Chapter 43
Seth
Takeout containers crowd the table, grease bleeding through the bottoms and soy sauce staining the wood. Beer bottles sweat onto coasters nobody bothers to use. The fireplace crackles low, filling the quiet spaces between conversations.
Open cartons sit between us, lo mein tangled in glossy noodles, fried rice packed tight with egg and green onion, half-crushed dumplings leaking oil into the corners, and a container of orange chicken picked apart between bites.
Steam curls out of the carton in my hands while I watch it drift into the air. For a moment I thought about the lake. About dark water closing over Kristie’s head while her lungs fight for air.
The missing Kristie Talbert is already trending online.
Beau lifts his beer with a grin.
“Welp, her political career went under pretty quickly.”
Travis barks out a laugh. “You are absolutely going to hell.”
Beau takes a drink without breaking eye contact. “Have you seen the current state of the world? We’re already there.”
Brooke leans back in her chair, tucking one leg beneath her.
Luna is sprawled across her lap, front paws planted against Brooke’s stomach as she stretches her head toward the open carton.
Brooke keeps one hand loosely around Luna, absentmindedly holding her back from shoving her face into noodles.
She smiles, and it's not the polite version she uses in public. It's the real one.
Travis raises his bottle next. “They’re really gonna need campaign reform.”
“Shut up,” Brooke laughs, shifting her carton slightly out of Luna’s reach as a black paw reaches for a dangling noodle.
Luna tries again, stretching higher, claws catching lightly in Brooke’s sweater, and Brooke nudges her back without even looking down.
Beau reaches across the table and steals the last dumpling from the carton without asking.
“Hey,” Travis snaps.
“Too slow,” Beau replies.
“You always eat the last piece.”
Beau shrugs and pops it into his mouth. “You’re squatting in my house.”
“I mean, we are all wanted men at this point, so my options are limited.”
Brooke rolls her eyes as Luna shifts in her lap and tries to climb onto the table. Brooke slides her forearm gently across the cat’s chest and guides her back before she can reach the cartons.
“You two are exhausting,” she laughs.
“And yet,” Travis says, pointing his chopsticks at her, “you keep us around.”
She shrugs and adjusts Luna so the cat stretches comfortably along her thigh. “Well you two are pretty useful.”
Beau smirks at Travis. “Hey, he came in clutch. He shot a guy in the foot so we could find you.”
Brooke looks at Travis. “Aww, really, Trav?”
Travis lifts his hands defensively. “It was partially an accident, but I definitely needed to shoot him so we could track you down.”
I lean back in my chair, a beer hanging loose in my hand.
My eyes settle on Brooke again.
When she catches me staring, she lifts her chin slightly. “What?”
“You good?”
She holds my gaze a second longer than usual. Luna stretches toward the carton again, and Brooke lifts it higher without breaking eye contact.
“Yeah.”
“Really?” I ask.
Her jaw shifts as she swallows. “I’m not spiraling, Seth.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I’m fine,” she says again, quieter this time, scratching lightly behind Luna’s ear to distract her. “I’m not turning into a homicidal maniac.”
I study her face for signs I recognize from myself. The distant look. The hunger. The tilt toward something darker.
“I can live like this,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to.”
Her expression changes, but she doesn’t flinch. “I’m not doing this because of you. I’m doing it because they don’t get to keep breathing after what they did.”
I understand her.
I kill because it feels necessary. She kills because it feels justified.
Still, I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice. “If you ever feel it pulling you somewhere you don’t recognize, you tell me.”
A faint smile touches her mouth as Luna finally gives up and settles fully against her stomach. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“Good.”
Travis clears his throat in an exaggerated way. “Are we done with the emotional check-in, or are we doing a healing circle next?”
I flip him off.
Brooke keeps her eyes on me for another second before looking away, stroking Luna’s back while the cat purrs.
Travis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Actually I want to know something. How did you two psychos meet?”
Brooke shifts in her chair, curiosity replacing whatever tension had been there.
I glance at Beau.
He leans back and stretches his arms behind his head. “You want the sanitized version or the one that got us flagged.”
“Flagged version,” Travis says.
Beau nods once.
“2019,” he begins. “We were attached to a joint task force overseas. Officially we were providing perimeter security for contractor operations. Unofficially we were babysitting people who had better lawyers than morals.”
His tone stays even, almost bored.
“Most of the job was routine,” Beau continues. “Convoys. Warehouses. Equipment moving through places where nobody outside the military was supposed to be paying attention. Contractors handled a lot of the infrastructure. They had their own security teams and their own paperwork.”
I lean back in my chair and stare into the fire.
“At first it looked normal,” I say. “Then people started disappearing.”
The room stays quiet while he speaks.
“Laborers,” Beau continues. “Drivers. Villagers who lived too close to the wrong road. Migrant workers moving through the area. Nobody important enough to trigger an investigation.”
I can still see the place when I close my eyes.
Dust blowing through broken fences. Diesel generators humming all night.
“We started noticing trucks moving at odd hours,” I add. “Vehicles that never showed up on official manifests.”
Beau nods.
“They were moving people,” he says. “Civilians. Some local. Some from other countries. None of them there voluntarily.”
Brooke’s hand stills slightly against Luna’s back.
“They had a compound,” Beau continues. “Concrete building on the edge of a supply route. Guards posted outside. Contractors with government badges and private security patches.”
The fire cracks quietly behind us.
“There was a basement,” I say. “They kept them chained down there.”
Beau gives a short nod.
“We reported it, command told us to stand down,” he adds. “They said the contractors were operating under separate authority and the situation was not our jurisdiction.”
