching tighter with each vibration. Then I answer, already knowing this conversation is going to cost me something.
“You’re not going to see her,” I say before he can speak. “So don’t even ask.”
There’s a pause on the other end—a breath, a beat of consideration. Then Gilbert’s voice comes through, steady and cold as winter.
“Vincent is dead.”
The words should feel like victory. Should feel like liberation. But all I feel is the weight of what comes next, because men like Gilbert don’t deliver news without expecting payment.
I clench my jaw harder, waiting.
“Now one last thing before the rest of the payment is made.”
I lean back in the chair, forcing my voice to stay level even though my pulse is hammering knowing that my father is dead. “What would that be?”
“Bring me Koa.”
The line goes dead.
The silence after Gilbert’s voice cuts out feels heavier than the gun still sitting on the table. More dangerous. More final.
I stare at the black screen for a long beat, my reflection distorted in the glass.
Then something in me snaps. I grab the glass of water I’d been holding and hurl it at the far wall.
It explodes on impact, shards scattering across the floor, water dripping down the cracked paint like veins bleeding through skin.
My reflection fractures in the broken pieces, and I look like a stranger—someone I don’t recognize, someone I never wanted to become.
Koa wasn’t part of the deal.
But even as I think it, I know it doesn’t matter. Deals shift, terms change, and the people who think they’re players end up being pawns.
I rub a hand over my face, then slide into the chair, breathing hard through my nose. My knuckles are still raw from the warehouse fight, dried blood caught in the creases of my skin.
The memory of Koa hits before I can stop it—I’m sixteen. Koa’s fourteen, standing in the kitchen with his shoulders too straight, too rigid. He’s scared. I can see it in the way his hands clench at his sides, but he’s too proud to flinch.
Vincent’s voice cuts through the house, hoarse from whiskey and cigarettes. “You call me ‘sir,’ you little shit.”
The snap of a belt cuts through the air. Once. Twice. Three times. Each crack makes me flinch from where I’m watching through the doorway, but Koa doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound.
His mother screamed from another room—”Vincent, please, he’s just a boy!”—but her voice is muffled, distant, useless against the rage my father carries like a second skin.
“No, he’s a fucking man! Aren’t you, Koa!”
And Koa just stared at him. Silent. Eyes burning with something that looks like hate mixed with resignation. Refusing to cry, refusing to break, refusing to give Vincent the satisfaction.
Vincent attacked Koa’s mom because she wouldn’t stop interfering, but Koa stopped him. That’s the thing about Koa, he protects the ones he loves. He would go to any length to protect her.
My mom left me with the idiot sperm-donor and took off when I was a kid way before Koa and his mom came into the picture. I was his punching bag then, so when Koa came, it felt like fucked-up relief.
When it was time for me to leave for college, I kept my distance.
I heard Koa was getting into deep shit, so I disconnected myself from him and Vincent.
I made my own connections, which landed me in the Reapers only recently.
I’ve had to prove myself to them for some time before being accepted.
It was the best decision I could have made.
Now I’m staring at the shattered glass on the floor. My hands are shaking—from anger or guilt or some toxic combination of both.
I pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I hit a name I haven’t ever used. Maddox. Oxy. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before I type, Meet me. No questions.
Then I sit back, running both hands through my hair. I can hear Gilbert’s voice echoing in my head, playing on repeat like a curse.
“Bring me Koa.”
I know what that means. Not “bring” as in capture, as in negotiate. Bring as in deliver. As in bury.
Gilbert wants another corpse to complete the set. Father, son. Stepson. I’m the real son. That’s why he’s telling me to bring Koa in. Gilbert wants the blood debt paid in full.
And Koa? Koa’s just the collateral damage for being so near and dear to Vincent.
I pour a drink and down it fast. The burn does nothing to settle my nerves, doesn’t wash away the taste of betrayal coating my throat.
The door swings open without warning. Shit, how long have I been sitting here?
Oxy steps in, eyes sharp and assessing, taking in the broken glass and the tension radiating off me in waves. “Isn’t this a fucking safehouse I shouldn’t know about?”
I nod once. “You know where he is?”
Oxy shrugs, closing the door behind him. “You know where he is. He dropped Axel off. Probably planning his next move.”
I take a breath, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We need to intercept him before someone else does.”
“You mean Gilbert.”
I don’t answer because we both know that’s exactly what I mean.
Oxy smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “What’s your play here, Rev? You gonna hand over your stepbrother for a bonus check?”
My stare hardens. “Don’t test me.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice to something more serious. “Then what? You planning to save him?”
The question hangs in the air, demanding an answer I’m not sure I have. But then the truth surfaces, cutting through all the bullshit and strategy and careful calculation.
“I’m planning to save her,” I say finally.
Oxy studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “Then you’d better hurry. Word is Vincent’s body hasn’t even cooled and Gilbert’s already moving pieces. He’s got people watching the dorms, the warehouse, probably this safehouse too.”
Fuck.
I grab my coat from the back of the chair, shouldering it on. The leather is cold, familiar, armor that doesn’t actually protect anything that matters.
I text Atticus. Keep her inside. No calls, no exits, no contact with Koa.
I leave the safehouse, rain pelting my jacket the moment I step outside. The night hums like static—the kind of electric tension that comes before a storm breaks, before violence erupts, before everything you’ve been holding together finally falls apart.
My phone buzzes again. I pull it out, expecting Gilbert, expecting threats or demands or ultimatums.
But it’s Koa’s number.
Just three words, Where is she?
I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Because any answer I give will be a lie or a betrayal, and I’ve done enough of both for one lifetime.
I slide into my car, the engine roaring to life. The sound cuts through the rain, through the static, through the guilt trying to drown me.
I pull out onto the road, headlights cutting through the darkness. Somewhere out there, Koa’s looking for answers. Gilbert’s moving his pieces into position. And Lexi’s sitting in a cabin with Atticus, probably planning her next escape or fucking him. Fuck.
And I’m trying to figure out how to save everyone without losing myself completely.
The rain hammers against the windshield, and I push the accelerator harder.
Time to see if I’m still the coward who ran, or if I’ve become a better man.
Either way, someone’s bleeding before sunrise.