I watch the fire for a moment before speaking again.
“We went back anyway.”
Beau rubs a hand over his jaw.
“It was supposed to be reconnaissance. We planned to document what was happening and pull the civilians out quietly.”
His mouth twitches slightly.
“That part went according to plan.”
“We cleared the basement first,” I add. “Cut the chains. Got the civilians outside the compound.”
The fire pops behind me.
“Once they were clear,” he says calmly, “we dealt with the rest of the building.”
Beau leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“There were eleven contractors on site. They were armed. They tried to fight.”
“They all died,” I lift my gaze from the fire. “We made an example.”
Beau nods once.
“We gutted two of them and hung the bodies from the outer gate.”
“Another one lost his head,” I smirk. “We put it on a post facing the road.”
“The rest we left where they fell,” Beau continues. “Anyone passing through the area would see exactly what happened there.”
“By morning the whole region knew that compound was gone,” I lean back again. “Command was not pleased.”
Beau gives a quiet laugh.
“Internal review. Pattern of insubordination. Excessive force. Extreme conduct.”
“They removed us from the task force,” I add.
Beau shrugs slightly.
“They preferred to handle the problem quietly,” he says. “Administrative separation. No medals. No prison.”
He lifts his bottle slightly.
“Now we freelance. I’m an assassin.”
His eyes flick to me.
“And he’s a serial killer.”
I look at Brooke while the room processes the story.
She doesn’t look shocked or afraid. She looks like she understands exactly why we did it.
Travis exhales slowly and drags a hand down his face. “Crazy how two killers have more morality than people running governments.”
Beau lifts his beer, “Exactly.”
Brooke reaches across the table with her free hand and brushes her fingers against my knuckles. I turn my hand and catch hers.
After we finish eating, Beau goes to do his routine perimeter checks with Krueger.
Brooke stacks the empty containers without being asked, rinses her hands at the sink, and says, “I’m going to go take a shower.”
She walks upstairs barefoot. The water starts running a minute later.
Travis and I stay at the table.
He pulls his laptop closer and flips it open, blue light catching in his glasses. The house feels quieter without Beau’s dry commentary filling it.
“So you want the good news or the weird news?” Travis asks.
“Start with good.”
He types for a few seconds, eyes scanning fast.
“The pool’s gone.”
“Completely?”
“Domains scrubbed. Admin account deactivated.” He glances up. “No active bounties.”
I lean back in my chair.
“That was fast.”
“Well Kristie’s dead,” he continues. “No one’s getting paid now.”
“Or someone higher up shut it down.”
He hesitates. “That’s the weird part.”
I look at him.
“It didn’t collapse,” he adds. “It closed. Clean. Like someone flipped a master switch.”
“Grant or Elliot”
“Probably.”
Travis clears his throat.
“Is Brooke okay?”
“She’s okay.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I mean,” he says carefully, “she went through so much. In that place. For a week. And she lost the—”
He stops himself.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It just seems… normal,” he murmurs. “For her. The sniper. Kristie. None of it shakes her. She wasn’t even that scared in the woods.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
“No,” I reply. “It’s not normal.”
He looks up.
“Brooke’s not normal,” I add. “I’m not either.”
The fire cracks softly.
“After you go through enough shit,” I continue, “your body runs out of ways to react. Fear doesn’t hit the same.”
He nods.
“She’s good. And I’m always going to make sure she’s good.”
That isn’t bravado. It's a fact.
Travis studies me for a second, then gives a small nod.
His expression shifts a second later, like something has just clicked in his head.
“Wait right here,” he says. “I’ve got something.”
He crosses the room and digs through his bag. I watch him move things aside until he finally pulls something small out of the bottom.
He walks back over and holds it out to me.
“You left this at the hotel,” Travis says. “I figured you probably needed it.”
I look down at what is sitting in his palm.
The ring.
The engagement ring I was supposed to give Brooke.
For a second the room around me fades and I'm back in the hotel ballroom, blood on the floor, everything falling apart before I ever get the chance to ask her.
I take it carefully from his hand.
“How did you get this?” I ask.
Travis rubs the back of his neck.
“Well, after I finally got out of that freezer, I was running around the hotel trying to find you and Brooke,” he explains. “I ended up stumbling into the room where they took your body.”
He pauses for a second.
“And that’s when I saw the ring.”
I close my hand around the ring and slip it into my pocket. I’ll give it to Brooke when the time is right.
“Thank you Trav,” I nod. “For everything.”
He blinks. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“I get a thank you now.” He leans back in his chair. “And a nickname?”
I narrow my eyes at him.
His grin spreads. “Can I give you one?”
“No.”
“Sethy?”
“Don’t push it.”
He laughs.
I push away from the table and stand. Travis glances up for a second. We exchange a quick nod before I turn and head for the stairs.
Upstairs, the shower has gone quiet. I go to the bedroom.
Brooke is already in bed when I open the door, Luna curled along her ribs.
I reach into my pocket before anything else and pull out the ring.
For a moment I just look at it again.
Then I cross to the dresser and open the top drawer. I move a few things aside and set the ring carefully in the back where it'll stay hidden and safe.
Not yet.
Soon.
I close the drawer and turn back to the bed.
I toe off my boots, strip down, and slide under the covers beside her.
She shifts immediately, fitting herself against my side like she has been waiting for me. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer, pressing my mouth against the curve of her neck.
Her hand finds my chest. My palm settles over her hip. I hold her a little tighter.
One day soon, when the kill list is finished and the world finally stops hunting her, I will take that ring back out of the drawer and ask her to be with me for the rest of our lives.